I’m still waiting for the VTOL version that can seat several passengers and park beneath a basketball court.
KomatoesII on
Habu
Eyerex on
Not sure where i watched it but saw a interview with a Blackbird pilot that once they got a radio message that they needed to divert as another aircraft was in the area, a bit confused what could be flying about the same height the pilot changed direction and then got to see Concorde fly pass and he was a bit miffed that he was sitting there eating baby food via a straw while everyone on Concorde was eating salmon and sipping champagne at the time
Confident_Natural_42 on
It never got any cooler than that. 🙂
Confident_Ice_1806 on
Thunderbirds are go!
RudyRusso on
There were a lot of things we couldn’t do in an SR-71, but we were the fastest guys on the block and loved reminding our fellow aviators of this fact. People often asked us if, because of this fact, it was fun to fly the jet. Fun would not be the first word I would use to describe flying this plane. Intense, maybe. Even cerebral. But there was one day in our Sled experience when we would have to say that it was pure fun to be the fastest guys out there, at least for a moment.
It occurred when Walt and I were flying our final training sortie. We needed 100 hours in the jet to complete our training and attain Mission Ready status. Somewhere over Colorado we had passed the century mark. We had made the turn in Arizona and the jet was performing flawlessly. My gauges were wired in the front seat and we were starting to feel pretty good about ourselves, not only because we would soon be flying real missions but because we had gained a great deal of confidence in the plane in the past ten months. Ripping across the barren deserts 80,000 feet below us, I could already see the coast of California from the Arizona border. I was, finally, after many humbling months of simulators and study, ahead of the jet. I was beginning to feel a bit sorry for Walter in the back seat. There he was, with no really good view of the incredible sights before us, tasked with monitoring four different radios. This was good practice for him for when we began flying real missions, when a priority transmission from headquarters could be vital. It had been difficult, too, for me to relinquish control of the radios, as during my entire flying career I had controlled my own transmissions. But it was part of the division of duties in this plane and I had adjusted to it. I still insisted on talking on the radio while we were on the ground, however. Walt was so good at many things, but he couldn’t match my expertise at sounding smooth on the radios, a skill that had been honed sharply with years in fighter squadrons where the slightest radio miscue was grounds for beheading. He understood that and allowed me that luxury.
Just to get a sense of what Walt had to contend with, I pulled the radio toggle switches and monitored the frequencies along with him. The predominant radio chatter was from Los Angeles Center, far below us, controlling daily traffic in their sector. While they had us on their scope (albeit briefly), we were in uncontrolled airspace and normally would not talk to them unless we needed to descend into their airspace. We listened as the shaky voice of a lone Cessna pilot asked Center for a readout of his ground speed. Center replied: “November Charlie 175, I’m showing you at ninety knots on the ground.”
Now the thing to understand about Center controllers, was that whether they were talking to a rookie pilot in a Cessna, or to Air Force One, they always spoke in the exact same, calm, deep, professional, tone that made one feel important. I referred to it as the ” Houston Center voice.” I have always felt that after years of seeing documentaries on this country’s space program and listening to the calm and distinct voice of the Houston controllers, that all other controllers since then wanted to sound like that, and that they basically did. And it didn’t matter what sector of the country we would be flying in, it always seemed like the same guy was talking. Over the years that tone of voice had become somewhat of a comforting sound to pilots everywhere. Conversely, over the years, pilots always wanted to ensure that, when transmitting, they sounded like Chuck Yeager, or at least like John Wayne. Better to die than sound bad on the radios.
Just moments after the Cessna’s inquiry, a Twin Beech piped up on frequency, in a rather superior tone, asking for his ground speed. “I have you at one hundred and twenty-five knots of ground speed.” Boy, I thought, the Beechcraft really must think he is dazzling his Cessna brethren. Then out of the blue, a navy F-18 pilot out of NAS Lemoore came up on frequency. You knew right away it was a Navy jock because he sounded very cool on the radios. “Center, Dusty 52 ground speed check”. Before Center could reply, I’m thinking to myself, hey, Dusty 52 has a ground speed indicator in that million-dollar cockpit, so why is he asking Center for a readout? Then I got it, ol’ Dusty here is making sure that every bug smasher from Mount Whitney to the Mojave knows what true speed is. He’s the fastest dude in the valley today, and he just wants everyone to know how much fun he is having in his new Hornet. And the reply, always with that same, calm, voice, with more distinct alliteration than emotion: “Dusty 52, Center, we have you at 620 on the ground.”
