"What's in the Name..."

While at one of our regular training sessions in Houston, I couldn't resist a flight to Los Angeles for the weekend to visit my friend — both because we're close friends and we had a business unfinished...

The evening of our reunion passed in the blink of an eye. The morning arrived all of a sudden and we found ourselves at the foot of Mount Wilson. This time, we were set to complete a 50-kilometer trail run along winding mountain paths, the one we had planned during our previous meeting. We were running along a narrow, loose path that, pressed by bushes, trees, and the bizarre Century Plants (Spanish Bayonet) with their extremely spiky leaves, was clinging to the edge of a cliff. Understanding that we couldn't escape unharmed by ourselves after a "descent" from the path into the gorge, and knowing our mobile phones were out of the coverage, we focused all our attention on the trail to avoid missteps and stumbles. Meanwhile, the shadows cast by diverse vegetation weren't solid but formed a peculiar mosaic of intricate dark and light patches, which significantly hindered our ability to distinguish stones and obstacles while running. After about thirty minutes of such run, I suddenly realized that my eyes were getting tired of running for the first time in my life. As soon as we left the shade, the sun "switched on" — by our estimation, the temperature in the shade at the mountain's base reached about 38°C.

This time we didn't escape without casualties. While running, we involuntarily consumed a dozen or so tiny gnats that, either accidentally or with a purpose, managed to fly into our mouths. Since water was strictly rationed (three liters per person), washing them down would have been inappropriate. A bitter taste remained.

When we had climbed high enough to stop encountering helmeted cyclists shooting downhill like arrows, we suddenly stumbled upon a small patch of land with a mysterious little hut bearing an intriguing inscription: "Cape of Good Hope." Never before had I encountered such a romantic and poetic name for a restroom. The best confirmation of the fact that the United States remain the undisputed Olympic champion in marketing.

Eventually, after darkness fell, we crossed the coveted finish line showing 50.5 km and, without changing, immediately drove to a store for champagne. Our legs were humming, slightly buckling, muscles turned to stone, while blisters, as if bewildered, silently questioned with each step: "For whom? Why?" Sweaty and dust-covered from head to toe, "rolling" out of the car, to an onlooker we must have resembled two Winnie-the-Poohs who had climbed into a beehive, first overeaten on honey, then been severely stung by bees, and finally taken a good tumble on the dusty ground. At least, that's how it seemed to me.

But here's what's puzzling. As we were winding our way along mountain trails, I was reflecting and sharing with my friend thoughts and memories about something quite different. In my very first "space school" class, while preparing for another test — the isolation chamber, — I learned that each cosmonaut (or, more precisely, the crew commander) selects a unique call sign before flight. Since we were simultaneously studying other subjects, including the stellar sky, at that very moment, without hesitation or doubt, I said to myself: "My call sign will be Altair." I completed my isolation chamber test with it. Later on, I discovered that "my" call sign was already taken, and never in history different cosmonauts used the same call sign. But deep in my heart I felt that this was my call sign, and I needed no other. I pondered deeply. A bold plan got formed in my mind: to ask the highly respected and experienced cosmonaut, Gennady Ivanovich Padalka, to pass his call sign to me after completing his flight career. So, when I was appointed commander of the Soyuz MS-04 spacecraft, already having space flight experience as an engineer, I held my breath and blurted out my "modest" request... And I heard in response: "Why not? Such a call sign should keep flying. Sasha, go ahead, take up the baton!" I was overjoyed.

Gennady Ivanovich, despite his considerable experience, continues to actively participate in flight and parachute training — my favorite kinds of preparation. We play badminton as partners. Not so long ago, he took a parachute jump from an aerostat. There definitely is some similarity in at least our interests, perhaps even in character traits... And the desire to fly with the identical, very specific call sign "Altair" only confirms that. Perhaps those who say that a name, if not determining one's character, at least influences it, are right? Those were my reflections and thoughts I shared with my friend during our trail run.

"As a youngster. I led a student construction team named 'Altair'." That’s what I heard in reply from the smiling man who had been passionately building rockets from his earliest childhood and now works on the boldest and most exciting space project of our time. Doctor of Physical and Mathematical Sciences, Professor at both Moscow State University and UCLA, Leading Researcher at JPL NASA, Corresponding Member of the International Academy of Astronautics, Candidate Master of Sports in weightlifting, ready to test himself and temper his character through various challenges — my friend Vyacheslav Gennadyevich Turyshev! Indeed, "What's in the name..."