Reality hits me as we
approach the American border – we are crossing a line that has never been
crossed before. I turn to Raheel to my right, and laugh at our whole
experience. Seven months ago, we didn’t even know how to cut steel tubing, much
less how to weld it. Six months ago, I thought the buggy could be built with
just $150. We’ve come so far.
Thursday morning at the US
Space and Rocket Center, dozens of teams are setting up. At our site, number
79, we unpack and assemble the buggy that we hurriedly put together at home. We
slide the hinge pin in, uniting the front and rear sections of the frame, and
nut-and-bolt all of the parts on. Seeing our fully assembled buggy for the
first time in its painted glory, I feel a wave of satisfaction. We receive a
lot of attention from other teams. I wasn't sure whether they are offended by
our plethora of Canadian flags or if they are curious about the wheelbarrow
wheel (which we had nicknamed the Skara Wheel), but man, the buggy looks good.
The welding blemishes were disguised by our hammered paint, the red accents
look sexy, and the sponsor stickers look professional. This is Canada’s High
School buggy. Our Creation.
Nancy and I sit anxiously
behind the starting line, watching Team Russia charge into the finish line in
their (rumored $30 000) buggy. Our assembly is a rather slow 47 seconds. We are
already at a disadvantage. The Puerto Rican team in front of us undid a pin,
let their buggy literally spring open, and sat on it in three seconds flat. The
NASA TV representative smiles at us, then he slips under his breath, “It seems
the key is to go fast into that first obstacle. I've been standing here all day
and everybody is getting stuck.” With only one drive wheel, the risk of getting
stuck was my biggest fear.
We listen and power into
the dirt mound at the sound of the loudspeaker signal, fueled by anxiety and
adrenaline from the cheering crowd. We hit the first mound and it acts like a
ramp giving us a foot of air. I notice our direction is skewed, so I
desperately steer sharply to the left in midair. This is a bad idea. As soon as
we land, the right wheel, now sideways, slams against a concrete mound, and
sends me lurching forward into my seat belt. (When I watched the race video
later, I saw the rear of the buggy swing over a meter upwards from sheer
momentum, almost tipping Nancy over my head. Maybe that’s why there was a deep ooooh
from the crowd.) I look down at my right wheel but in its place I see a potato
chip. I mean, this rim is so bent, it looks like it will collapse if another
pound is put on it. Not to mention the wheel alignment is completely off; the
two wheels point at each other nearly perpendicularly. Once the crowd dies
down, a soft hiss comes from the tube. A flat to top it off.
Failure.
We push the buggy back to
our tent, met with many looks of pity on the way. I lie down in the shade
without saying a word, exhausted. I feel my eyes begin to water, but I quickly
wipe them dry, remembering I am the team leader.
We spend the entire
evening making repairs, not even stopping for dinner.
Over breakfast the next
morning we go over the plan again and again: go slowly, make wide turns, hold
the steering tight. We roll up to the starting line, receiving many
encouragements from teams that remembered our rim from yesterday. Today we are
going to finish the Great Moonbuggy Race.
We push forward at the sound
of the air horn, but not with the same urgency as yesterday. I line the buggy’s
wheels up steadily with the same obstacle that cut our run short yesterday. I
pull both handlebars inward with a death-grip as the nose rises from the bump.
The buggy slowly makes its way over the obstacle. The audience cheers.
I feel a rush of euphoria
as we ride away. We go into the second bump much faster than yesterday. Nice
and steady, we make it over no problem. We ride the same way through the
remainder of the course, toppling over twice on uneven ground, but we save
ourselves by simply stepping over the side and stabilizing the vehicle. Through
the Ejecta Rays, the lunar crater, underneath the Saturn V, back up the hill,
through the undulating terrain, and finally though the finish line, greeted by
an enthusiastic crowd. I am winded by the time we finish, but the euphoria is
indescribable. 7:22. We did it. Mission accomplished.
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