It's been a long day, mostly spent driving. This time I'm en route from Detroit, MI, to Columbia, SC. The main goal is to get me and the truck back home, but (again thanks to my wife) there's some extra time built into the journey. I was on I-75 for most of the day and am now in an Econo Lodge in an undisclosed location in eastern Tennessee with some KFC and beer. I'll skip over my stories about the new Against Me! song and sob story hustlers at a rest stop in Kentucky and get to the most interesting part of the day: an awesome technological artifact on display at the National Museum of the Air Force in Dayton, Ohio.

The XB-70A Valkyrie

If you're interested in military aviation history but you've never been to the USAF museum in Dayton, Ohio, you owe to yourself to get there at some point. As the official museum of the Air Force, they have access to a lot of unique aircraft that you just can't see anywhere else. I made my second visit today, specifically to visit the newly-opened fourth building housing the only XB-70 in the world. The "X" designation is given to aircraft that are experimental.

​The XB-70 is a captivating aircraft: graceful, powerful, and unlike anything else that was every built (well, with the exception of the Soviet's attempt to copy the design). It was the result of a perceived need in the 1950's for a long range heavy bomber to deliver nuclear weapons from an altitude and with a speed that would make it immune to being intercepted. The B-70 program was killed by the double whammy of the development of ICBMs (inter-continental missles could deliver nuclear warheads more efficiently than manned aircraft) and the development of increasingly effective surface-to-air missle technology that could bring down even high altitude aircraft. Although the bomber program was killed, two XB-70's were built as research aircraft. They flew from 1964 to 1969, one being destroyed in an accident in 1966. You can read about the development and history of the XB-70 on Wikipedia. This video also tells the story.

I've been fascinated by photos of the XB-70 since I was a little kid and it was a thrill to see it in person (I was delighted to find that many other unique experimental aircraft that I'd only ever seen in pictures were also on display in the new building -- really amazing). As a technological artifact, this vehicle marks the endpoint of the evolutionary trend of bombers going faster and higher. It was designed to fly at Mach 3 with a ceiling of 70,000-80,000 feet (depending on the source). Just over sixty years after the Wright brothers first flew their aircraft a total of distance of 120 feet at about 6.8 mph, humans had produced a flying machine that could surf through the stratosphere on its own shockwave at three times the speed of sound. 

The chess game of military aviation took design in new directions after the 1950's, leaving the B-70 as a design that was strangely both ahead of its time but also obsolete. The B-52 (which the B-70 was supposed to replace) is still in service, and emphasis is on producing bombers that can fly low  (such as the B-1B) and/or use stealth technology (such as the B-2) to avoid radar detection. The newly announced B-21 is a stealthy, sub-sonic design that aims to evade detection rather than outfly it.

I think the phenomenon of advanced "orphan" designs like the XB-70, produced at the very edges of technology but also not terribly useful, may be more common than we might guess. Technologies change, and once common ways of doing things often persist in niche roles. The "survivors" however, are not the most developed expression of a technology.  I had a 1987 Dodge Colt, for example, that had a very complicated feedback carburetor. Fuel injection has replaced carburetors in automobiles, but carburetors are still used in numerous other applications. But neither my chainsaw nor my lawnmower has a feedback carburetor like the one on a  1987 Dodge Colt. I can think of other examples. The most "advanced" examples of technology occur not at the end of a technological tradition, perhaps, but at the "peak" of its use. Just a thought.

Tomorrow I'm hoping to see a perpetual motion machine from the Civil War. It's going to be hard to top finally getting to see the XB-70.

Here are a few additional photos I took of experimental aircraft on display in the National Museum of the United States Air Force. Here is a map of building four showing the locations of the aircraft. Many of the "X planes" on this list are present.

Day Three of my Carolina Junket was one of "those" days: wrong turns, locked doors, and a quantity of frowns matched only by the abundance of miles that I drove. The North Carolina piedmont just wasn't that warm and fuzzy. I'll keep this post short in an effort to keep it from being too much of a downer. Let's just go with mostly pictures.

The Dragonflies of Wilmington

On the way out of Wilmington, I stopped at the Battleship North Carolina to finish my coffee. I had a lot of miles I wanted to cover, so I didn't actually take the tour. I took some photos of the dragonflies in the park, tried to avoid stepping in goose crap, and had a look at the outside of the ship. If you've never seen a World War II era battleship . . . it's pretty impressive.  It's a porcupine with guns instead of quills.

The North Carolina Piedmont

Driving from Wilmington to Charlotte takes you across the flat coastal plain and into the Carolina Piedmont, the worn down foothills of the Appalachian Mountains.  The main artery is US 74/I-74, which in some places is labeled "Andrew Jackson Highway" and in others "American Indian Highway."  I'm sure there is a story somewhere there, but I'm too tired to investigate right now.

