noharleyyet
Well-known member
BREAKING THE SOUND BARRIER WITHOUT AN AIRPLANE
This one gives the term Test Pilot a whole new meaning. Joe Kittinger is
not a household aviation name like Neil Armstrong or Chuck Yeager.
But what he did for the U. S. Space Program is comparable.
On Aug. 16, 1960, as research for the then-fledgling U. S. Space
Program, Air Force Captain Joseph Kittinger rode a helium balloon to the
edge of space, 102,800 feet above the earth, a feat in itself.
Then, wearing just a thin pressure suit and breathing supplemental
oxygen, he leaned over the cramped confines of his gondola and
jumped--into the 110-degree-below-zero, near-vacuum of space. Within
seconds his body accelerated to 714 mph in the thin air, breaking the
sound barrier.
After free-falling for more than four and a half minutes, slowed finally
by friction from the heavier air below, he felt his parachute open at
14,000 feet, and he coasted gently down to the New Mexico desert floor.
Kittinger's feat showed scientists that astronauts could survive the
harshness of space with just a pressure suit and that man could eject
from aircraft at extreme altitudes and survive. Upon Kittinger's return
to base, a congratulatory telegram was waiting from the Mercury seven
astronauts--including: Alan Shepard and John Glenn.
More than four decades later Kittinger's two world records--the highest
parachute jump, and the only man to break the sound barrier without an
aircraft and live--still stand. We decided to visit the retired
colonel and Aviation Hall of Famer, now 75, at his home in Altamonte
Springs , Florida , to recall his historic jump.
FORBES GLOBAL: Take us back to New Mexico and Aug. 16, 1960.
Joe Kittinger: We got up at 2 am to start filling the helium balloon.
At sea level, it was 35 to 40 feet wide and 200 feet high; at altitude,
due to the low air pressure, it expanded to 25 stories in width, and
still was 20 stories high! At 4 am I began breathing pure oxygen for
two hours. That's how long
it takes to remove all the nitrogen from your blood so you don't get the
bends going so high so fast. Then it was a lengthy dress procedure
layering warm clothing under my pressure suit. They kept me in
air-conditioning until it was time to launch because we were in the
desert and I wasn't supposed to sweat. If I did, my clothes would
freeze on the way up.
How was your ascent?
It took an hour and a half to get to altitude. It was cold. At 40,000
feet, the glove on my right hand hadn't inflated. I knew that if I
radioed my doctor, he would abort the flight. If that happened, I knew I
might never get another chance because there were lots of people who
didn't want this test to happen.
I took a calculated risk, that I might lose use of my right hand. It
quickly swelled up, and I did lose use for the duration of the flight.
But the rest of
the pressure suit worked. When I reached 102,800 feet, maximum altitude,
I wasn't quite over the target. So I drifted for 11 minutes. The winds
were out of the east.
What's it look like from so high up?
You can see about 400 miles in every direction. The formula is
1.25 x the sq. root of the altitude in thousands of feet. (The square
root of 102,000 ft is 319 X 1.25 = 399 miles) The most fascinating thing
is that it's just black overhead, the transition from normal blue to
black is very stark. You can't see stars because there's a lot of glare
from the sun, so your pupils are too small.
I was struck with the beauty of it. But I was also struck by how hostile
it is: more than 100 degrees below zero, no air. If my protection suit
failed, I would be dead in a few seconds. Blood actually boils above
62,000 feet. I went through my 46-step checklist, disconnected from the
balloons power supply and lost all communication with the ground. I was
totally under power from the kit on my back. When everything was done, I
stood up, turned around to the door, took one final look out and said a
silent prayer: "Lord, take care of me now." Then I just jumped over the
side.
What were you thinking as you took that step?
It's the beginning of a test. I had gone through simulations many
times--more than 100. I rolled over and looked up, and there was the
balloon just roaring into space. I realized that the balloon wasn't
roaring into space; I was going down at a fantastic rate! At about
90,000 feet, I reached 714 mph.
The altimeter on my wrist was unwinding very rapidly. But there was no
sense of speed. Where you determine speed is visual--if you see
something go flashing by. But nothing flashes by 20 miles up--there are
no signposts there, and you are way above any clouds. When the chute
opened, the rest of the jump was anticlimactic, because everything had
worked perfectly.
I landed 12 or 13 minutes later, and there was my crew waiting. We were
elated. How about your right hand? It hurt--there was quite a bit of
swelling and the blood pressure in my arm was high. But that went away
in a few days, and I regained full use of my hand.
What about attempts to break your record?
We did it for air crews and astronauts--for the learning, not to set a
record. They will be going up as skydivers. Somebody will beat it
someday.
Records are made to be broken. And I'll be elated.
