Coolest Thing I've Seen

I'm fortunate enough to have gotten the chance to see and do a lot of cool things so far in life. I've been to a lot of places and done a lot of fairly awesome stuff. That makes picking the single "coolest" event a bit of a challenge. I had to think about this one for a while.

In the States we had: the Grand Canyon, the Everglades, the Very Large Array, eating rattlesnake in Texas.
At home in Canada I remember: Niagara Falls and playing in tide pools in Nova Scotia.
Ireland was: catching hermit crabs on the beach, the Giant's Causeway, eating lunch at the Brazen Head (est. 1198).
England had: Stonehenge, Hadrian's Wall, Dover Castle, Nunny Castle, Sherwood Forest.
From Central America I remember: Xunantunich, Chechem Ha, Tikal, the Panama Canal.
Europe was brilliant, with: La Ramblas, the Alps, the Pyrinees, a fantastic clock in Liechtenstein, Versailles, Notre Dame, the Eiffel Tower, and Gaudi's cathedral.

Like I said, I'm lucky. I've seen a lot of phenomenal things.
What finally stood out in my mind though was my trip to Florida. My parents not only took my brother and me to the Kennedy Space Center, we got to see a launch the next day!

I don't think it's possible to adequately describe the sensation of watching a shuttle take off. It's something you just have to see (and hear).
It was a nighttime launch. I was only 10 or 11 at the time and I remember being cranky at having to wake up at two in the morning. It was so worth it though!

I remember the night being pitch black, and quiet. The launchpad was lit and we could see the shuttle sitting there. Anticipation.
Then steam, thick and dark, begins billowing from the bottom of the shuttle. It gathers and climbs, obscuring the shuttle bit by bit. Then, just as the tip of the vessel disappears behind its veil... The world explodes!

Light! Sound!

The sky lit up as if the sun had suddenly burst from the ground. For a few moments we could see everything around us. A minute of perfect daylight in the middle of the night.

And the noise!
No cymbal crash, rock concert, thunderstorm can hold a candle to the earth-shattering uproar of that shuttle making its great escape.
That rumbling, roaring ruckus reached out and rolled across the distance between us. Filled the air. Filled our ears, our heads. It grabbed the ground and shook us. Rippled through our bodies. After the first second or two, you are no longer hearing the launch; you're being engulfed by it.

And then, after being blinded, deafened, and awed, it begins to recede. The light shrinks back towards its source. The sound fades away. And you're left in a seeming vacuum. Tingling and watching the fireball rise.

As that brilliant bead of light shrinks to a speck you see a hint of a burst, a tiny bit of extra light, as the rockets detach. Watch for another moment and it vanishes. Beyond reach, beyond sight, beyond perception.
And you're left alone with the stars.