(Funny, after I wrote this up I had a feeling I’d done so before. And I DID, about 5-point-something years ago. Too bad I didn’t have time travel to stop me from writing this up a different way, a second time…)

The folks who create science-fantasy stories about time travel completely gloss over the staggering physics calculations and implications involved with the concept of time travel.

Here’s why: The basic premise of time travel has to assume that an object that is “moving through time” (forwards or backwards) is essentially removed from our current space-time plane during the “time” portion of travel. The writers indicate this by having the object “disappear” from view, only to “reappear” in a different time, presumably at the same physical location.

Ok, I’ll bite.

Let’s ignore “time” and deal with “location” only, which ISN’T mentioned in most popular fantasy stories.

Let’s say I’m on one of those schoolhouse spinny rides where the kids get on that is essentially a large metal plate that has handles on it.

That’s called a “roundabout” or “merry-go-round”. The roundabout spins when the kids grab the handles and run alongside it to jump on, or when the kids on the outside rim grab the handles, stand still, and pull or push the handles towards and away from them. You remember those. Probably remember the lunches you’ve lost while spinning round on the ride, too.

I’m on the roundabout, spinning. My “friends” are making the ride spin faster and faster. The centrifugal force of the spin is trying to pull me off. Weeeee!

In my hand is an object that will soon disappear from my plane of existence. Let’s say it’s a volleyball. I push the button and POOF it leaves my hand. Not for time-travel, but for location-travel.

Now this volleyball, having left my plane of existence, is no longer bound by the atoms of my hand that once held it. Let’s suspend disbelief for a moment and pretend we can actually see the volleyball.

If it’s following general physics, it’ll do one of many things.The simplest of actions are these:

1. It will continue to move along the last known direction it was travelling. I mentioned centrifugal force trying to pull us away from the center of the spinning plate. So it may fly away from my hand as if I had simply let it go. Meh, kind of interesting. I can see it fly to and eventually through my pal on the side and on and on forever until something happens to change it.
2. It will be removed from all forces and simply stand still because it’s no longer bound by any physical rules. Ah, now THIS is the interesting one.

If the volleyball stops moving (as it’s no longer bound by the physics of my body and surroundings), I will see it hover as I spin round and round.

I can watch it pass through me again and again while my pal laughs at the silliness of it all.

Finding a way to get it to land solidly exactly in my hand (without doing a brundlefly object merge in the process) is really really really tricky. This is WITHOUT any time displacement at all. Think about that for a minute or two.

But wait! (as the infamous TV adverts are fond of saying) There’s more.

The roundabout I was talking about? That’s just a frame of reference to illustrate a simple point.

The roundabout is spinning, but sitting on solid ground.

Just kidding!

The “solid ground” is itself spinning.

Spinning at about 1,000 miles per hour. More or less if we’re nearer to, or farther from the Earth’s equator.

That’s just the speed of Earth’s ROTATIONAL spin. That’s why we have sunrise, sunset, moonrise, moonset, all the rises and the sets.

So the math involved to get a ghost-object back into solid state, in my hand, while the roundabout is spinning while itself is on a rotating Earth object is really really really really really tricky. Really. Mind-boggling. But say we DO pull this off this and the volleyball is IN my hand and somehow not part OF my hand.

Let’s make it simpler for whoever is crunching the math.

I step off the roundabout. I fall since I am dizzy. My pal is REALLY having a larf this time. I throw the volleyball at my pal and get the ball thrown back at me.

I let go of the volleyball and again hit the “phase-shift” button. We see the ball stand still (which at this point, as we have established, is not standing still from MY perspective, but actually appearing to move at about 1,000 miles per hour away from me).

Easy peasy to get it back in my hand, right? Just have to factor in the Earth’s rotational spin speed depending on our latitude and direction we are facing.

Uh, not quite done, yet.

The Earth rotates on its axis. Yep. But it also ROTATES AROUND THE SUN.

This movement alone is about 67,000 miles per hour.

So we have an object that has been removed from our physical plane of existence – effectively “standing still” while everything around it moves 1,000 miles per hour one way and 67,000 miles per hour another way. Maybe the same direction, maybe a different direction; it all depends on the way we’re facing when we push the magic button, where we are located on the Earth, where we are located on the orbit around the sun, etc.

And if that’s not enough, there’s MORE.

