Sound Barrier of Letting Go

It’s 1956. In a room full of British and French officials, someone's just had what they think is a brilliant idea: "What if we made planes go really, really fast?"

Two nations, fresh from centuries of trying to kill each other, decide to collaborate on building the world's first supersonic passenger jet. Because nothing says "sorry about all those wars" quite like burning money together at Mach 2.

The initial budget? £70 million. The final cost? £1.3 billion. Oops.

See, both governments had promised their taxpayers this would be the future of aviation. "Think about it," they said, "London to New York in three hours!" Conveniently forgetting that most people would rather spend an extra four hours in the air than sell a kidney to afford the ticket.

By 1967, they knew they were in trouble. The costs had spiraled faster than their fancy plane could fly. The sonic booms were so loud they could shatter windows, which meant the Concorde could only go supersonic over oceans. And then the 1973 oil crisis hit, making their fuel-chugging dream machine about as economical as heating your house by burning Picasso paintings.

But could they stop? Oh no. The governments had staked too much pride, money, and champagne-soaked promises on this shiny metal tube. Turning back now would be like admitting that perhaps strapping 100 people to a fuel tank and hurling them through the sound barrier wasn't the most practical way to travel.

When they finally managed to build the damn thing, they were so desperate to prove it wasn't a complete waste that they sold them to British Airways and Air France for £1 each. That's right - after spending billions, they practically gave them away. Like a dad selling his project car for a buck because his wife is tired of seeing it in the driveway.

For 27 years, the Concorde flew as a glorious monument to stubborn pride. Each flight burned enough fuel to power a small city, carried fewer passengers than a bus, and cost more than the average person's yearly salary.

The Concorde's final flight was in 2003. The French and British governments had finally accepted that sometimes, you need to stop throwing good money after bad, even if your bad decision can break the sound barrier.

Today, one of the Concordes is on the display at the Bristol Aerospace Museum. In a nearby display case, a January 1966 progress report outlines "significant operational advantages" and "improved economics" achieved by lengthening the fuselage to accommodate additional seats.

On the way to the exhibit the visitors pass by the Relax and Re-Fuel Café. It is rumored it once served a cocktail called "The Sun Coast Fallacy." As one of the patrons recalls: "The drink was very expensive, and when I tried it, I hated it - but I hated the idea of throwing it away even more."