supply, and was significantly heavier than earlier models. The spacesuits were also improved: they were more flexible and could endure a longer time exploring the surface.
We were delivering more than President Kennedy had ever asked of Apollo. We were really hitting our stride and showing NASA’s full potential when it came to lunar exploration. After the dangers of Apollo 13, there would be one more of the simpler lunar landing missions: Apollo 14 would carry out the mission Apollo 13 failed to complete. Then we would take Apollo way beyond its original intentions. It was a strange irony, however. Right as we grew in confidence and potential, budget cuts were chopping the program out from underneath us.
Our crew felt ready to take on the extra work of an enhanced mission. Not only did we have extra time to train because of the delay after Apollo 13, but we had already been training together for several years. We had an edge. Dave, Jim, and I were already confident in our ability to fly those spacecraft. In fact, as a necessity, we overtrained. We spent a lot of time practicing all of the malfunctions and problems that might happen during a flight.
In the simulators, our training instructors would repeatedly take us through all of the major moments in a mission. The simulator game was just that—a game, with astronauts on one side and the operators on the other. The first couple of times, the instructors gave us a free ride and allowed us to fly as if everything was normal. Then they started to throw simulated malfunctions at us. They hit us with more and more crises until it all got a little crazy. Just as we finished one procedure, they hurled another malfunction at us. Our crew tried to solve multiple problems at once, and the first few times we killed ourselves. The malfunctions overpowered us, and we crashed and burned. That was the beauty of a simulator: we could die and still walk away to try another day.
Whenever you fly in space, the potential of death is always there. There was always the possibility that I might have to return from the moon alone. If something went seriously wrong on the surface for Jim and Dave, then it would be my only choice. I’d have no way to save them. It was something we never discussed, either as a crew or with the trainers. We didn’t have to; I trained to make the same spacecraft maneuvers to return to Earth whether I was on my own or not. Nevertheless, we all knew it was an unspoken possibility. We did train for other rescue options, where I would do everything possible to rescue a crew in trouble. If Dave and Jim were able to launch in the lunar module but were stuck in a crazy, eccentric orbit, I was trained to find a way to dock with them and rescue them if I could.
The intense training taught us that in a spacecraft you don’t do anything fast. Only a few things, such as a hole in the side of our spacecraft, required really quick attention. At that point, we would do something
Gradually, we learned to take emergencies in stride. The more we trained, the more we instinctively knew what to do when something went wrong. Although the training was still insane, we got on top of it and in control of it, so there was far less excitement when a red warning light came on. We trained for disaster. A normal flight should be a piece of cake.
The public, of course, only saw the end result: our flight in space. A good equivalent would be watching a football team play a game or attending a concert by a noted pianist. In both cases, you see the well-practiced finale. What you don’t see is the backbreaking hard work and the endless training it takes to get to that level. When the time came to give our performance in front of the world, we would be as polished as athletes and musicians on their big day.
Our mission could not afford to fail. We knew that many in the scientific community were distraught that the Apollo program was being scaled back just as it reached its full scientific potential. We also understood that we would be pleasing the scientists we worked with by performing more experiments. Yet that wasn’t our main reason to do the experiments. The pressure to carry out more science came strictly from within our crew. I not only wanted to do as much as possible personally, but also I never wanted Dave Scott to be in a position where he could say I wasn’t doing my job. Dave was becoming increasingly fascinated with geology as well and piled on his own share of science tasks to attempt. He and I became quite competitive in our scientific preparedness and the number of experiments we planned to fit in. Compared to prior Apollo flights, we really loaded ourselves up with chores.
I think a little bit of competition between us was a good thing. It was an extra incentive for us both: I wasn’t going to let anything get by me, and neither was Dave. We didn’t necessarily have to love working with each other to make a good team. In fact, the competitiveness made us do more. With Dave, I never felt I could say, “I’m a little tired. Can we stop for today?” I was not going to put myself in that position with him, and that working relationship made me do more than I might have done if I’d had a close buddy for a commander.
We accepted more and more science experiment proposals for our flight plan. If everything went smoothly, we’d end up doing more science than any other Apollo mission. Our philosophy was that it was easier to accept a proposal and then not have time to do it in space, than to add a new experiment during the flight. We jammed the flight plan with tasks.
Originally, I expected that during the mission we’d have to throw out some plans as too ambitious. As our launch date grew ever closer, however, I realized that neither Dave nor I would scratch a single science experiment. We’d become so competitive, we didn’t dare. We were a little overloaded and were going to be busy every second, but Dave and I would do all of the experiments because that was the kind of relationship we had with each other.
We had taken our geology training seriously. So seriously, in fact, it made me wonder what Deke Slayton thought. Deke was not a science kind of guy. He was a pilot through and through and didn’t care too much about rocks. Nevertheless, Dave submitted our training program to him for approval. Whatever his personal opinions, Deke agreed to everything we asked for. If he had any concerns about the amount of science we planned on top of all the piloting, I never heard it.
In the meantime, other engineers prepared the equipment we’d use for this ambitious flight. Although I wouldn’t be driving it myself, I found the work on the lunar rover fascinating. The rover was designed to address a fundamental need: without some kind of vehicle, astronauts would not be able to explore as much of the moon’s surface. But the rover wasn’t the only design that had been put forward.
During one of my visits to North American Aviation, I remember talking to some of the engineers over lunch, and they mentioned something fun they had out on the backyard that I could try if I wanted. When I agreed, they took me to the most bizarre flying vehicle prototype I had ever seen, a small, flat, circular platform, with a four-foot pole sticking out of the top. On the top of the pole was a set of bicycle handles, looking a little like a pogo stick. The engineers put me in a protective suit, strapped me into a safety harness, then asked me to stand on the platform and grip the handlebars. They quickly explained that one handle had a throttle control, and when I twisted it I would activate an air hose that blew down at high pressure from under the platform, counterbalancing my weight. It would probably be unstable, they warned me, so the harness was there in case the platform started to tip over.
I turned the throttle control and, wow, that thing was a kick! It took a lot of getting used to, trying to balance on a carpet of air as I revved it up and slithered and shimmied around. The vehicle was possible to master after some practice, but it took skill. With no control system to keep the platform stable, I had to use my natural instincts to stay upright. It was tough but great fun to fly.
Sadly, it was just a rough prototype of an idea, and nothing like that ever flew to the moon. It would have been a great experience to fly over the lunar surface surveying large areas much faster than walking would allow. But the budget cuts that whittled away the Apollo program meant NASA abandoned ambitious plans such as lunar flyers. Fortunately the lunar rover idea survived, although in a stripped-down, basic version of earlier designs. We also had to wait until the end of 1969 for the green light to develop and build the final version.
The Boeing Company had only about eighteen months to design and build the first car to drive on the moon. It was a crazily short amount of time to come up with something so innovative, especially since the lunar rover needed to fold up like a pretzel on the side of the lunar module for the journey to the moon’s surface. When it reached the moon, the rover had to be unfolded again and ready to drive in a short amount of time. It amazed me
