Monday 23 September
Los Angeles international airport
California
The immigration officer at Los Angeles airport scrutinises the line on my customs declaration form where I’ve ticked “The primary purpose of this trip is business”.
“And what is the nature of your business, sir?” One word sums it up. “Astronaut,” I say. “A future astronaut with .”
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To my surprise, the official is well aware of Richard Branson’s space enterprise and recalls the rocket engine tests over the summer. My first encounter is showing that the US takes the world’s first commerical spaceline pretty seriously, as demonstrated by the lengthening queue of impatient passengers, while we chat animatedly.
Space travel has been in my blood since I was a kid, holding my transistor radio close to my ear to hear Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin landing on the moon in 1969. Fast forward to 2008, and I was having a beer with the colleague with whom I had set up a TV company that makes science documentaries.
Our discussion turned to space tourism. “You know,” he mused, “if the TV company bought back your shareholding, you could fly to space with Virgin Galactic…” It was a no-brainer: within four months, I was the proud owner of ticket number 249.
“It was a no brainer. Within four months I was the proud owner of ticket number 249”
Tuesday 24 September
Beverly Hills
California
“Sir, we’re giving you the red-carpet treatment,” says the hotel doorman as I arrive at the opulent hotel.
The red carpet stretches through the lobby between elegantly clad guests sipping champagne cocktails. Virgin Galactic astronauts are, by and large, fairly well-heeled – although $250,000 for a day trip to space is far from the most expensive option. At a previous Virgin Galactic party, I met singer Sarah Brightman, but she has now joined the exclusive club of travellers paying over a hundred times more for a week in orbit on the International Space Station.
Wednesday 25 September
Mojave
California
The sun is rising over the windy, scrubby desert as we turn in at a sign reading: “Mojave Air and Space Port – Home of SpaceShipOne.”
This is where the dream began. Back in 2004, aircraft designer Burt Rutan flew his rocketplane into space, twice in the course of a fortnight, to win the Ansari X Prize for sending the first human into space on a privately funded mission.
Our coach parks by the descendant of the original plane, Virgin Galactic’s SpaceShipTwo, which will take two crew and six passengers to space. The first flights could begin next year. When they do, SpaceShipTwo will be strapped underneath the twin-fuselage “mother ship” that will carry it to an altitude of 15 kilometres, where it will be released. Fittingly, the carrier-plane is named Eve, after Branson’s mother, who was a pioneering glider pilot.
After a few seconds, the pilot on board SpaceShipTwo will ignite the rocket engine. It will streak ahead of the mother ship, breaking the sound barrier. Then the pilot will pull back on the stick, and we will head almost vertically upwards. In 90 seconds, we will climb from 15 kilometres to 100 kilometres and into space. After the engine cuts out, our momentum will continue to carry us up for a few minutes – the maximum altitude won’t be known accurately until SpaceShipTwo completes its current tests – before gravity reasserts its authority, and we will head back down to Earth.
For now, the planes are dwarfed by the vast hangar behind. Here, the laconically named “The Spaceship Company” can construct two mother ships and three spaceplanes at once. We crowd the remaining floor space, as the world’s largest ever gathering of space-folk: exactly 300 future astronauts, along with 400 guests. Some have been waiting since the first tickets were sold in 2004.
Virgin Galactic’s top brass appear on the platform, looking rather glum. They have had to cancel a powered flight of SpaceShipTwo – only its third – because it is too windy.
There’s still plenty to come, though, as we are treated to a behind-the-scenes view of the project. In an adjacent hangar, components of both vehicles are constructed from composite materials: shaped in a mould and then heat-treated to cure and harden them. In the world’s pioneering spacecraft assembly line, there isn’t a robot in sight: this intricate work is all undertaken meticulously by hand.
We are ushered into the hangar to be shown something that very few people even in The Spaceship Company have seen. “Strictly no photography,” we are warned. In here, the seats are being designed, and it is no small challenge. They must be comfortable for take-off and landing; be able to support us sitting upright for the 4g we will experience as the rocket blasts us into space; be able to fold flat for our weightless phase; and be a relaxing couch for the 6g crushing us on re-entry. The seat must be adjustable in width and height to accommodate all astronauts, while keeping the eyeline at the same level so everyone can see out of the windows. There are no height or weight restrictions on Virgin Galactic.
Lunch is a time to catch up with my fellow-travellers. is “the Finnish astronaut”. He’s so keen on the flight that he has remortgaged his house and is selling branded clothing to pay off the balance on his ticket before he flies. I buy a woollen hat reading “Suomalainen Astronautti” – if it’s warm enough for nights in Finland, it’s got to be good for stargazing at home.
