By Howard Roarke from Mt. Arvon, MI

Friday, July 31, 2009

For a special report I was allowed to go to the Kalamazoo Badger’s space center in Mt. Arvon, MI.

“This place is an absolute marvel of mankind,” was my initial thought.  Unlike the United States government’s space centers in Houston, TX and Mims, Florida, the Badgers’ space center is neither tourist-friendly nor attention grabbing.  But in retrospect, I can now see why I had never previously heard of it or Mt. Arvon.  Mt. Arvon is remotely located on the western edge of Michigan’s Upper Peninsula.  Arvon’s peak is not incredibly high, and as a result its entirety lies below the tree line.  Peering at the location from any direction, nothing can be seen but miles of uninterrupted Eastern Hemlock and Balsam Fur.  Not a single thoroughfare crosses through its custom made neodymium yttrium-aluminum-garnet laser walls.  The closest road is actually U.S. Route 41, which is over 12 miles west of the Badgers’ space complex.  It is quite secluded, quite isolated.  Until now, it did not even technically exist to anyone outside the franchise’s payroll.  But in fact the land was owned by MeadWestvaco under agreement between its board of directors and David Ellison.

You would think a place such as Kalamazoo Badgers' space compound is impossible.  From my helicopter touching down inside the complex, through the various maintenance facilities, all the way into my temporary home (the Outbound Preparations Facilities), the security was completely automated.  Along the walls and ceilings of each multi-colored corridor were tracks with eyebots cascading up and down their lengths.  The grounds are patrolled by robots that run on caterpillar tracks with weapon-laden turrets that rotate 360 degrees around its circumference and have no inhibitions moving along any other axis.  I was told all the security is monitored and developed in the campus's Research Lab.

The Research Lab was beyond my authority to reach, but I can only imagine its splendor given what I did see.  Almost all my time was spent in the Outbound Preparations Facilities (OPF) with a couple guys on the disabled list: RF Dave Lewis and 1B Frank Brock.  Inside its domain is where I trained, slept and ate.  Innovation was the norm throughout.  For instance, I (or anyone, I suspect) could easily get used to the alarm clock system.  At 9:00 AM in the morning, the lighted walls gradually illuminated, the dresser which was structured as a stack of sliding decks opened slowly with all preparations for the day neatly displayed, while simultaneously my cot lowered into the compartmentalized floor while another compartment adjacent to it opened and began to fill with the most perfect warm water for my morning bath.  Altogether a great start to the day.

The majority of the rest of my time was spent training to prepare myself for the time I would spend in the Cosmic Adapter for Excellence.  Due to various stipulations I do not have many details.  I can disclose the basics of what I went through: a lot of injections that vastly amplified my adrenaline and the most strenuous workout regimen I could ever imagine (to compensate for idle time in the capsule).  Since one can not safely simulate the experience of being bathed in cosmic rays in the lab, we underwent procedures where very specific parts of our brain were stimulated to mimic the experience.  Upon the assortment of wired sensors and syringes being placed and inserted on predetermined parts of my body, my system went into shock.  My nervous system immediately started to go haywire, as I felt random sensations and pains throughout my arms, legs and chest, all the while being able to see nothing but pure white and sweating profusely.  A few days of that and I already felt like a supercharged human being and started to wonder if time spent in the Cosmic Adapter for Excellence would be trivial.

Launch day arrived rapidly.  I was briefed in Mission Control on what to expect on our short trip to reach orbit, and the procedures to follow when docking with the capsule.  Shortly thereafter we put on our very advanced space suits that would process our waste, utilize the cosmic radiation and provide an infinite supply of precious oxygen.  If this was a science newsletter I would inform you on how it all worked, but all that matters is that it did work, which is confirmed by my safe return.  After Frank Brock and I lifted off in the Kalamazoo Badgers’ retro-fitted Soyuz spacecraft, it seemed like only minutes until we escaped Earth altogether.

Thanks to the people in mission control who calibrated the autopilot, docking was as simple as parking a car.  In docking, our spacecraft swallowed half of the Cosmic Adapter, instituted an air lock, and we then quickly entered it from the top to our respective space seats that would be our home for the next few days.  Once we sat down and secured ourselves, the capsule closed and released us into the emptiness of outer space.

The Cosmic Adapter wasn’t at all as spectacular as I had grown to expect.  The capsule was clear, however tinted with a mixture of blue, yellow and green.  Inside, besides the seats where Frank and I sat, there was a single console in front of both of us that gave of access to text messaging and a digital library of countless movies to watch and Playstation 3 games to play.  But, there was no need for these luxuries as I reveled in the powerful sensation of being bathed in cosmic radiation and stared awestruck at the vast wonders outside of the capsule’s tinted shell.  There I thought: why aren’t our radiated Badgers in first place?