But when on October 14th 1947 he was dropped in the Bell X-1, a rocket-powered experimental plane, from the bomb bay of a B-29, he had no idea what lay ahead. Fun, probably, as he loved the X-1, and in his post-war test-pilot job he preferred tactical flying that focused on one aircraft, rather than a dozen different planes every week. It was more like combat, and the band of pilots he now belonged to, at Muroc air force base in California, were ex-warriors who felt the same way.

Glamorous Glennis was painted on the bright orange fuselage in tribute to his wife, the wife with whom he'd had a horseback race two nights before, busting a couple of ribs when his horse flipped him, which still hurt like hell. The engineers back at base feared that breaching the sound barrier might rip the aircraft apart. The least he expected was something like a bump in the road, to show he'd done it: strong proof for the friendly rivals back at base. Instead, at around 700mph (1,126kph) he felt nothing particular, just a bit of resistance, like poking his finger through Jell-O.

He got the Collier trophy for it, a nice statuette on a plinth, and the family went to the White House to collect it, his father, a staunch Republican, refused to shake Harry Truman's hand. But it was quite a let-down. He had to go much faster to get the effects he had been halfanticipating. That happened in December 1953, after a few flights approaching Mach 2, twice the speed of sound. He was warned that if he went any faster his X-1Aaircraft might go divergent. It did.

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