Traveling through the Piedmont was a little bizarre for me. In some ways, it feels strangely homologous to the oh-so-familiar Midwest. There is a feeling of rural depression, where shifting economic demography has left so many towns, so many businesses, and so many homes in a sad state of decay. Where there is shininess, it manifests in the form of scattered McMansions and a veneer of chain stores and fast food restaurants. The towns I drove through reminded me of the northeastern Ohio towns of my childhood.

While the built landscape seemed familiar, however, the vibe did not. Places were closed, some people were rude (I'm looking at you, lady in the Albemarle McDonald's), and I just didn't feel the love. I'll try not to judge, but geez . . . the Piedmont was  buzzkill. It seemed like "home," yet it felt like I was traveling through enemy territory. Strange.

Some Free Advice for Aviation Museums

I want to preface this section by saying that I support all efforts to preserve aviation history and tell the stories of that history to the public. I like air museums. I go to every one that I can. I've seen many.

I visited the Carolinas Aviation Museum in Charlotte. They have some interesting aircraft on display (some are unique), and there are a lot of staff on hand to answer questions. Those are the good things. Here are a few ways that the museum could be improved (I'm not picking on just this museum, these are common issues): 

That's it for my griping. I'm going to get a decent night of sleep and have a big smile on my face again for tomorrow. You're going to love me, North Carolina Piedmont, I swear!

I spent Day Two of my Carolina junket on Topsail Island, a barrier island in the Cape Fear region . I was drawn to Topsail (pronounced "Top-sul" by the locals) because of my enthusiasm for aviation history and for searching for tiny fossil shark teeth. Topsail Island may be the best place in the world to combine those interests.

Operation Bumblebee

Topsail Island was largely uninhabited before being seized by the U. S. government to serve as a the location of a secret Navy missile development program dubbed Operation Bumblebee. From 1947 to 1948, the Navy and John Hopkins Applied Physics Lab built and tested rocket-boosted, ramjet-powered missile prototypes on Topsail. (For those who aren't that into this stuff: a ramjet engine uses the engine's forward motion, rather than a rotating air compressor, to compress air. Fuel is ignited in the compressed air stream, producing thrust.  Ramjets have to be accelerated to a high speed before they become effective.)

The goal of the Bumblebee program was to develop a ramjet-powered supersonic surface-to-air missile with a range of 10-20 miles. The Navy built facilities on Topsail to build and test missiles, and many of the structures associated with those facilities survive: the former missile assembly building houses the Missiles and More Museum; the concrete launch pad serves as the patio of the Jolly Roger Inn; the firing point control tower is a house; several of the photographic towers are also houses, while others currently sit abandoned. Missiles would be assembled in the assembly building, transported the short distance to the firing point, then fired over the water to be tracked along their flights via the photographic towers.

I didn't find all the towers, but I took pictures of most of the ones I did find.  Going from south-to-north . . .

I would guess that most people who hunt for shark teeth are in "bigger is better" mode. I have come to realize that I'm doing just the opposite: I'm looking for the smallest teeth I can find. Don't get me wrong -- if I lucked into a Megalodon tooth like the ones that started washing up here last fall it would be a thrill for sure. But it wouldn't take near as much effort as collecting these tiny little buggers that I spend my time actively looking for. Megalodon tooth?  Whatever. Try finding the ones that look like they belong to sharks no bigger than goldfish. 

The appeal of the small teeth to me is, I think, the "ah-ha" of locating things that everyone else has overlooked. Not to analyze myself too much, but I think the same appeal is also part of my approach to archaeological problems: I've always liked locating and using unspectacular sources of data that others ignore and finding ways to squeeze a little bit more out of less. It doesn't matter how many times others have gone back and forth across the same beach, there's still more information there to be found: the sexy discoveries in no way exhaust the landscape of data.

Topsail Beach was the best shark tooth beach I've been to in the Carolinas so far (I've also spent some time at Edisto and Folly). Over the course of about four total hours of intensive searching I picked up 40-45 teeth (some very wave-worn and/or broken). That averages out to about one tooth every six minutes or so. That's pretty good in my book. 

A Mailbox at the End of the World

If you drive as far south on Topsail as you can, then go to the beach and walk as far south as you can, you'll soon be on a new part of the island. The southern tip of the island has been growing at a rate of about 100 feet per year. There aren't any houses there (yet), just sand, water, dunes, and plants. It was a nice place to be. And it has a mailbox.

The mailbox in the image above (taken by me, today) was back a few feet from the beach, nestled just inside the dunes. I'm not sure if this is the same installation shown in these photos from 2013, but it's clearly a different mailbox. There are notebooks inside filled with messages left by visitors. I wanted to read some, but I had to get out of the open before a storm hit.

I like aviation for several reasons.  For one, the history of aviation is a fascinating entanglement of history, technological change, and cultural transformation.  The century following the first powered flight in 1903 was one of immense change on many levels:  the development and growth of aviation articulated with economics, politics, conflict, communication, science, and many other aspects of that change.  Powered flight was and is a big deal.