And I thought to myself, is this a ripe situation, or what? As my hand instinctively reached for the mic button, I had to remind myself that Walt was in control of the radios. Still, I thought, it must be done – in mere seconds we’ll be out of the sector and the opportunity will be lost. That Hornet must die, and die now. I thought about all of our Sim training and how important it was that we developed well as a crew and knew that to jump in on the radios now would destroy the integrity of all that we had worked toward becoming. I was torn.
Somewhere, 13 miles above Arizona, there was a pilot screaming inside his space helmet. Then, I heard it. The click of the mic button from the back seat. That was the very moment that I knew Walter and I had become a crew. Very professionally, and with no emotion, Walter spoke: “Los Angeles Center, Aspen 20, can you give us a ground speed check?” There was no hesitation, and the replay came as if was an everyday request. “Aspen 20, I show you at one thousand eight hundred and forty-two knots, across the ground.”
I think it was the forty-two knots that I liked the best, so accurate and proud was Center to deliver that information without hesitation, and you just knew he was smiling. But the precise point at which I knew that Walt and I were going to be really good friends for a long time was when he keyed the mic once again to say, in his most fighter-pilot-like voice: “Ah, Center, much thanks, we’re showing closer to nineteen hundred on the money.”
For a moment Walter was a god. And we finally heard a little crack in the armor of the Houston Center voice, when L.A.came back with, “Roger that Aspen, Your equipment is probably more accurate than ours. You boys have a good one.” It all had lasted for just moments, but in that short, memorable sprint across the southwest, the Navy had been flamed, all mortal airplanes on freq were forced to bow before the King of Speed, and more importantly, Walter and I had crossed the threshold of being a crew. A fine day’s work. We never heard another transmission on that frequency all the way to the coast. For just one day, it truly was fun being the fastest guys out there.
LandStander420 on
Expect to see Batman flying it
Samurai-Pooh-Bear on
…1970s…1980s….
EmperorMittens on
She couldn’t hold her fuel until a certain altitude so she’d be leaking fuel on take-off.
Awe3 on
I’ve touched that plane. It’s my favorite.
melancholy_dood on
Awesome plane!…
SweetPetite19 on
Still looks like it came from the future
lanky_planky on
A fine example of “form follows function”. Designed in the days of slide rules and pencil and paper drafting boards.
InitialOcelot9001 on
Or in the 70s, 80s and 90s
birthday566 on
Crazy that this plane would look futuristic TODAY, and it came out in 1964. Also still the fastest plane ever to this day. What an engineering marvel.
PrincDios on
The xeelee nightfighter
hiro111 on
My favorite fact about the SR-71:
The jet created such heat due to friction that engineers were worried that the fuel would reach its flash point and explode. So, they developed a unique fuel for the SR-71 called JP-7. This fuel was very stable, would not easily decompose in heat and was difficult to ignite. It also costs as much per gallon as rare single-malt scotch whiskey.
The other factor for the fuel in the SR-71 is that the aircraft was engineered to not need tanks. The aircraft actually used the fuel to cool the skin and for a variety of other cooling needs. The skin of the aircraft was the container in which the fuel sat. However, that skin was engineered to expand with heat, so there were large expansion joints (gaps) in the skin that were wide open when the aircraft was sitting on the ground and cool.
So, when the airmen fueled the aircraft with this extremely expensive fuel, the fuel simply poured onto the ground through the gaps in the skin. The fuel was hard to ignite so it wasn’t much of a safety hazard. This leakage combined with the incredible amount of fuel it took to get the aircraft off the ground meant that the aircraft needed to be refueled IMMEDIATELY once it was in the air. They literally needed a tanker close by for the SR-71 to rendezvous with and do a mid-air refueling.
Portra400IsLife on
NAPALM is more emblematic of the 60s to me
1nfiniteAutomaton on
*ever. I don’t think any aircraft will exceed its coolness, although some can match it. (XB-70, YB-49, Concorde)
dpdxguy on
>didn’t get any cooler than this in the 1960’s
Also the 70s, 80s and 90s, at least for aircraft.
DamitIHadSomthng4Ths on
Designed by Kelly Johnson. Man was an aeronautical genius. He was the main designer of Lockheed’s Skunkworks program. He also designed the P-38 F-117,and U-2 among others
fusillade762 on
I just watched a doc on the Blackbird and apparently it was originally called the RS-71 but President Johnson misnamed it the SR-71 when the existence of the plane was announced by him, I believe in 1967, so they changed the name of the plane so as not to contradict him lol. Everyone agreed SR seemed to roll off the tongue easier than RS.
I don’t recall why Johnson was speaking publicly about the plane. Maybe it was to get ahead of a story that was about to break, I don’t recall why, but that’s how the SR-71 designation came to be.
