Packing for Mars: The Curious Science of Life in the Void by Mary Roach
My rating: 4 of 5 stars
This book has been following me around for about 2 years now. I read it at the gymnasium, when I’m tired or hurt and have to resort to the elliptical trainer, the device that makes the treadmill seem like a delight.
I had it with me in Grand Junction almost a year ago, evidenced by the restaurant receipt used as a bookmark.
And finally, I finished it, and it’s so fucking good.
Most people probably know Mary Roach from Stiff, the book about what happens to dead bodies. Experiments, practice surgeries, and juicing are just a few of the possibilities. Stiff has to be Roach’s most popular book, but I think Packing For Mars is better.
Granted, I’m biased. I love space shit. And I love seeing how the facts and whims of humanity have changed the science of space travel. It’s kind of the ultimate example of what I think Mary Roach does better than anyone, which is exploring those areas where science and humanity are in conflict and have to work together.
Here’s an example.
In 1969, two men walked on the moon. They left behind some garbage on the moon, including external catheters. One was a large, one was a lesser size. Who owned which one? It’s a closely guarded NASA secret, but because NASA ended up having so many issues later on with astronauts who didn’t want to admit their true sizes, external catheters at NASA have been renamed from Small/Medium/Large to Large, XL, and XXL. There’s no such thing as “small” anymore.
You’d think that being an astronaut would be cool enough that you could admit you weren’t packing a horse cock in that space suit, but I guess not.
Like I said, I loved everything in this book, and it was destiny. It’s got space in it. And sometimes it feels like a lonely thing to love space.
It’s like this:
Chuck Klosterman’s book Sex, Drugs & Cocoa Puffs has a chapter of hypothetical questions. This is one of them:
You have won a prize. The prize has two options, and you can choose either (but not both). The first option is a year in Europe with a monthly stipend of $2,000. The second option is ten minutes on the moon.
Every single person I’ve talked this over with chooses Europe. Every single person. Not only that, but they think I’m looney for choosing the moon, like I’m making the craziest choice ever made by a human man.
I disrespectfully disagree with these dum-dums. Here’s why:
1. I could, hypothetically, save enough money to spend a year in Europe with a $2k/mo. stipend. It wouldn’t be easy, and it might take a decade or more, but its doable. Let’s call it a total of $5k a month? That’s $50,000. Most people pay off a house or a student loan in that range. It’s a doable thing.
How much does a moon ticket run a person? Estimates are between $100 million and $1.5 billion. Even at the low end here, that’s fucking madness and not an amount I will likely earn in my entire life. Not to mention the fact that the reason the prices vary so wildly is because they’re price ESTIMATES. Because you can’t go. You can’t. No matter how badly you might want to, it’s not an option that’s on the table.
2. In history, there have been 12 people on the moon. That’s .000000011215% of the estimated 107 billion people who have ever lived. This isn’t to say that the moon is better because fewer people have done it, but to say that it’s an experience that has, perhaps, never been properly quantified and explained in terms of what it might mean or how it might feel. Let’s face it, most of those 12 men were pilots. Not categorically the kind of people who are renowned for being highly emotional and forthcoming with the potential emotional impact of standing on the moon. My point is, I don’t think we really know what it might mean for a person to stand on the moon. Whereas I do have confidence that I could absorb, through books and movies and such, a significant portion of the European experience.
3. “There’s nothing up there.”
I hear that one a lot.
If you’ve ever seen the night sky from somewhere far away from cities and lights, it’s a whole different experience. I once backpacked up to a really high spot, miles from any roads and any kind of streetlights or businesses or even homes. And the things you can see are incredible. The moon is like the ultimate stargazing outpost of all time.
Even if you think there’s nothing there, which I disagree with, it’s kind of like the way Karl Pilkington didn’t want to sleep IN a giant temple, he wanted to sleep in a cave ACROSS from it. That way he could look at the temple all the time. Maybe there’s nothing under your feet of interest on the moon, but I think the view would be the greatest of all time.
4. Nobody wants to hear about your trip in Europe where you really found yourself. EVERYONE wants to hear about your trip to the moon, even if you’re a spiritual dork who found yourself, people will tolerate it to hear about being on the moon.