But I'll also be concerned that they're properly trained. If they're
not, they're taking a heck of a risk.
This one gives the term Test Pilot a whole new meaning. Joe Kittinger is
not a household aviation name like Neil Armstrong or Chuck Yeager.
But what he did for the U. S. Space Program is comparable.
On Aug. 16, 1960, as research for the then-fledgling U. S. Space
Program, Air Force Captain Joseph Kittinger rode a helium balloon to the
edge of space, 102,800 feet above the earth, a feat in itself.
Then, wearing just a thin pressure suit and breathing supplemental
oxygen, he leaned over the cramped confines of his gondola and
jumped--into the 110-degree-below-zero, near-vacuum of space. Within
seconds his body accelerated to 714 mph in the thin air, breaking the
sound barrier.
After free-falling for more than four and a half minutes, slowed finally
by friction from the heavier air below, he felt his parachute open at
14,000 feet, and he coasted gently down to the New Mexico desert floor.
Kittinger's feat showed scientists that astronauts could survive the
harshness of space with just a pressure suit and that man could eject
from aircraft at extreme altitudes and survive. Upon Kittinger's return
to base, a congratulatory telegram was waiting from the Mercury seven
astronauts--including: Alan Shepard and John Glenn.
More than four decades later Kittinger's two world records--the highest
parachute jump, and the only man to break the sound barrier without an
aircraft and live--still stand. We decided to visit the retired
colonel and Aviation Hall of Famer, now 75, at his home in Altamonte
Springs , Florida , to recall his historic jump.
FORBES GLOBAL: Take us back to New Mexico and Aug. 16, 1960.
Joe Kittinger: We got up at 2 am to start filling the helium balloon.
At sea level, it was 35 to 40 feet wide and 200 feet high; at altitude,
due to the low air pressure, it expanded to 25 stories in width, and
still was 20 stories high! At 4 am I began breathing pure oxygen for
two hours. That's how long
it takes to remove all the nitrogen from your blood so you don't get the
bends going so high so fast. Then it was a lengthy dress procedure
layering warm clothing under my pressure suit. They kept me in
air-conditioning until it was time to launch because we were in the
desert and I wasn't supposed to sweat. If I did, my clothes would
freeze on the way up.
How was your ascent?
It took an hour and a half to get to altitude. It was cold. At 40,000
feet, the glove on my right hand hadn't inflated. I knew that if I
radioed my doctor, he would abort the flight. If that happened, I knew I
might never get another chance because there were lots of people who
didn't want this test to happen.
I took a calculated risk, that I might lose use of my right hand. It
quickly swelled up, and I did lose use for the duration of the flight.
But the rest of
the pressure suit worked. When I reached 102,800 feet, maximum altitude,
I wasn't quite over the target. So I drifted for 11 minutes. The winds
were out of the east.
What's it look like from so high up?
You can see about 400 miles in every direction. The formula is
1.25 x the sq. root of the altitude in thousands of feet. (The square
root of 102,000 ft is 319 X 1.25 = 399 miles) The most fascinating thing
is that it's just black overhead, the transition from normal blue to
black is very stark. You can't see stars because there's a lot of glare
from the sun, so your pupils are too small.
I was struck with the beauty of it. But I was also struck by how hostile
it is: more than 100 degrees below zero, no air. If my protection suit
failed, I would be dead in a few seconds. Blood actually boils above
62,000 feet. I went through my 46-step checklist, disconnected from the
balloons power supply and lost all communication with the ground. I was
totally under power from the kit on my back. When everything was done, I
stood up, turned around to the door, took one final look out and said a
silent prayer: "Lord, take care of me now." Then I just jumped over the
side.
What were you thinking as you took that step?
It's the beginning of a test. I had gone through simulations many
times--more than 100. I rolled over and looked up, and there was the
balloon just roaring into space. I realized that the balloon wasn't
roaring into space; I was going down at a fantastic rate! At about
90,000 feet, I reached 714 mph.
The altimeter on my wrist was unwinding very rapidly. But there was no
sense of speed. Where you determine speed is visual--if you see
something go flashing by. But nothing flashes by 20 miles up--there are
no signposts there, and you are way above any clouds. When the chute
opened, the rest of the jump was anticlimactic, because everything had
worked perfectly.
I landed 12 or 13 minutes later, and there was my crew waiting. We were
elated. How about your right hand? It hurt--there was quite a bit of
swelling and the blood pressure in my arm was high. But that went away
in a few days, and I regained full use of my hand.
What about attempts to break your record?
We did it for air crews and astronauts--for the learning, not to set a
record. They will be going up as skydivers. Somebody will beat it
someday.
Records are made to be broken. And I'll be elated.
But I'll also be concerned that they're properly trained. If they're
not, they're taking a heck of a risk.
