Arnie Weissmann
During a year when we all feel the weight of the world upon us, there are two e-newsletters that make me smile when they pop into my inbox.
The very title of the first — “Reasons to Be Cheerful” — suggests why I look forward to it. It’s the brainchild of David Byrne, former leader of the band Talking Heads, and it instills a welcome dose of sanity and clarity in these difficult times.
The second is the Download, a newsletter produced by the MIT Technology Review. That may sound a bit more weighty, but in addition to providing a daily update on the wonders of the universe, in layman’s terms, it has a section I particularly enjoy called “We Can Still Have Nice Things” (subheading: “A place for comfort, fun and distraction in these weird times.”). It links to happy diversions like an article on the history of mashed potatoes, information about an online dating site for otters and the Kickstarter page of an artist who wanted to create a coloring book illustrating the tweets of Elon Musk.
We all need whatever we can find to leaven these burdensome times. And last week, I had an opportunity to experience what is perhaps the ultimate symbolic antidote to 2020: Weightlessness.
Or, more correctly, microgravity. I fulfilled a decadeslong dream by boarding G-Force One, a Boeing 727-200 that flies a parabolic pattern, which, in 15 30-second doses, gives passengers the sensation of floating.
I first heard about the concept from David Scott, commander of Apollo 15, who told me about a dreaded part of preparation for spaceflight: The Vomit Comet. NASA had dedicated a plane to fly astronauts-in-training in a parabolic pattern, with the downward curve calibrated to give a weightless experience (which was, in reality, falling). The experience was repeated up to 40 times in a row, with the result being a plane full of astronauts who invariably became sick to their stomachs.
The experience has been converted to a tolerable (to most) 15 parabolas by the company Zero G. Their plane moves around the U.S., following the sun — in northern states in warmer months and in the South and West in winter.
It, too, has been impacted by the pandemic: It was grounded from March through July. It flies now with a reduced passenger load of 24 (versus 36 in normal times) at a cost of $6,700 per passenger.
Matt Gohd, CEO of Zero G, which takes guests on parabolic flights to simulate zero gravity. Photo Credit: TW photo by Arnie Weissmann
Zero G pays travel agent commissions, the company’s CEO, Matt Gohd, told me. He said he was currently working with three travel agents who each want to charter the entire plane at a cost of $170,000.
And, in this age of private experiences, the plane has been chartered by as few as a family of five. Given that the total time one experiences in microgravity is between seven and eight minutes, each family member paid the equivalent of $255,000 to $291,000 per hour to be weightless.
Such people apparently exist.
I, on the other hand, was a guest.
To help one to adjust, the first parabola is “Martian”; that is, you experience gravity as if you were on the surface of Mars, feeling about a third of your normal weight. I was told by my coach, Ray Cronise, not to do anything strenuous on that dip, but simply acclimate.
The next two parabolas are “lunar,” one-sixth your normal weight. Great for doing one-arm pushups with your fingertips.
The next dozen are full-out floating. The experience is similar to the feeling at the apex of a high jump on a very good trampoline — that half-second moment between rising and falling — but this lasts for 30 seconds at a time.
It takes a few parabolas to feel even somewhat in control. You’re warned not to “swim” to avoid kicking other guests in the head. I spent the first few descents at or near the ceiling, but by the last one felt sure enough of myself to go into a Superman pose to fly horizontally.
The 30 seconds always passed quickly before we heard “Feet down, coming out,” at which point we’d lay flat on the floor and feel the 1.8 G ascent. It’s actually on the rise that you’re most likely to do something that will make you nauseous; Cronise told me to keep my head absolutely motionless during the climbs.
Xavier Andres and Shante Cosme, moments after they got engaged in microgravity. Photo Credit: Steve Boxall
In addition to the excitement of the flight, there was an unexpected bonus: A couple got engaged while weightless. The man had shared his plans with the crew ahead of time, and they warned him to tie a string to the ring — on a previous flight, a ring had floated away from a nervous boyfriend.
Toward the final parabolas, guests are given candy to release, chase and catch in their mouths, but most opted to keep masks on and just released the colorful candies to the whims of microgravity.
Social distancing is nearly impossible when weightless, and in the seating area, middle seats are not blocked. But temperatures are checked before boarding, air circulates every three minutes and the planes are wiped down between flights.
We were all issued branded cloth masks, and people wore them throughout the flight (although the newly engaged couple did take down their masks for a kiss and midair celebratory spin).
Only one passenger felt ill and had to sit down in the middle of the experience; Dramamine tablets had been made available preflight, and I had taken one.
The experience has drawn its share of celebrities; Gohd told me that Buzz Aldrin and Richard Branson have been passengers. But what I found most inspiring was that the late wheelchair-bound physicist, Stephen Hawking, had flown it several times, finding it liberating.
While I have had this on my wish list for several years, I think it felt particularly meaningful at this time in history. It’s a moment when we all could benefit by experiencing the incredible lightness of being.