Zero gravity

March 1–3, 2006

Sometime in winter

— Tema, hi. How would you like to...

— Of course I would!

— ...experience zero gravity?

— Absolutely!

1 March. 10:30 (I’m late). Star City

The control post at the Star City entrance looks like a cross between a cinema and a hairdresser’s. The soldier lifts the boom barrier manually, letting the car onto the premises.

Today’s programme: a medical and a training session.

You can spot some historic buildings on your way to the hydrolab. Gagarin lived in this 11-storey building:

There’s a centrifuge in there:

At my medical. The optician examines my eye through a magnifying glass:

— I am clearing you to fly.

A short history of homegrown spaceflight in pictures:

Here you can see some pieces of spacecraft that they train on in the pool.

The pool takes up the middle part of the building. The water is lit up through the portholes.

Inside there’s a model of an ISS module, astronauts and divers:

During the training session a major uses a ballpoint pen to explain the principle of how zero gravity can be achieved without going up in space.

— ...and we trace a parabola.

The flight is scheduled for the following day.

2 March. 08:00. Star City

Six a.m. wake-up call. As I already told you, the control post at the Star City entrance looks like a cross between a cinema and a hairdresser’s.

The weather is bloody awful. The snow began falling at night, we are in the middle of a cyclone. It’s highly likely that they’ll cancel the flight. However, they drive us back to the hydrolab. Here we play the waiting game. While nothing is happening I study the corridors:

DON’T YOU GET IT?

DO NOT SWITCH OFF!!!
EXPENSIVE EQUIPMENT IN OPERATION

We are informed that it isn’t possible to fly today. They suggest we try again tomorrow. The consolation prize is an invitation up to the third floor where we can view the piece of the ISS they’ve lifted out of the pool, the one the divers trained on yesterday.

Consolation prize offer accepted.

On the wall in the hall of the hydrolab there’s an epic work of galactic proportions called “Valerievich, would you look at that, a dressing table!”

3 March. 08:00. “Chkalovsky” airport

The weathermen have given us the green light. Hurrah.

The bus ride from the Star City control post to the airport takes about five minutes. First, we stop off at the hangar to pick up the parachutes. We then approach the plane, an Ilyushin II-76 MDK. They’re prepping the plane for take off by removing yesterday’s snowfall. A soldier is on top of the fuselage, sweeping off snow banks with a broom made of out branches, like the one street sweepers use. The others around him are also keeping busy. Photography is not permitted. But there was one secret military aviation facility I just couldn’t resist photographing.

Inside the plane the doctor checks our blood pressure. They put parachutes on us and sit us all down on the mats. The cabin is three and a half metres high. Aside from the tourists there are also instructors and cosmonauts here — it’s important for them to keep their skills fresh.

I’ve only ever worn a parachute on a plane before jumping. It’s a safety precaution, just in case. However, no one uses the parachutes for their intended purpose here. Nor is there any need for them when experiencing zero gravity, that’s why five minutes before the start everyone took theirs off and tied them down at the back of the cabin.

A session is called a “mode”. First, the plane swoops up suddenly, pressing you down into the mat with twice the force of your normal weight. You must remain seated, holding onto the handrail with one hand. My camera becomes awfully heavy, and while I can still lift my arm, lifting my leg is difficult. Then the weight subsides and a voice announces over the loudspeaker: “Attention!”

The next bit is hard to describe. It’s as if your whole body had swallowed some helium. Your hand on the handrail stays where it was, but your legs fly up towards the ceiling (as this happens the plane nosedives at the same angle, although it’s impossible to feel this happening from inside the cabin).

Photo credit: Sergei Novikov

During the second mode I understood that my camera was utterly unnecessary. After all, I was the one who was supposed to be having a good time, not my camera. By the way, it’s interesting that the camera’s auto-rotate sensor totally lost its shit. The photographs taken at zero gravity at an angle remained at an angle (I should write to Canon, they don’t mention this anywhere in the instruction manual). The sensor works perfectly back on earth.

Arses flew across the cabin — the instructors were throwing tourists at each other. Totally exhilarating.

Photo credit: Sergei Novikov

Down on earth this would’ve been a one-off thrill:

Photo credit: Sergei Novikov

Next, the instructors launched into a game of basketball. I was an upside down ball.

The only thing that’s fake about zero gravity in a plane is that you’re constantly pulled upwards (whereas the plane is flying downwards). You can’t hover motionless above the floor. But what you can do is push off the ceiling. And if someone gives you a shove then you’ll fly across the cabin along the trajectory they’ve set.

A mode lasts about 25 seconds. By the twentieth second (there’s a countdown in fives over the loudspeaker) you should be on the floor. If you don’t make it in time you could fall from a height of three metres and bang your head against the floor (don’t forget that your body weight is double at this point). That’s why the instructors start grabbing anyone who isn’t paying attention and bringing them down to the floor. The instructors thread a leg through the slings attached to floor to avoid becoming airborne.

One flights consists of a total of 10 modes. If someone starts feeling really shitty, they may stop earlier. In our group of 10 not everyone enjoyed the last five modes (but valiantly decided not to ruin it for the hardier ones).

We parted with a strange feeling of weightiness. There’s no doubt about it: I’ve got to go again.

My overall impression of the last three days is encapsulated by this wonderful picture by Vyacheslav Sysoev (the dissident Soviet caricaturist):