What Would Happen If Earth Stopped Spinning? скачать в хорошем качестве

What Would Happen If Earth Stopped Spinning?

What Would Happen If Earth Stopped Spinning? If Earth stopped spinning right now, you wouldn't have time to read this sentence before you died. Not eventually. Not after some dramatic countdown. Instantly. A lot of people picture Earth slowing down like a merry-go-round winding down, giving you time to brace yourself or find shelter. That's not how it works. Earth's surface moves at one thousand six hundred seventy kilometers per hour at the equator right now. That's faster than the speed of sound. If the planet stopped, you wouldn't. Everything not bolted directly into bedrock keeps moving east at one thousand six hundred seventy kilometers per hour. You, your house, every car, every tree, the oceans, the atmosphere. All of it becomes a projectile. It's like riding in a car at one thousand six hundred seventy kilometers per hour and hitting a wall. Except there's no seatbelt, no airbag, and the wall is the ground itself. You'd be flung horizontally through the air faster than a fighter jet. Your body wouldn't even register what happened. Buildings wouldn't collapse the way they do in earthquakes. They'd be sheared off their foundations and thrown eastward like toys. Skyscrapers, bridges, entire cities would tumble across the landscape at supersonic speed. Anything tall gets hit worse because the top is moving faster than the bottom. A ten story building has its roof traveling slightly faster than its base. When Earth stops, that difference tears it apart. But you don't care about buildings at that point. You're already gone. And it's not just solid objects. The atmosphere doesn't stop either. The air itself keeps moving. Imagine winds five times stronger than the most powerful tornado ever recorded. Winds moving at one thousand miles per hour. Not in a narrow funnel. Everywhere. All at once. Across the entire surface of the planet. Those winds would scour the ground clean. Forests wouldn't bend. They'd be ripped out and turned into splinters moving faster than bullets. Mountains would be sandblasted smooth. The friction alone would ignite fires across every continent. And this all happens in the first sixty seconds. You're not around to see it, but the destruction doesn't care. It keeps going. The momentum has to go somewhere, and it does. Into everything. That's just the first minute. The oceans haven't moved yet.