Man’s reach should exceed his grasp. Never is this more true than when we reach for the stars. The space race may have begun as an extension of the Cold War, but for Americans and Russians alike, it became about something more. We shuffled off this mortal coil and looked down godlike upon all of humanity. Stood on a barren rock and beheld all that ever was from our perch on high and held eternity within our grasp. Throttlejockeys puts us back in that cockpit, to feel the g-force of human achievement–to once again surf the starry tide to heaven.