Sled Driver

task of reaching for the Face Heat knob was a struggle. The conflict waging between
my senses was eased by Walt reassuring me we were level. Random lightning
illuminated the angry clouds around me like flash bulbs popping off on a camera.
Rain pelted the outside of the cockpit as if we were passing through a car wash.
Surely I should be able to hear the racket caused by the punishing downpour, but
the space helmet and the four inch thick glass in the cockpit muffled the outside
sounds. Only the strained rhythm of my own breathing accompanied my struggle to
right my tilted senses. I tried to engage the autopilot to reduce my workload, but the
turbulent conditions caused it to kick off after each attempt. I watched the wrath of
nature unfold just inches from where I sat and felt a great sense of comfort in the
solid construction around me.
It seemed like an eternity before the jet broke free from the clouds and soared
into a clear piece of sky. There had been no sense of motion while we were in the
gray mass below us, but now I instantly became aware of our speed as chunks of
clouds sped by at 350 knots. As a spinning top decelerates, it wavers and finally falls
on its side. If this were recorded on film and then run backwards, the top would go
from teetering to instant stability as it reached the higher rate of revolutions. My
brain accelerated in the same way as we bolted from the clouds, and it immediately
3ligned itself with our true flight orientation.
Breaking out on top of the weather was one of the untold joys of an aviator. In
one short moment, relief and happiness replaced tension and exertion as the act of
flying changed from a hellish nightmare to a beautiful scene of white cloud tops and
blue sky. I had been airborne a total of eight minutes and was exhausted. In another
ten minutes I would be trying to hook up with the tanker in the clouds I saw forming
in the refueling track. I said a couple of "Hail Kelly Johnsons" and realized I could
trust the Sled more than the weatherman.
I always had a healthy respect for the forces of weather; flying the SR-71 only
reaffirmed this respect. I often heard that some thunderstorms could build to
60,000 feet and the SR-71 made me a believer. Walt and I watched with amazement
as we finally broke out into the clear at 72,000 feet one afternoon over the South
China Sea.
We were cautious about penetrating bad weather, but we never worried much
about flying in icing conditions. The jet's surfaces heated up from friction between
the skin and the high speed passing over it. Even though there was no anti-ice
system on the aircraft, no ice stuck to the airplane due to the normal buildup of
heat. The SR had no weather radar and sometimes we ended up penetrating some
nasty weather.