Man On The Moon

As Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin hurtled towards their landing spot on an untrodden-surface in a souped-up tin can, much much further from home than anyone had ever been before, I wonder if either had one of those “what am I doing here?” moments. When for a split second you step outside your body and dispassionately observe yourself doing something perhaps rather extraordinary, and you seem to have the time to reflect on all the past decisions, coincidences, societal forces and accidents of birth that led to you, yourself, being here, doing this.

Or were they being wholly at one with the lunar lander, their instruments, the voice of Ground Control, the view of the arid crater-pocked ground rushing past and rising to meet them, their years of training as pilots and then as astronauts culminating in this point in their lives, the sheer volume of data to process and lightning-fast decisions required taking up all of their senses and more?

The new addition to my veg garden. 

I can't of course claim to have been in exactly that situation. The names of those astronauts who have landed on the Moon are well documented. But although being one of those whose lives are necessarily bound to the Earth's surface, I did recently find myself in a situation which required a (probably) similar blend of navigational control, mastery of machine, clear assessment of risk and fine judgment. All my prior experience of trailer-reversing was as if training for this moment, a series of sessions in the simulator before the real thing.

The mission had seemed like nothing out of the ordinary. I needed more horse manure and had found someone who wanted to get rid of some. I drove there with Shauna who is helping me this week, my trailer in tow, and up the steep extremely bumpy single-lane track to discover that to get into the stables yard the left turn was so sharp I had to go past the turn-off and then reverse the car and trailer in, again up a fairly steep bend. This was a taster of what was to come. I got the trailer past the horses and up to the pile and for the next half an hour we shovelled it full of manure. The horse-owner had suggested that to avoid bringing the trailer up here we take the poo all the way down to the road one wheelbarrow at a time. I decided against that - it would have been exhausting and taken all day.

I thought the turning circle of the Jimny was tight enough to take it round the acute bend so I could drive forwards down the heavily-potholed track to the road and freedom. Unfortunately this was disproved on exiting the yard and attempting the manoeuvre. The rain made visibility poorer but I can't blame it all on that. Thankfully the car had enough grunt to reverse the now-laden trailer back up a bit towards the yard, then pull forwards and left up the track (which ended a little further up). I now had to reverse car, trailer and dung about a hundred metres down the precipitous and winding track with steep sides and potholes so large that much of it was more pothole than track.

The fact that I am typing this is evidence that I, at least, made it home. I am happy to say so did Shauna, the car, the trailer and the horse muck. The mission was a complete success. We got the telescope out later that night as the Moon rose between the trees to the west and observed those craters that Aldrin, Armstrong and ten others walked amongst over 45 years ago. Should there be another manned trip to the Moon in the next decade or two I feel that my candidacy would be well supported by such a case study of navigational excellence under pressure as the events described above amply demonstrate. ESA, take note.

My one giant turnip.

My two giant half-turnips