The solar system that our sun is in (that we’re rotating around while we’re spinning) is also moving. FAST. Estimates are around 448,000 miles per hour.

So we have a ghost volleyball leaving my hand at (simultaneously):

• 1,000 miles per hour in one direction
• 67,000 miles per hour in another (or maybe the same) direction
• 448,000 miles per hour in yet a different (or maybe the same) direction

…and I expect it to appear in my hand when the “travel” is over somehow.

BUT WAIT THERE’S STILL MORE

The amount of ENERGY needed to manage this phase-shifting feat is equally staggering.

Ever rub your hands together to keep warm? That’s energy you’re producing there, and translating into heat.

The amount of energy (which will be translated into heat) needed to a) keep the phase-shifted volleyball “moving” at the same speed and velocity as my solid body and b) perform the phase-shifting itself is HUGE.

I fully expect that the amount of HEAT generated to make the ball disappear and reappear in my chubby, grubbly little paws will turn everything around us into a small star.

My pal won’t he laughing to much THEN, will he?

That’s just the PHYSICAL aspect of time-travel. That’s not including the bits that involve actual TIME movement (or lack thereof).

And this is why I must shut off my brain to enjoy science fantasy.

Forty-four years.

A lot can happen in forty-four years.

A lot HAS happened in forty-four years.

Time and space makes things change size as well, apparently.

But first, we see something. It’s a little kid.

——

Four-feet-something in height. Pudgy. Momma says he wears “husky” sized jeans but he knows that’s a momma’s way of saying, “fat”.

Husky kid pedals his bicycle up that frustratingly steep rural road in Wisconsin.

He won’t be husky very much longer. He’s in the middle of that magical year in the woods. The year where summer woody acreage mornings start at sunrise and don’t close until the lightning bugs surround him.

The year where the wet, heavy snow makes for beautiful but malformed snowmen and giant Easter-Islandy heads on that endless hillside sloping into the woods of adventure.

The year where Spring transforms melting snow and woods into creeks and mini rivers of exploration.

The year of stars in the sky, bright like suns.

—–

Time has had a way of stretching things.

Longer trips, bigger house, larger buildings, grander adventures, hundreds of people cramming us into giant tubes to take us to dizzying destinations.

It also has had a way of shrinking things.

In the rental car, I accidentally passed right by the used-to-be giant house and the endless adventure hill disappearing into the woods.

Had to turn around and retrace the path a second time, this time much slower.

Was amazed at how short the distance was between the old schoolhouse and the house mailbox.

Why would it take all day to walk that 30-second car drive?

Let’s ask that kid.

Yah, that kid over there. The one we can barely see.

The pudgy kid pushing his bike up the hill.

O wait, he’s stopped. Probably to catch his breath.

No, he’s stopped to poke a bug with a stick.

And now he’s poking another stick with that stick. Swatting a bee from around his head.

Pesky bees. Pebbles will keep them away. Ah. No, they’re SO hard to hit. I remember that. Trees are easier to peg than bees. Tree Peg, haha. Peg. Peg. Peg. Penk. Toss the pebble, make a penk sound. Did you know different trees make different sounds when they’re hit with pebbles? Penk, penk, pink, pock. And different sounds when they’re hit with sticks, too. Stick, stick, stick. Snick, Snick, snick. Stick, snick, stick, snick. Why aren’t these called SNICKS? That’s the sound they make when they hit things. Bees make a BEEEEEEE sound.  Oooo hey, THIS one is a BIG snick. It’s really a WHACKO. Whacko, whacko, whacko. It smells different from a snick. I don’t know what exactly. Not like a bendy. Bendys smell like green. Whackos smell like… ow! Whackos smell like pain. Throw that whacko in the street. They do roll nice though. But now it’s stopped. Pebbles will help it roll. Throw pebbles. Pink, penk, pock. Ah. Snicks and pebbles make different sounds when they hit the asphalt on the road, too. That asphalt smells like hot. Pebbles roll. Some pebbles roll farther than others when they are thrown downhill. Snicks don’t much. They just sit there. O wait, where’s that bee? A snick will chase that bee away. But now it’s not a snick any more; it’s a WHOOSHA. Whoosha, whoosha, whoosha…

—–

Gotta go, kid. Time for me to head back. People are waiting for me. Good to see you again and in great spirits.

No, don’t get up, it’s ok.

Say hi to your momma for me.