The following is an excerpt from the latest issue (II) of Saturation magazine. Saturation is a venue for the arts in the Antelope Valley publishing essays, poetry, fiction, and fine art. Find submission info at the AV Arts Blog.
Full color issues are available for $4 at Sagebrush Cafe in Quartz Hill, CA, at plays and events by Antelope Valley Thespians, or by contacting Nalin Ratnayake at quantumcowboy@gmail.com.
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Essay and Photos by Nalin A. Ratnayake
February 2011
The sight of the 1909 Wright Flyer through the falling snow is enough to send my mind racing. We take so much of modern life for granted that it is hard to imagine sometimes how far we have come in so little time.
The first controlled flight of an aircraft lasted a shorter distance than the wingspan of a modern 747 airliner. Yet just over a decade from that moment, the first fighter aircraft took flight over the battlefields of the First World War. Less than fifty years from that from the Wright’s first flight, humanity broke the sound barrier, for the first time traveling faster than the very air could move out of the way. Roughly a decade after that a man flew fast enough that gravity couldn’t pull him back to earth; John Glenn reached 17,500 mph to orbit the Earth. A decade after that, the Helios solar probes screamed towards the Sun for high-speed sensor flyby’s at upwards of 150,000 mph. The list of movement milestones in flight could go on.
It’s a cold, snowy February morning outside of Dayton, Ohio. I am on temporary assignment to Wright-Patterson Air Force Base for a combustion modeling training course, as part of my duties as a research propulsion engineer for a long-standing Antelope Valley institution. The last eight years of living in Arizona and Southern California have dulled the winter sense I gained from growing up in Boise, Idaho… now I really have to think as I attempt to navigate unfamiliar roads in my rental car through the ice and snow and fogged-up glass.
The security personnel are friendly and talkative, despite the early hour and chilly conditions. They tell me to pull over into the visitor control area. As I wait inside while they look up my information, I gaze out the window at the marvelous sight of the 1909 Flyer which now captivates me.
My papers and clearances are in order, and the two-striper at the visitor control desk attempts to hand back my badge along with my visit authorization. But I am still staring out of the window, oblivious. Finally, a 2nd Lieutenant also checking in gently taps me on the shoulder to get my attention. Embarrassed, I thank them both and exit visitor control, walking as if in a trance towards the cause of my distraction. In the glass of the door I see the two-striper’s reflection rolling his eyes as the lieutenant smiles.

The 1909 Wright Flyer, the world's first powered military airplane, just outside Gate 1B of Wright-Patterson AFB.
In this age, it is easy to get caught up in the technology. This machine went faster, higher, farther, or more cleanly than this other machine. Progress and advancement is beautiful, for sure; you will be hard-pressed to find an engineer who would say otherwise. Yet I can still appreciate the simple elegance of the now-primitive innovation before me.
Though obsolete to modern eyes, the impact of the Flyer’s seminal moment can be felt in almost every aspect of modern life. Two bike shop owners from Dayton, Ohio flew in Kitty Hawk, North Carolina on December 17th, 1903. The aftereffects of that day, enabled by aerospace technology, have allowed rapid transit of people and goods around the world. Our satellite system has made possible everything from GPS to the internet, weather forecasting, cell phones, climate monitoring, military reconnaissance, and celestial observation. Our cars are now safer because we went to the moon; the machining technology required to accomplish the most difficult thing we could imagine at the time did not exist, and so we invented it.
For the first time in centuries of dreaming of it, humanity flew. The benefits of that foray into flight diffused into all branches of manufacturing technology.
As these thoughts blaze through my head, standing in the cold and staring at the 1909 Wright Flyer, I realize that my life serves as a poignant example of how much of modern society incorporates transportation.
In just a few days, my life has crossed paths with so many different forms of transportation, blended together into one seamless weekend of visiting my family in Northern California and heading off to Dayton for the training.
From my hometown of Quartz Hill, I was dropped off at the Lancaster train station by my roommate in her car. I then boarded an Amtrak Thruway bus towards Bakersfield, the southern train hub of California’s central valley.
For those who look back on the Greyhound heyday with equal measures of nostalgia and nausea, I assure you that Amtrak’s modern thruway system evokes more of the former than the latter. Yet you certainly do meet all the types on mass transit — part of the fun, if you ask me.
The driver, a white ex-Marine sergeant, was talkative and tried to make conversation by telling us about himself and asking us where we were headed. A retired black steel worker with a grayed beard smiled and spoke of his daughter, about to be married in Fresno. A Hispanic farm worker mumbled in broken English of seeing his brother in Corcoran after five years. A woman of seemingly mixed race was on the way back home to Redding after taking care of unspecified personal affairs in Lancaster. And I, the South-Asian research engineer, was headed to Sacramento and then on to El Dorado Hills, to visit my parents.
Mass transit is the great equalizer — joining the lives of people from every corner of the American fabric, who may never meet otherwise. We are in motion together for a brief time – by a bus route or those twin threads of steel we call rail lines. Movement is about connection, about people, about life.

The Wright Brothers Memorial, Dayton, OH.
Those who pass through the Bakersfield train station will always note a large, marble globe which is suspended on partially submerged gimbals. The globe appears heavy, impossible to move. Yet through engineering artifice, even a small child may impart motion to this orb, and rotate the earth to see the various oceans and continents etched into the black stone. Carved in the base are the words:
Riches through knowledge. Knowledge through travel. — Edward J. Hogan.
Movement, motion, travel — all of which ultimately result in experiences which make for a better-rounded, globally aware, and culturally conversant individual. I was very fortunate to have had the opportunity to travel at a very young age with my family, scattered across the globe. It is now a need inextricably embedded in my soul – I travel abroad or to someplace new every year.
After I rode the Amtrak #713 San Joaquin northbound from Bakersfield to Stockton, I transferred to another thruway bus which connected me to Sacramento. After my visit to my parents, I flew from Sacramento through Denver to Dayton, after which I picked up a rental car and made my way to the hotel.
And the next day, finally, here I am with that same rental car — standing at Gate 1B of Wright-Patterson Air Force Base, checking in for a combustion modeling class which will enable better research methods of propulsion, which then, of course, will impart motion to vehicles in a ever more efficient and effective ways.
Movement is how I define my life.
My work is about movement, requires movement and enables movement. My escape from work is movement, in the form of travel. The machinery that allows me to communicate with family and friends around the world relies on movement for its very operation.
The journey of my being, the movement I impart, and the motion I experience, physical or otherwise, will take me to places of which I could never dream today — such is life.
T.S. Elliot said it best, in his poem “Little Gidding”:
We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.
No matter where my journey may take me, I will always be grateful for monuments like Wright Flyer. They remind us from whence we came, and make where we are and where we are going all the more poignant.
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