Better a Scrub than Nothing

Around 1am I loaded my stuff into the car and began an unconventional path toward the space center. The errands would only put me further behind schedule, but they seemed a necessity. I hoped Walmart would have a step stool should I decide I needed the camera tripod higher than my 5'3" would accommodate to frame the shot just right. Loki was also sporting his low fuel yellow. Running out of gas in launch traffic seemed an incredibly poor way to spend the pre-dawn hours.

"The last night launch" is a title that has been tossed around several times since the shuttle program's conclusion was announced in 2004. It's a great way to drum up extra attention and interest in the liftoff, but those of us who pay attention to the business realize the true "last" won't be known until the vehicles are no longer flying. For all of our knowledge and planning, some aspects of spaceflight still remain beyond our control.

But this knowledge did nothing for the heavy sense of finality that weighted me as I drove northward. The announcement a week ago had changed everything. I liken it to the encounter with the broom-headed dog in Disney's "Alice in Wonderland". After eliminating the path ahead of her he walks around the obstacle Alice presents and continues erasing the road behind her. That's where many feel our Agency now is - standing on a patch in the darkness with no defined direction ahead and no ability to go back. Last to occur at night or not, this first launch of 2010 was the beginning of the final lap. And we now had no idea when we'd be on the track again after crossing the finish line.

I couldn't help but realize all of those things as I drove northward on roads far quieter than I expected to find. Once again I had to suppress the overwhelming array of emotions that has made the past week so difficult to endure. I tried to focus instead on the excitement of launch and a potentially final photo opportunity I sincerely hoped I would not mess up. I also attempted my own informal weather assessment by comparing the stars in the western sky with those in the east. What could the clouds tell me?

I spent about an hour on base alone before my three companions for the evening appeared with donuts and coffee. I had mixed feelings about their arrival. Part of me wanted to do this one alone; just me, my camera, and some mild sociable exchanges with whatever strangers happened to be around as I waited for the world's fastest sunrise. The rest of me became thankful for the company and the opportunity to pretend for a little while that I had friends again. The intermittent messages from old friends elsewhere as we sat parked in the VAB lot were also a welcome addition.

With about 15 minutes left in the countdown I decided it was time to brave the 50 degree weather and set up the camera. I was amazed how few other people there were around; how many vacant spaces existed between the OSB and the LCC and that I would have my vantage point all to myself. Just as I had gotten everything set up as I wanted it I saw streams of cars beginning to drive away.  With no shuttle to capture I attempted a quick test of the camera instead. It was easily the wisest move I could have made.

When I returned to my car I saw his neighbour was gone. The others has left me. No shuttle launch and now no good-bye - at least not one that I'd heard. I guess all people shouting "SCRUB!" from their cars sound the same.  Even the shared disappointment of having to wait another day will soon be just a memory.

I spent another hour alone at the office to let the traffic ease up before returning home. The next attempt may not afford me that luxury. I have no idea how to balance it, but I'm going anyway. For just a little while longer we're launching regularly,. And for now I still have a badge for one of the closest seats on the Space Coast. There's nowhere else on the planet I would be.