Others prefer to be anonymous. I meet a family who have booked a whole flight for themselves. Their desire for privacy is because they have encountered hostility at home for overindulging their teenage children with this trip and for polluting the atmosphere. In fact, each Virgin Galactic flight will be relatively clean, compared with other ways of spending $250,000 on vacation: its carbon footprint, per person, is only 0.8 tonnes – from London to New York.
The briefing continues with medics recommending how to be fit for the flight: nothing too “right-stuff” about it, I’m pleased to hear. Lose weight and keep fit, with lots of cardiovascular exercise. And the pilots describe what it is like to fly the carrier-plane – “it handles very much like the U2 spyplane” – and SpaceShipTwo as its powers through the sound-barrier (only the second commercial plane to travel faster than Mach 1; the first being Concorde).
Branson enthuses over future plans, starting with orbital platforms and moving on to lunar excursions. The audience has a single question for him, shouted out in unison: “When?” We are all too aware that Virgin Galactic flights are now running years behind the original schedule. But the powered flights have boosted morale. Branson says he expects a test flight into space before the end of February; and passenger flights to start by the middle of next year.
The day closes back in Los Angeles at the legendary annual Virgin Galactic party, held at the , right under the belly of NASA’s space shuttle . Will the five Virgin spaceships develop their own personalities, I wonder? And, will the SpaceShipTwo that flies me to space become the centrepiece of an exhibit, proudly proclaiming it has flown not just dozens, but thousands of people beyond our planet?
Thursday 26 September
Bob Hope airport, Burbank
California
“It’s always good to have a doctor on board,” I joke to my companion, who introduces himself as El Salvador’s lone astronaut, a neurosurgeon by day and an amateur astronomer by night.
This is no ordinary flight. I’m on board the Zero-G plane, which will introduce us to weightlessness. Colloquially known as the Vomit Comet, it’s a modified Boeing 727, which will climb and drop at an angle of 45 degrees in 15 parabolic loops to make us weightless for 30 seconds at a time. Inside, the floor, walls and ceiling constitute a large padded cell to ensure soft landings as we pull out of each period of free fall, and are squashed to the floor with a force of 1.8g.
At the party last night, Virgin Galactic’s CEO George Whitesides had told me the key to defying the effect of the Vomit Comet is to stare intently at a spot on the ceiling during the high-g phases. “Even if someone’s talking to you, don’t turn your head,” Whitesides said. For me, at least, that advice works well.
As the plane rises to the top of the first loop, we are treated to Mars gravity. I’m one-third of my weight on Earth; but I feel like a feather – a slight jump and I hit the ceiling. The next two loops are moon gravity. My neighbours and I are confused – surely this is zero-g already? We feel we could just float away: it strikes me that it’s just as well the Apollo astronauts had heavy spacesuits, or they really would have spent half their time off the ground.
Actual zero-g comes as a totally unreal experience. One moment, I’m lying on my back. The next, I’m levitating – as if someone has waved a magic wand. Everyone gasps. The first couple of weightless loops are totally disorientating: I touch the floor, and fly all the way to the ceiling, where another push leads to me yo-yoing.
I control my bounces, and float in the middle of the cabin. With nothing to touch, you are literally suspended and helpless. Instinctively, I do what we have been warned not to – try to swim. You don’t move, of course; and your limbs just crash into everyone else.
“Instinctively, I do what we’ve been warned not to – try to swim. You don’t move, of course”
Eventually, I manage to perfect the art of somersaults in mid-air. And a long push down the cabin has me flying like Superman. I can see why Virgin astronauts are encouraged to prepare for the weightless experience, otherwise we could spend our precious few minutes in space just thrashing around. (And I do hope my fellow astronauts will have practised their weightless manoeuvres too!)
After the penultimate float, when I’m perfecting my flight up and down the cabin, someone shouts “blood!”. Instinctively, I touch the top of my head – and see my encrimsoned fingers. I have no idea what I bumped into. But it’s time to sit out the rest of the ride, while the neurosurgeon treats my superficial wound.
Back at the debriefing, the door is flung open, and Branson sticks his head in. “You guys are ahead of me here,” he declares – a sentiment that’s surely rare for him. He’s going up on the next flight. Pointing to my head, I advise him to keep his speed down – perhaps foolish advice for one of this planet’s high-fliers.
And so it’s back to terrestrial reality. Sharing my experiences with fellow British ticket-holder , he says his inspiration was Biggles, the fictional flying ace. “That’s why I went into aerospace and travelled the world,” says Ranger. He is now an entrepreneur, working with a team that hopes to win the next X Prize for sending a privately built rover to the moon. “You know what we are all actually doing?” says Ranger. “We are living out our childhood dreams.”
This article appeared in print under the headline “The Astronaut Diaries”