That is my analytical interest.  On a more visceral level, flying and the technologies we use to fly exert an emotional gravity on me.  I just like airplanes.  Period. 

This weekend I went to the annual air show held at Willow Run Airport in Ypsilanti, Michigan. The “war bird” show at Willow Run traditionally leans toward World War II-era combat aircraft (both flying and on static display).  There were a lot of interesting things to see and think about at this show, both in terms of the aircraft that were present and the cultural dimensions of what was going on.   I can think of a few other kinds of events where large numbers of people gather to look at examples of obsolete technology (car shows come to mind first), but it is kind of an odd practice if you think about it.  Why does this happen?  What attracts us to celebrate specific classes of technological artifacts but not others?  It clearly isn’t just “impact factor:” the rise of computer/digital technology has had an astounding impact on the world, but we don’t gather annually to watch a TRS-80 saving a file to cassette tape or to listen to the hum of a Commodore 64 booting up (or maybe "we" do but I don't -- I'm prepared to be proven wrong on this).

Based on the conversations that I heard around me, many people at the air show weren’t there because they knew a lot of aviation history or cared about the technical specifics of what made a particular aircraft “interesting” or "significant." Sure, many people (myself included) probably were there at least partially because of some technical or historical interest.  But I think that air shows exist as a cultural phenomenon because people connect with something that is kinetic, dynamic, and beautiful in these machines.  Or at least some of these machines.  I’ll try to illustrate my point with a comparison of what I saw in the reaction of the crowd to two different aircraft: a B-17 (beautiful) and a B-24 (not beautiful).

The B-17 “Flying Fortress” (top schematic) and the B-24 “Liberator” (bottom schematic) were large, four-engine heavy bombers of World War II.  Both were very important in the narrative arc of the war.  I would say the B-17 is the better known of the two. One could argue, however, that the B-24 was more “important:” it was produced in significantly greater numbers than the B-17, was faster, and had a greater range. It was used in both theaters of the war.  The B-24 is an especially significant aircraft in terms of the cultural heritage of southeastern Michigan: the plant created to build the bomber at Willow Run was the largest industrial manufacturing facility in the world at the time and helped shaped the history and identity of this region.  This is the land of Rosie the Riveter and key elements of the Arsenal of Democracy.

Of over 18,000 built, there are only two remaining airworthy B-24s. One of them was at this year’s air show at Willow Run.  Seeing it fly was one of the reasons I went.  It flew. I saw it.  I expected to be thrilled, but I was not.  It was kind of boring.  I think many of those around me felt the same way. No matter how much excitement the announcer tried to drum up, it seemed to a lot of the crowd like a good time to visit the port-o-john or fetch more lemonade. Why?  Why did the sight of one of the last surviving examples of this immensely important aircraft produce such a big collective yawn?  I’ll tell you what I think:  I think it’s because it is ugly.  This aircraft is a collage of mismatched features that, while perhaps important to its functional characteristics, make it an aesthetic nightmare.  The long, slender wing (which helped the B-24 achieve its great range) is married to a fuselage that looks like a cement truck.  Somehow the aircraft appears both clunky and fragile, like it could break apart at any moment just from the stresses imposed by its own homeliness. It's ugly.

The B-17, in contrast, is a beautiful aircraft.  First flown in 1935, it is to aviation what the Chrysler Building is to architecture:  a bold Art Deco icon that exudes power, grace, solidity, symmetry, unity, modernity, purpose.  The aircraft that is flown by the Yankee Air Museum out of Willow Run is meticulously restored and polished, gleaming like a diamond.  The four large radial engines (each with 9 cylinders of 202 cubic inch displacement and 0 mufflers) produce a fantastic rumble that is audible from miles away.  The aircraft played an important role in history, but it is a crowd-pleaser because of the way it looks and sounds.  Because of the way it makes you feel.  Because it is beautiful. (Here is some video I put on YouTube  - it doesn't do the sound justice; you just have to hear it live).

I’m guessing many people have thought/written about the emotional connections (or lack thereof) between human cultures and their technologies, so I would be surprised if I’m saying anything new here.  It would be interesting to try to understand why we connect emotionally with some machines and not others, why some machines emerge as icons or symbols and some do not, and how that affects technological change.  It isn’t all in the historical significance or the minutia of what constitutes innovation or improvement.  Those things may play a role, but there are aspects of human cultural affection that I don’t think you can ignore.  Technological development is a human enterprise.

Finally, I’m sorry if I offended anyone by saying the B-24 is ugly.  But that’s my opinion and I’m sticking to it.  If it makes you feel any better, I think the Bell P-63 Kingcobra is even uglier.  There are only four of those left flying, one of which was at Willow Run this weekend.  Interesting aircraft with an interesting history; emotional appeal of concrete.