7242233 on
Still the coolest
Shaggyfries on
Fun fact, there is one sr-71b on display at the air zoo in portage Michigan, it’s so cool to walk around, better in person than any pics.
PaxUX on
It’s 2025 and there still isn’t a cooler aircraft!
26 Comments
>It didn’t get any cooler than this in the 1960’s
OP forgot we step foot on the moon in 1969
I’m still waiting for the VTOL version that can seat several passengers and park beneath a basketball court.
Habu
Not sure where i watched it but saw a interview with a Blackbird pilot that once they got a radio message that they needed to divert as another aircraft was in the area, a bit confused what could be flying about the same height the pilot changed direction and then got to see Concorde fly pass and he was a bit miffed that he was sitting there eating baby food via a straw while everyone on Concorde was eating salmon and sipping champagne at the time
It never got any cooler than that. 🙂
Thunderbirds are go!
There were a lot of things we couldn’t do in an SR-71, but we were the fastest guys on the block and loved reminding our fellow aviators of this fact. People often asked us if, because of this fact, it was fun to fly the jet. Fun would not be the first word I would use to describe flying this plane. Intense, maybe. Even cerebral. But there was one day in our Sled experience when we would have to say that it was pure fun to be the fastest guys out there, at least for a moment.
It occurred when Walt and I were flying our final training sortie. We needed 100 hours in the jet to complete our training and attain Mission Ready status. Somewhere over Colorado we had passed the century mark. We had made the turn in Arizona and the jet was performing flawlessly. My gauges were wired in the front seat and we were starting to feel pretty good about ourselves, not only because we would soon be flying real missions but because we had gained a great deal of confidence in the plane in the past ten months. Ripping across the barren deserts 80,000 feet below us, I could already see the coast of California from the Arizona border. I was, finally, after many humbling months of simulators and study, ahead of the jet. I was beginning to feel a bit sorry for Walter in the back seat. There he was, with no really good view of the incredible sights before us, tasked with monitoring four different radios. This was good practice for him for when we began flying real missions, when a priority transmission from headquarters could be vital. It had been difficult, too, for me to relinquish control of the radios, as during my entire flying career I had controlled my own transmissions. But it was part of the division of duties in this plane and I had adjusted to it. I still insisted on talking on the radio while we were on the ground, however. Walt was so good at many things, but he couldn’t match my expertise at sounding smooth on the radios, a skill that had been honed sharply with years in fighter squadrons where the slightest radio miscue was grounds for beheading. He understood that and allowed me that luxury.
Just to get a sense of what Walt had to contend with, I pulled the radio toggle switches and monitored the frequencies along with him. The predominant radio chatter was from Los Angeles Center, far below us, controlling daily traffic in their sector. While they had us on their scope (albeit briefly), we were in uncontrolled airspace and normally would not talk to them unless we needed to descend into their airspace. We listened as the shaky voice of a lone Cessna pilot asked Center for a readout of his ground speed. Center replied: “November Charlie 175, I’m showing you at ninety knots on the ground.”
Now the thing to understand about Center controllers, was that whether they were talking to a rookie pilot in a Cessna, or to Air Force One, they always spoke in the exact same, calm, deep, professional, tone that made one feel important. I referred to it as the ” Houston Center voice.” I have always felt that after years of seeing documentaries on this country’s space program and listening to the calm and distinct voice of the Houston controllers, that all other controllers since then wanted to sound like that, and that they basically did. And it didn’t matter what sector of the country we would be flying in, it always seemed like the same guy was talking. Over the years that tone of voice had become somewhat of a comforting sound to pilots everywhere. Conversely, over the years, pilots always wanted to ensure that, when transmitting, they sounded like Chuck Yeager, or at least like John Wayne. Better to die than sound bad on the radios.
Just moments after the Cessna’s inquiry, a Twin Beech piped up on frequency, in a rather superior tone, asking for his ground speed. “I have you at one hundred and twenty-five knots of ground speed.” Boy, I thought, the Beechcraft really must think he is dazzling his Cessna brethren. Then out of the blue, a navy F-18 pilot out of NAS Lemoore came up on frequency. You knew right away it was a Navy jock because he sounded very cool on the radios. “Center, Dusty 52 ground speed check”. Before Center could reply, I’m thinking to myself, hey, Dusty 52 has a ground speed indicator in that million-dollar cockpit, so why is he asking Center for a readout? Then I got it, ol’ Dusty here is making sure that every bug smasher from Mount Whitney to the Mojave knows what true speed is. He’s the fastest dude in the valley today, and he just wants everyone to know how much fun he is having in his new Hornet. And the reply, always with that same, calm, voice, with more distinct alliteration than emotion: “Dusty 52, Center, we have you at 620 on the ground.”
