dreamt of Carolineâs red hair. That was her name, that girl in the overalls. She took all the advanced classes. He was in remedial geometry and she was taking trig already and sheâd be in college math by the time she was a senior. She was perfect how she laughed and how she held her books. The light followed her across every room. When she left she took it with her.
He wanted a lathe and a KitchenAid mixer. A small oven to bake propellant discs. He posted diagrams on his bedroom wall and lists of binders and bonding agents. He collected articles for Duffy, who listened carefully when he talked. For the first time he paid attention in chemistry class. He didnât doodle or look around the room. He worked at his computer every night and downloaded propellant handbooks. He heated up soup and Tater Tots so he could eat at his desk.
All the equations and the variables and it came down to a simple thing. It came down to the pressure inside the chamber. Give it an opening and youâve got thrust. It will lift you if you let it. It will take you over the fields and the old brick school and the elm trees on Cascade that were dying from Chinese beetles. Those GoFast guys inDenver sent their rocket up 77 miles. That was fifteen more than they needed to set the record. The distance to outer space was the same as the distance to Denver, 62 miles give or take. How strange to think about things that way. It wasnât really that far. With enough power things could break free from the curve of the earth. They wouldnât feel its pull. Pressure is all they needed. Pressure and an outlet, and now he had them both.
They took Route 24 to the wheat fields just past Calhan. Six of them in Duffyâs old jeep and the sun shone in their eyes the whole way out. Everything looked rusty. The cars and the dirt and the storage sheds in the fields. As if the earth itself were made of iron and the ore was bleeding its way out.
There were at least a hundred people gathered in the field. They came in trucks and motor homes, and there was a school bus from a district out in Limon. Fathers stood with their sons, and everyone wore hand-printed name tags with rockets on them. Duffyâs rocket was the star here. People pointed and gathered around the platform. With its five engines it weighed almost two hundred pounds. It looked like a half-scale patriot missile.
A father brought his son up close and lifted him higher so he could see. âThatâs a beauty,â he said. âThat one there can go up a mile.â The boy smiled at that and the father swung him round, and Mason wanted to follow them. His father had lifted him like that once. Theyâd gone together to the fair and watched the rodeo cowboys. The air had been sweet with the smell of kettle corn and manure. Everything was touched with grace that day, and thatâs how today was, too. He wanted to slow things down. He wanted them to linger. The volcanic rumble of the rockets lifting and their trailing chemical vapors and Caroline who was pink from the sun. She was standing beneath the canopy with her hands behind her back.
Duffyâs rocket went up almost eight thousand feet. Straight as an arrow shot from a bow. Mason felt the force of it through his sneakers. As if it were something living and not just cardboard and PVC. Duffy walked through the field like a conquering soldier. He ate sunflower seeds from a bag and spit them back out, and people camefrom all around to congratulate him. Somebody from the Western Rocketry newsletter interviewed him and took pictures of him with all his students. Five guys and Caroline at the center, Caroline who tilted her head at the camera and smiled.
They drove back together, sunburnt and laughing. Duffy dropped them off at his house, and they went home in their own cars, except for Mason who had walked. Duffy gave him a ride home. The house was dark because his mother was finishing up her last practicum so she could
He wanted a lathe and a KitchenAid mixer. A small oven to bake propellant discs. He posted diagrams on his bedroom wall and lists of binders and bonding agents. He collected articles for Duffy, who listened carefully when he talked. For the first time he paid attention in chemistry class. He didnât doodle or look around the room. He worked at his computer every night and downloaded propellant handbooks. He heated up soup and Tater Tots so he could eat at his desk.
All the equations and the variables and it came down to a simple thing. It came down to the pressure inside the chamber. Give it an opening and youâve got thrust. It will lift you if you let it. It will take you over the fields and the old brick school and the elm trees on Cascade that were dying from Chinese beetles. Those GoFast guys inDenver sent their rocket up 77 miles. That was fifteen more than they needed to set the record. The distance to outer space was the same as the distance to Denver, 62 miles give or take. How strange to think about things that way. It wasnât really that far. With enough power things could break free from the curve of the earth. They wouldnât feel its pull. Pressure is all they needed. Pressure and an outlet, and now he had them both.
They took Route 24 to the wheat fields just past Calhan. Six of them in Duffyâs old jeep and the sun shone in their eyes the whole way out. Everything looked rusty. The cars and the dirt and the storage sheds in the fields. As if the earth itself were made of iron and the ore was bleeding its way out.
There were at least a hundred people gathered in the field. They came in trucks and motor homes, and there was a school bus from a district out in Limon. Fathers stood with their sons, and everyone wore hand-printed name tags with rockets on them. Duffyâs rocket was the star here. People pointed and gathered around the platform. With its five engines it weighed almost two hundred pounds. It looked like a half-scale patriot missile.
A father brought his son up close and lifted him higher so he could see. âThatâs a beauty,â he said. âThat one there can go up a mile.â The boy smiled at that and the father swung him round, and Mason wanted to follow them. His father had lifted him like that once. Theyâd gone together to the fair and watched the rodeo cowboys. The air had been sweet with the smell of kettle corn and manure. Everything was touched with grace that day, and thatâs how today was, too. He wanted to slow things down. He wanted them to linger. The volcanic rumble of the rockets lifting and their trailing chemical vapors and Caroline who was pink from the sun. She was standing beneath the canopy with her hands behind her back.
Duffyâs rocket went up almost eight thousand feet. Straight as an arrow shot from a bow. Mason felt the force of it through his sneakers. As if it were something living and not just cardboard and PVC. Duffy walked through the field like a conquering soldier. He ate sunflower seeds from a bag and spit them back out, and people camefrom all around to congratulate him. Somebody from the Western Rocketry newsletter interviewed him and took pictures of him with all his students. Five guys and Caroline at the center, Caroline who tilted her head at the camera and smiled.
They drove back together, sunburnt and laughing. Duffy dropped them off at his house, and they went home in their own cars, except for Mason who had walked. Duffy gave him a ride home. The house was dark because his mother was finishing up her last practicum so she could
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