5. Here are the current ages of the people who have been to the moon: 85, 83, 80, 85, 80, 81, 83, 85. The others are deceased. You’ll notice that the youngest living person who has been to the moon is 80 years old. In all likelihood, and here’s hoping that likelihood is defied, there will no longer be a living person who has walked on the moon very soon. And yet, nobody seems to be making a big deal out of that. We talk a lot about losing the Greatest Generation and WWII vets, but this small cohort of people is the last of the people who have ever touched down on a surface that isn’t Earth. That’s pretty amazing, and why you wouldn’t take the opportunity to join that group and tell people about that experience is beyond me.
6. I do think that one year in Europe would be a very nice change of pace for that year. But I think 10 minutes on the moon is likely to change the course of an entire life. Because it’s not like you’re just going somewhere different, where the coffees are tiny and bread is better. On the moon, you’re in a place where the rules of how your body works aren’t even the same. You will be, physically, further away from another human being than anyone has ever been, assuming you just get kind of magic-ed to the moon. I think that experience, overall, is something that has a greater potential to deeply and profoundly change a person.
7. Eventually, you have to go back to work. Your year in Europe will be up, and you’ll have to wake up one morning and go back to your regular life. And if you’re anything like me, you’ll have quite a bit less than $2k a month to spend on whatever.
That seems impossible to me. Like there’s no coming back from that. It’s part of why I always kind of thought that teaching would be an unhealthy profession for me. I can’t take the first day back to school. I cried the last night of summer. Every year, up until probably 11th grade. I may have cried on the day before 11th too, but definitely not 12th. I made it one year, at least, for sure.
Whereas 10 minutes on the moon, I think I’d end up with helpful perspective. When I was sitting in a terrible meeting that was going nowhere, I could space out in a way that makes the term “space out” super applicable.
8. There is no souvenir you can bring back from Europe that’s better than moon rocks. Again, you CANNOT buy moon rocks. They are a controlled substance, in fact. They were selling moon rocks on Thinkgeek, although you’ll notice these are pieces of the moon that broke off, fell to Earth and hit the ground. Which is still pretty cool, but just doesn’t have the same appeal as a handpicked moon rock.
9. I can see the moon most nights, and if I chose Europe, that moon would haunt me. I don’t have to see Europe most nights. Unless I’m watching Luther.
10. The moon is an adventure. Europe is, sort of, but it’s like the re-defined, adult version of an adventure. Like saying, “Oh, let’s have sushi from the OTHER place tonight.” The moon is a straight-up, motherfucking adventure like Indiana Jones would have or Spider-Man or all the people who I wanted to be like when I was a kid. There aren’t a lot of things in life that I would call true adventures on that level. There aren’t a lot of opportunities for them. This is one, and I’d take it.
Okay, last thing about this book.
I think Mary Roach (goddamn, science hero Mary Roach!) makes an excellent point about why space travel, and specifically a manned Mars mission is important.
There’s already a lot of talk about this, and it seems like Mars is the next big thing. And the problem isn’t getting to Mars, it’s getting there and coming back.
And there are lots of compelling arguments already. For example, the rate that humans could make discoveries on Mars outpaces what the rover can do to a serious degree. The speed at which discovery could occur with feet on the ground would be outstanding.
And there’s always a strong argument that tasks like this push innovation. What are some things invented by NASA?
-Cordless, battery-powered tools.
-Radial Tires
-Memory foam
-Adjustable smoke detectors
-Long-distance phone calls
-Improvements in artificial limbs
-Baby formula
-Computer mice
-Running shoes
-Phone cameras
-Ice-resistant aircraft
-Scratch-resistant lenses
-Invisible braces
-Grooved pavement
And it goes on and fucking on. Our lives on Earth are a lot better due to the kinds of things created for use in space.
It’s a sad thing that the only comparable push for such widespread innovation in such a short timespan comes from WWII. Pressurized cabins, radio navigation, synthetic rubber and oil, radar. All things that we use all the time, all created, discovered, or finding primary use in wartime.
And what’s sad about it is, we can set our own goals and push that innovation without killing people. I mean, it’s a very simple, no duh kind of point, but there you have it.
The biggest and best argument against a Mars mission has been, in essence, “Well, what about the problems on Earth?”
Which is valid, and Mary Roach dismantles that argument pretty easily.
Her point is that, yes, it would be awesome to spend billions fixing the problems we face here on Earth. But we won’t. We will instead spend that money on military equipment, another conflict. It’s not like we’re taking the billions we would be spending on Mars and instead spending it on these important things. We’re throwing it in a different garbage chute.
Her point is, if we’re going to blow a couple billion, why not have something to show for it?
And I agree with that 100%.
Mars! Let’s do Mars!