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Escorting the spacecraft...
Dec. 31st, 2004 02:51 pmThere comes a time in all endeavors when plans come face to face with the Real World™, and one finds out just how right-on-the-money Karl von Clausewitz was about the fragile nature of one's designs. (Of course, one shudders to think what might happen in the absence of planning, but I digress...)
The van picked me up at the Fili around 9:30 pm yesterday and drove me and some members of the French team to the airport, where the huge Antonov transport plane had landed shortly before 5 pm local time. Upon arrival, about a half hour later, I zipped up the various closures of my get-up and took a step outside.
Initially, of course, everything felt fine, as it might if you were to, say, step out of a warm building into the bitter cold for a short period of time. The only annoyance was having to keep one's head angled out of the wind so as to prevent the sensation that Nature was actively trying to saw one's face off. As time went on -- and we were there for what were possibly the longest 15 minutes, at one point, that I can recall -- I was pleased to note that the parka outfit was very effective.
I was under the impression that the spacecraft was to have been offloaded from the transport aircraft and strapped onto a flatcar by the time we got there. I was apparently misinformed, as folks were still scurrying about in preparation for the move when I got there. When things started to move, though, they went quickly. Here's a shot of the satellite container after it had been disgorged from the Antonov and slung by the crane:
The railroad car immediately next in the consist to the one with the container carries a structure called "the doghouse," due no doubt to its shape. It was in this abode that we were to spend the night, "we" being the Pinkertons, the French team, a Russian security person, and railroad personnel. Cables were laid between the container and our shelter, to allow the French team to monitor the health of "the bird" (as the satellite is sometimes referred to).
You may notice what appears to be grafitti scrawled on the ceiling above one of the members of the French team in the above picture. It turns out that crews that use this structure while escorting various spacecraft and launch vehicles write their names, along with some inspiring words, on some available piece of wall space. Here's a shot of the French team lead as he makes his contribution to this genre of art.
The only excitement during the trip occurred about halfway through, during a railcar reconfiguration that occurred when the locomotive was moved from one end of the consist to the other. The cabling between the container car and our car had to be rearranged because the two cars were swapped, and I found myself out in the biting, windy cold helping in the task. For all the world we looked like a crew of flashlight-equipped monkeys swarming over the railroad equipment, reaching into crevices and under plastic tie-wraps to reroute various wires.
Originally, we had been told the whole operation would take 6 hours, and thus, we expected to be finished by about 7 am (having left about 1 am... recall the "15 minute" timeframe mentioned earlier? It lasted from about 10:30 pm until our departure). In actuality, it took us closer to 8 hours to get the job done. At the end, the high bay doors of the полтинник slid open and the consist (with the locomotive now moved to the back end) was pushed into the building.
Upon returning to the hotel, I decided to skip breakfast (an ample bag lunch had been provided on the train) and took a hot shower instead. I then hit the hay for about 3 hours and had lunch.
I'm back at the полтинник, helping people get as much done as possible before 8 pm tonight, when the masses will assemble at the Proton club to celebrate the onset of 2005 and take whatever rest they can until lunchtime tomorrow. Management promises a double-shift team effort starting Sunday.
Cheers...
The van picked me up at the Fili around 9:30 pm yesterday and drove me and some members of the French team to the airport, where the huge Antonov transport plane had landed shortly before 5 pm local time. Upon arrival, about a half hour later, I zipped up the various closures of my get-up and took a step outside.
Initially, of course, everything felt fine, as it might if you were to, say, step out of a warm building into the bitter cold for a short period of time. The only annoyance was having to keep one's head angled out of the wind so as to prevent the sensation that Nature was actively trying to saw one's face off. As time went on -- and we were there for what were possibly the longest 15 minutes, at one point, that I can recall -- I was pleased to note that the parka outfit was very effective.
I was under the impression that the spacecraft was to have been offloaded from the transport aircraft and strapped onto a flatcar by the time we got there. I was apparently misinformed, as folks were still scurrying about in preparation for the move when I got there. When things started to move, though, they went quickly. Here's a shot of the satellite container after it had been disgorged from the Antonov and slung by the crane:
The railroad car immediately next in the consist to the one with the container carries a structure called "the doghouse," due no doubt to its shape. It was in this abode that we were to spend the night, "we" being the Pinkertons, the French team, a Russian security person, and railroad personnel. Cables were laid between the container and our shelter, to allow the French team to monitor the health of "the bird" (as the satellite is sometimes referred to).
You may notice what appears to be grafitti scrawled on the ceiling above one of the members of the French team in the above picture. It turns out that crews that use this structure while escorting various spacecraft and launch vehicles write their names, along with some inspiring words, on some available piece of wall space. Here's a shot of the French team lead as he makes his contribution to this genre of art.
The only excitement during the trip occurred about halfway through, during a railcar reconfiguration that occurred when the locomotive was moved from one end of the consist to the other. The cabling between the container car and our car had to be rearranged because the two cars were swapped, and I found myself out in the biting, windy cold helping in the task. For all the world we looked like a crew of flashlight-equipped monkeys swarming over the railroad equipment, reaching into crevices and under plastic tie-wraps to reroute various wires.
Originally, we had been told the whole operation would take 6 hours, and thus, we expected to be finished by about 7 am (having left about 1 am... recall the "15 minute" timeframe mentioned earlier? It lasted from about 10:30 pm until our departure). In actuality, it took us closer to 8 hours to get the job done. At the end, the high bay doors of the полтинник slid open and the consist (with the locomotive now moved to the back end) was pushed into the building.
Upon returning to the hotel, I decided to skip breakfast (an ample bag lunch had been provided on the train) and took a hot shower instead. I then hit the hay for about 3 hours and had lunch.
I'm back at the полтинник, helping people get as much done as possible before 8 pm tonight, when the masses will assemble at the Proton club to celebrate the onset of 2005 and take whatever rest they can until lunchtime tomorrow. Management promises a double-shift team effort starting Sunday.
Cheers...