And I thought to myself, is this a ripe situation, or what? As my hand instinctively reached for the mic button, I had to remind myself that Walt was in control of the radios. Still, I thought, it must be done – in mere seconds we’ll be out of the sector and the opportunity will be lost. That Hornet must die, and die now. I thought about all of our Sim training and how important it was that we developed well as a crew and knew that to jump in on the radios now would destroy the integrity of all that we had worked toward becoming. I was torn.
Somewhere, 13 miles above Arizona, there was a pilot screaming inside his space helmet. Then, I heard it. The click of the mic button from the back seat. That was the very moment that I knew Walter and I had become a crew. Very professionally, and with no emotion, Walter spoke: “Los Angeles Center, Aspen 20, can you give us a ground speed check?” There was no hesitation, and the replay came as if was an everyday request. “Aspen 20, I show you at one thousand eight hundred and forty-two knots, across the ground.”
I think it was the forty-two knots that I liked the best, so accurate and proud was Center to deliver that information without hesitation, and you just knew he was smiling. But the precise point at which I knew that Walt and I were going to be really good friends for a long time was when he keyed the mic once again to say, in his most fighter-pilot-like voice: “Ah, Center, much thanks, we’re showing closer to nineteen hundred on the money.”
For a moment Walter was a god. And we finally heard a little crack in the armor of the Houston Center voice, when L.A.came back with, “Roger that Aspen, Your equipment is probably more accurate than ours. You boys have a good one.” It all had lasted for just moments, but in that short, memorable sprint across the southwest, the Navy had been flamed, all mortal airplanes on freq were forced to bow before the King of Speed, and more importantly, Walter and I had crossed the threshold of being a crew. A fine day’s work. We never heard another transmission on that frequency all the way to the coast. For just one day, it truly was fun being the fastest guys out there.
Expect to see Batman flying it
…1970s…1980s….
She couldn’t hold her fuel until a certain altitude so she’d be leaking fuel on take-off.
I’ve touched that plane. It’s my favorite.
Awesome plane!…
Still looks like it came from the future
A fine example of “form follows function”. Designed in the days of slide rules and pencil and paper drafting boards.
Or in the 70s, 80s and 90s
Crazy that this plane would look futuristic TODAY, and it came out in 1964. Also still the fastest plane ever to this day. What an engineering marvel.
The xeelee nightfighter
My favorite fact about the SR-71:
The jet created such heat due to friction that engineers were worried that the fuel would reach its flash point and explode. So, they developed a unique fuel for the SR-71 called JP-7. This fuel was very stable, would not easily decompose in heat and was difficult to ignite. It also costs as much per gallon as rare single-malt scotch whiskey.
The other factor for the fuel in the SR-71 is that the aircraft was engineered to not need tanks. The aircraft actually used the fuel to cool the skin and for a variety of other cooling needs. The skin of the aircraft was the container in which the fuel sat. However, that skin was engineered to expand with heat, so there were large expansion joints (gaps) in the skin that were wide open when the aircraft was sitting on the ground and cool.
So, when the airmen fueled the aircraft with this extremely expensive fuel, the fuel simply poured onto the ground through the gaps in the skin. The fuel was hard to ignite so it wasn’t much of a safety hazard. This leakage combined with the incredible amount of fuel it took to get the aircraft off the ground meant that the aircraft needed to be refueled IMMEDIATELY once it was in the air. They literally needed a tanker close by for the SR-71 to rendezvous with and do a mid-air refueling.
NAPALM is more emblematic of the 60s to me
*ever. I don’t think any aircraft will exceed its coolness, although some can match it. (XB-70, YB-49, Concorde)
>didn’t get any cooler than this in the 1960’s
Also the 70s, 80s and 90s, at least for aircraft.
Designed by Kelly Johnson. Man was an aeronautical genius. He was the main designer of Lockheed’s Skunkworks program. He also designed the P-38 F-117,and U-2 among others
I just watched a doc on the Blackbird and apparently it was originally called the RS-71 but President Johnson misnamed it the SR-71 when the existence of the plane was announced by him, I believe in 1967, so they changed the name of the plane so as not to contradict him lol. Everyone agreed SR seemed to roll off the tongue easier than RS.
I don’t recall why Johnson was speaking publicly about the plane. Maybe it was to get ahead of a story that was about to break, I don’t recall why, but that’s how the SR-71 designation came to be.
Still the coolest
Fun fact, there is one sr-71b on display at the air zoo in portage Michigan, it’s so cool to walk around, better in person than any pics.
It’s 2025 and there still isn’t a cooler aircraft!