I want you to just imagine it, that you were Orville Wright on that first flight.

No one had ever flown, ever, in the millions of years of human history, and hundreds

had tried. Many were trying at this very moment. And neither the geniuses human history. And hundreds had tried.

Many were trying at this very moment.

And neither the geniuses of history nor the Titanic governments and corporations of modernity had achieved it.

And yet here you were, lying face down on a machine that you and your brother and your friend

Charlie had built with your bare hands.

And you were flying.

You were flying.

You were alone on top of the world, a one of one, experiencing something that no one else

in the history of mankind could say that they had experienced. Imagine how you

would feel. Imagine the euphoria, both from the physical sensation of flying and from knowing

that you, you, had done the impossible.

The flight lasted less than 20 seconds, and then Orville Wright landed somewhat roughly in the North Carolina sand.

Few were around to witness it.

The Wright brothers had tried to invite the locals, but only a few had come.

Afterwards, they immediately went to send telegrams to all the major newspapers, letting them know about the breakthrough that had just occurred.

But no one believed them. From the New York Times to the Washington Post, even to their local Dayton

newspapers, no one carried the story. And so, as Orville and Wilbur Wright took the train home to Dayton,

they were something like a secret society. I imagine they must have talked in conspiratorial tones

about what the future held,

what improvements they would make and what new tests they would conduct.

...