Road to Ubar Pa - Nicholas Clapp [20]
It was an improbable idea, but maybe the shuttle could look for Ubar. It couldn't hurt to ask. On a Thursday in 1983 I took a deep breath, called Pasadena information, then dialed the main number for NASA's Jet Propulsion Laboratory.
"Good morning. JPL-NASA. May I help you?"
"I'd ... I'd like to talk to someone about using the space shuttle to look for a lost city," I asked in an unconvincing this-is-just-a-routine-inquiry tone of voice.
"Oh ..."
A pause ensued. "A lost city in Arabia," I blurted, as if this validated my question.
"I'll connect you with Dr. Blom," the operator said in a rush, and was off the line.
An extension rang. Who was this Dr. Blom? The duty officer for fielding dreamers of Atlantis, hollow-earthers, the flying-saucer crowd?
"Ron Blom," said an affable voice.
Introducing myself to Dr. Blom, I managed to slip in that I had worked for the National Geographic Society and Walt Disney, hoping this would give me some shred of credibility. I think I scored a point or two as I (correctly!) alluded to the orbital parameters of the shuttle's flight path. "Could we talk further?"
"I don't see why not," replied Dr. Blom. In fact he was free for lunch that very day, provided I made it to JPL by 11:30. Scientists like to eat early.
Not far from the Huntington Library, the Jet Propulsion Lab also has serene, grassy grounds and a population of serious researchers, at the time more than ten thousand people working on NASA projects. As scholars at the Huntington probed secrets of the past, JPLers looked to the future, to revelations brought by the manned and unmanned exploration of space.
Ron Blom was clearly a serious scientist. A Caltech-trained geologist, he had a beard and favored plaid shirts and sleeveless sweaters. Yet there was an air of bemusement about him. At the JPL cafeteria, he thought I might enjoy watching rocket scientists work the salad bar. For $2.25 they could help themselves to whatever would fit in a little styrofoam bowl. They began by laying solid foundations of garbanzo beans, baby tomatoes, beets, and the like. Upon this they built edifices of romaine and spinach. Buttressed by celery and carrot sticks, their leafy constructs soared higher and yet higher, triumphs of structural engineering. As I headed off to the checkout counter, two scientists were debating the viscosity and slip-face factors of green goddess versus California ranch dressings.
"On me, Dr. Blom," I offered. This was a nice gesture, I thought. And it would have been, had not my wallet been empty. In my haste to get to JPL, I had forgotten to stop at a money machine. Not only was I going to take up Dr. Blom's time with a harebrained idea, but he would have to pick up the tab. I tried to make the best of it.
"Thanks, really. Dumb of me ... But how about this: the day we land in Oman to look for Ubar, I'll return the favor. I'll buy you lunch."
I was able to make good on this—seven years later. In the meantime, Ron was to prove a stalwart of what became an Ubar team. We spent a good part of that first afternoon chatting in his office, where I was put at ease by the message on a Post-It stuck above his computer terminal: "DARE TO BE STUPID!"
We started with my Operational Navigational Chart J-7, on which I had marked what Bertram Thomas and Claudius Ptolemy had noted about the possible location of Ubar. Ron was amazed that in our day and age this area was still left white, unexplored and uncharted. He filled me in on the system that could remedy the situation and perhaps even find Ubar.
Scheduled to fly on a shuttle mission eighteen months thence, SIR-B—Shuttle Imaging Radar B—would map selected areas of the world by beaming down a powerful microwave and then digitally recording its bounced-back return signal. The radar had a unique ability to see through cloud cover and dense vegetation. It could even penetrate dry sand and reveal buried features, both natural and man-made. It could create images