SR71 Blackbird
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Joined: Jul 2001
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From: Yorba Linda, CA
"There were a lot of things we couldn't do in an SR-71, but we were the fastest guys on the block and loved reminding our fellow aviators of this fact.
"Ripping across the barren deserts 80,000 feet below us, I could already see the coast of California from the Arizona border. I was, finally, after many humbling months of simulators and study, ahead of the jet. I was beginning to feel sorry for Walter in the back seat. There he was, with no really good view of the sights before us, tasked with monitoring four different radios. This was good practice for him for when we began flying real missions, when a priority transmission from headquarters could be vital. It had been difficult, too, for me to relinquish control of the radios, as during my entire flight career I had controlled my own transmissions. But it was part of the division of duties in this plane and I had adjusted to it. I still insisted on talking on the radio while we were on the ground, however. Walt was so good at many things, but he couldn't match my expertise at sounding smooth on radios, a skill that had been honed sharply with years in fighter squadrons where the slightest radio miscue was grounds for beheading. He understood that and allowed me that luxury. Just to get a sense of what Walt had to contend with, I pulled the radio toggle switches and monitored the frequencies along with him. The predominant radio chatter was from Los Angeles Center, far below us, controlling daily traffic in their sector. While they had us on their scope (albeit briefly), we were in uncontrolled airspace and normally would not talk to them unless we needed to descend into their airspace.
"We listened as the shaky voice of a lone Cessna pilot asked Center for a readout of his ground speed. Center replied:
November Charlie 175, I'm showing you at ninety knots on the ground.
"Now the thing to understand about Center controllers was that, whether they were talking to a rookie pilot in a Cessna, or to Air Force One, they always spoke in the exact same, calm, deep, professional tone that made one feel important. I referred to it as the "Houston Center voice." I have always felt that after years of seeing documentaries on this country's space program and listening to the calm and distinct voice of the Houston controllers, that all other controllers since then have wanted to sound like that . . . and that they basically did. And it didn't matter what sector of the country we would be flying in, it always seemed like the same guy was talking. Over the years that tone of voice had become somewhat of a comforting sound to pilots everywhere. Conversely, over the years, pilots always wanted to ensure that, when transmitting, they sounded like Chuck Yeager, or at least like John Wayne. Better to die than sound bad on the radios.
"Just moments after the Cessna's inquiry, a Twin Beech piped up on frequency, in a rather superior tone, asking for his groundspeed.
Ah, Twin Beech,
I have you at one hundred and twenty-five knots of ground speed.
"Boy, I thought, the Beechcraft really must think he is dazzling his Cessna brethren.
"Then out of the blue, a navy F-18 pilot out of NAS Lemoore came up on frequency. You knew right away it was a Navy jock because he sounded very cool on the radios.
Center, Dusty 52 ground speed check.
"Before Center could reply, I'm thinking to myself, hey, Dusty 52 has a ground speed indicator in that million-dollar cockpit, so why is he asking Center for a readout. Then I got it, ol' Dusty here is making sure that every bug smasher from Mount Whitney to the Mojave knows what true speed is. He's the fastest dude in the valley today, and he just wants everyone to know how much fun he is having in his new Hornet.
"And the reply, always that same, calm voice, with more distinct alliteration than emotion:
Dusty 52, Center, we have you at 620 on the ground.
"And I thought to myself, is this a ripe situation, or what? As my hand instinctively reached for the mic button, I had to remind myself that Walt was in control of the radios. Still, I thought, it must be done - in mere seconds we'll be out of the sector and the opportunity will be lost. That Hornet must die, and die now.
"I thought about all of our Sim training and how important it was that we developed well as a crew and knew that to jump in on the radios now would destroy the integrity of all that we had worked toward becoming. I was torn. Somewhere, 13 miles above Arizona, there was a pilot screaming inside his space helmet.
