Surprisingly interesting. I hadn't appreciated the importance of the lunar rover to moon exploration. And small details of the rover, such as its fender, turned out to be critical! I only wish that Swift had gone more into some of the technical details. (The notes at the end do have a few gems, though.)
> the Sunset Crater area seemed an ideal lunar analog, and Cinder Lake especially so. Or it would be, with some modification. In July 1967 USGS crews dug forty-seven holes in the field, stuffed them with dynamite and fertilizer, and blew them into craters ranging from five feet to forty-three feet in diameter. When the dust and cinders settled, the holes were a match in size and placement for those on the moon’s Sea of Tranquility—a very specific area, five hundred feet square, that the Survey itself had recommended for the first Apollo landing. Three months later, the team added ninety-six craters to the original forty-seven, expanding the field to eight hundred feet on a side.
> “One of the main lessons we learned here, just as a practical thing, was that when you look at a picture taken from overhead, you see all the craters on the moon,” Kestay said. “They’re just obvious.” He raised his voice over the sound of our crunching. “When you’re walking on the surface, you don’t see them.”
> we passed a bright white rock resting on top of the cinders, then another chunk of light-colored stone that seemed out of place. “Sandstone,” Kestay said. “This particular patch was used as a final test of the astronauts’ geological understanding. The scientists seeded it with all sorts of rocks that put together a story that the astronauts were supposed to sort out, to figure out what was going on.”
> The Survey built a third field an hour south of Flagstaff in February 1970, after it became clear that snow and northern Arizona’s winter cold rendered these first two unusable for several months a year. Again using dynamite, it blasted 362 overlapping craters into thirty-five acres of desert hardpan. Later in the year, fourteen new craters were added. Black Canyon, as the training ground was known, has disappeared without a trace. A subdivision occupies the spot today.
> Science had been a stated aim of the lunar program from the start, but no one science had been identified as its focus. “You had astronomers and physicists who thought it would be great to be able to make observations from up there,” Kestay said. “Shoemaker said, ‘No. We’re doing geology.’ And there are places in history where a single individual’s force of will tips things.”
> It was nowhere near NASA’s 400-pound target for both rover and SSE, however. In fact, it missed it by nearly 25 percent—LRV-1 alone weighed just over 464 pounds, and its deployment gear another thirty. The excess would, by Houston’s reckoning, cost the lunar module nearly ten seconds of hover
> The rover’s instrument display included a hinged, triangular “sun shadow device,” essentially a sundial that, once unfolded, threw a needle-thin, precise shadow onto a graph etched into the panel’s face. Scott parked the rover so that it faced down-sun, and this reading gave Houston the information it needed to “zero in” the LRV’s navigation. Or most of it: The sun shadow device’s accuracy depended on the rover being perfectly level. A slight tilt to the right or left, or nose- or tail-high, threw off the angle of the sun to the sundial. So, attached to the console’s left side was a two-way gauge that displayed the rover’s angles of roll and pitch.
> They were close to Hadley Base when Scott spied a chunk of black basalt sitting by itself on the light gray plain, so seemingly out of place that it brought to mind the rocks the Geological Survey had seeded among the craters at Cinder Lake. He wanted that rock—but knew that if he asked for permission to stop, Allen would turn him down: Mission Control wanted them back to set up the remote ALSEP array, which would take hours. Instead, he pretended he was having trouble with his seat belt. “Okay, we’re stopping,” Irwin said—then, catching on to his partner’s ruse, launched into a monologue about the small craters and rocks around them. Scott was back quickly. The rock would become known as the “seat belt basalt.”
> In the weeks after the mission, the Marshall Center obsessed over the rover’s minor failures—in particular, the front steering glitch during the first EVA. … They never pinned it down. Houston, not quite so obsessive, blamed “MEF,” or mysterious evil forces.
> Scott and Irwin spent eighteen hours and thirty-five minutes outside—impossible without the rover. They drove for just over three hours, during which they covered 17.25 miles. At one point, they ranged 3.2 miles from their lander. They brought back 170.4 pounds of samples. Millions of Americans watched the rover in action, and the media covered Falcon’s three-day stay with gusto.
> For the second mission in a row, the LRV had lost half its steering for reasons unclear, only to have it return just as mysteriously.
> “We gave a wide berth to the rim of that crater, because if you fell in, you wouldn’t be able to get back out,” Duke recalled. “You get down in a crater like that, and it sloughs. You can’t get traction. The angle of repose is such that if you try walking out, you keep sliding backward. We had to be very careful, because we had no rescue.”
> As he was moving around the rover, Young passed too close to the right rear wheel, and either his suit or a hammer jutting from his shin pocket snagged the fender. With a spray of dust, its sliding extension snapped off. “There goes the fender,” he said. On the drive to Station 9, neither astronaut mentioned the effects of the missing piece, but they were pronounced. Without that few inches of fiberglass, the right rear wheel flung a steady arc of dirt over the rover and its passengers
> mission commander Eugene Cernan would walk too close to the right rear wheel with a hammer sticking out of his shin pocket. And that a moment later he’d groan, “Oh, you won’t believe it.” It was a near-exact duplication of John Young’s misstep, only worse: Cernan had been out of the Challenger for only an hour and forty-one minutes; he and his lunar module pilot, Harrison “Jack” Schmitt, had barely started their mission.
> It was when they dusted themselves off before reentering the lander that the full impact of the fender’s loss came home to them. Their suits were filthy. Dust filled their pockets, sweatered their backpacks, and had insinuated itself into the complex aluminum rings locking their gloves and helmets into place. Those rings could take only so much dust before they started seizing. And the stuff was both abrasive and so fine that it smeared: wiping it from their helmet visors scratched the delicate coatings, which threatened to play hell with visibility. Worst of all, it was only a matter of time before the rover’s dust-covered electronics melted down.
> They were to take four laminated pages from their Geological Survey map package, and duct tape them into a single sheet measuring fifteen by ten and a half inches. Then they were to scavenge the clamps from the lunar module’s pair of hang-anywhere task lights, and use those to pin the maps to the fender. … Gene Cernan’s replacement fender for LRV-3, designed overnight by a team in Houston. Fashioned from Geological Survey maps, duct tape, and clamps, it wasn’t much to look at—but it worked
> “The LRV was not a huge technical challenge. It was a timetable challenge. Every day, something would come up that threatened to make the schedule slip. “But you had a lot of people on this thing, all trying to get it done in seventeen months. And it all came together.”
> I’ll admit that it took me awhile to “get” the harmonic drive, and I hope I’ve walked you through it effectively. If I’ve fallen short, I suggest you look up the Wikipedia page on “Strain wave gearing,” where you’ll find a simple GIF that puts the device in motion—and once you see that, it might make more sense.
> Morea told me several times that he was concerned from the start that Boeing’s bid undershot the project’s actual expenses. The “Cost Chronology” indicates how concerned he was: it says that his office tried to keep $40 million as the project’s cost in its budgetary docs but was told by headquarters it couldn’t do that. Instead, in December 1969 it submitted a program operating plan estimate, or POP, of $32.2 million for the LRVs, which “represented a genuine concern for a probable cost escalation ... in the neighborhood of 50 to 60 percent of the prime contractor estimates.”