"Then, I heard it. The click of the mic button from the back seat. That was the very moment that I knew Walter and I had become a crew. Very professionally, and with no emotion, Walter spoke:
Los Angeles Center, Aspen 20, can you give us a ground speed check?
"There was no hesitation, and the reply came as if it were an everyday request.
Aspen 20, I show you at one thousand eight hundred and forty-two knots, across the ground.
"I think it was the forty-two knots that I liked the best, so accurate and proud was Center to deliver that information without hesitation, and you just knew he was smiling. But the precise point at which I knew that Walt and I were going to be really good friends for a long time was when he keyed the mic once again to say, in his most fighter-pilot-like voice:
Ah, Center, much thanks,
we're showing closer to nineteen hundred on the money.
"For a moment, Walter was a god. And we finally heard a little crack in the armor of the Houston Center voice, when L.A. came back with,
Roger that, Aspen,
your equipment is probably more accurate than ours.
You boys have a good one.
"It all lasted for just moments, but in that short, memorable sprint across the southwest, the Navy had been flamed, all mortal airplanes on freq were forced to bow before the King of Speed, and more importantly, Walter and I crossed the threshold of being a crew. A fine day's work."
- Brian Shul, Sled Driver
"Ripping across the barren deserts 80,000 feet below us, I could already see the coast of California from the Arizona border. I was, finally, after many humbling months of simulators and study, ahead of the jet. I was beginning to feel sorry for Walter in the back seat. There he was, with no really good view of the sights before us, tasked with monitoring four different radios. This was good practice for him for when we began flying real missions, when a priority transmission from headquarters could be vital. It had been difficult, too, for me to relinquish control of the radios, as during my entire flight career I had controlled my own transmissions. But it was part of the division of duties in this plane and I had adjusted to it. I still insisted on talking on the radio while we were on the ground, however. Walt was so good at many things, but he couldn't match my expertise at sounding smooth on radios, a skill that had been honed sharply with years in fighter squadrons where the slightest radio miscue was grounds for beheading. He understood that and allowed me that luxury. Just to get a sense of what Walt had to contend with, I pulled the radio toggle switches and monitored the frequencies along with him. The predominant radio chatter was from Los Angeles Center, far below us, controlling daily traffic in their sector. While they had us on their scope (albeit briefly), we were in uncontrolled airspace and normally would not talk to them unless we needed to descend into their airspace.
"We listened as the shaky voice of a lone Cessna pilot asked Center for a readout of his ground speed. Center replied:
November Charlie 175, I'm showing you at ninety knots on the ground.
"Now the thing to understand about Center controllers was that, whether they were talking to a rookie pilot in a Cessna, or to Air Force One, they always spoke in the exact same, calm, deep, professional tone that made one feel important. I referred to it as the "Houston Center voice." I have always felt that after years of seeing documentaries on this country's space program and listening to the calm and distinct voice of the Houston controllers, that all other controllers since then have wanted to sound like that . . . and that they basically did. And it didn't matter what sector of the country we would be flying in, it always seemed like the same guy was talking. Over the years that tone of voice had become somewhat of a comforting sound to pilots everywhere. Conversely, over the years, pilots always wanted to ensure that, when transmitting, they sounded like Chuck Yeager, or at least like John Wayne. Better to die than sound bad on the radios.
"Just moments after the Cessna's inquiry, a Twin Beech piped up on frequency, in a rather superior tone, asking for his groundspeed.
Ah, Twin Beech,
I have you at one hundred and twenty-five knots of ground speed.
"Boy, I thought, the Beechcraft really must think he is dazzling his Cessna brethren.
"Then out of the blue, a navy F-18 pilot out of NAS Lemoore came up on frequency. You knew right away it was a Navy jock because he sounded very cool on the radios.
Center, Dusty 52 ground speed check.
"Before Center could reply, I'm thinking to myself, hey, Dusty 52 has a ground speed indicator in that million-dollar cockpit, so why is he asking Center for a readout. Then I got it, ol' Dusty here is making sure that every bug smasher from Mount Whitney to the Mojave knows what true speed is. He's the fastest dude in the valley today, and he just wants everyone to know how much fun he is having in his new Hornet.
"And the reply, always that same, calm voice, with more distinct alliteration than emotion:
Dusty 52, Center, we have you at 620 on the ground.
"And I thought to myself, is this a ripe situation, or what? As my hand instinctively reached for the mic button, I had to remind myself that Walt was in control of the radios. Still, I thought, it must be done - in mere seconds we'll be out of the sector and the opportunity will be lost. That Hornet must die, and die now.
"I thought about all of our Sim training and how important it was that we developed well as a crew and knew that to jump in on the radios now would destroy the integrity of all that we had worked toward becoming. I was torn. Somewhere, 13 miles above Arizona, there was a pilot screaming inside his space helmet.
"Then, I heard it. The click of the mic button from the back seat. That was the very moment that I knew Walter and I had become a crew. Very professionally, and with no emotion, Walter spoke:
Los Angeles Center, Aspen 20, can you give us a ground speed check?
"There was no hesitation, and the reply came as if it were an everyday request.
Aspen 20, I show you at one thousand eight hundred and forty-two knots, across the ground.
"I think it was the forty-two knots that I liked the best, so accurate and proud was Center to deliver that information without hesitation, and you just knew he was smiling. But the precise point at which I knew that Walt and I were going to be really good friends for a long time was when he keyed the mic once again to say, in his most fighter-pilot-like voice:
Ah, Center, much thanks,
we're showing closer to nineteen hundred on the money.
"For a moment, Walter was a god. And we finally heard a little crack in the armor of the Houston Center voice, when L.A. came back with,
Roger that, Aspen,
your equipment is probably more accurate than ours.
You boys have a good one.
"It all lasted for just moments, but in that short, memorable sprint across the southwest, the Navy had been flamed, all mortal airplanes on freq were forced to bow before the King of Speed, and more importantly, Walter and I crossed the threshold of being a crew. A fine day's work."
- Brian Shul, Sled Driver
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Joined: Oct 2007
Posts: 3,315
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From: Mandeville, La
WOW! I need to catch that whole special on the U-2. Very cool stuff.
A little known fact about the U-2: At its maximum operational altitude of 70,000 ft (where most of the recon was done during the Cold War), its stall speed is just 10kts less than its maximum airspeed. How is that for on-the-edge-of-your-seat-fun?
A little known fact about the U-2: At its maximum operational altitude of 70,000 ft (where most of the recon was done during the Cold War), its stall speed is just 10kts less than its maximum airspeed. How is that for on-the-edge-of-your-seat-fun?
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Originally Posted by Vanishing Point,Dec 18 2009, 03:14 PM
Joined: Jan 2008
Posts: 9,570
Likes: 3
From: New Jersey
Originally Posted by S2Krazee,Dec 18 2009, 09:33 PM
WOW! I need to catch that whole special on the U-2. Very cool stuff.
A little known fact about the U-2: At its maximum operational altitude of 70,000 ft (where most of the recon was done during the Cold War), its stall speed is just 10kts less than its maximum airspeed. How is that for on-the-edge-of-your-seat-fun?
A little known fact about the U-2: At its maximum operational altitude of 70,000 ft (where most of the recon was done during the Cold War), its stall speed is just 10kts less than its maximum airspeed. How is that for on-the-edge-of-your-seat-fun?
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Joined: Dec 2007
Posts: 3,947
Likes: 8
From: Raleigh, NC
Originally Posted by Tedow,Dec 18 2009, 09:10 PM
Got Habu?
I've got a library dedicated to that aircraft. My favorite one is at the Boeing air museum in Seattle. It's a MD-21 with the drone attached in mint condition. The best part was that I had never heard of it and didn't see "SR-71" on the list. I was quite surprised to see it in the middle of the exhibit! They've got a very nice museum if you're ever out that way.