It's 2:30 a.m. on a Sunday morning and my eyes open about 5 or 6 seconds before my alarm goes off. I don't work Sundays so you might wonder why? Why am I getting up to go outside at this unholy hour of the morning? The answer is one of those statements that goes "You know you're a balloonist when...."
It's when you have to get up on a winter morning at 2:30 to flip a switch and activate the heat tapes that will warm the propane tanks that fuel a hot air balloon so that there will be sufficient pressure during inflation in the cold weather. But that's not my story. I AM a balloonist, like the thousands in the Albuquerque area who fly or crew for a balloon. My group however, is somewhat smaller. I am one of the rare balloonists who is acrophobia. Acrophobia is a fear of high places, as you know. In my case it is at it's worst. As an old comedian I heard said one time, "I get dizzy when I step up on a rug." That's me.
I am a crew chief for my wife, Diane's balloon affectionately called "Still Crazy" after the Paul Simon song, "Still Crazy after all these years." I have never been for a balloon ride after 5 years in the sport. I have never wanted to go for a balloon ride and never will. Despite the negative sound of those words, I am not trying to discourage anyone. Rather, I hope to be able to tell in my own words, why I faithfully give up weekends, sleep, and time I could have spent working on my house, computer, and a veritable plethora of worthwhile endeavors.
To begin with, there is my wonderful wife, Diane. When she first took an interest in ballooning, it was as a crew member and I went along to help. It didn't take long for me to realize she really had the "fever." Soon she asked me if she could take flying lessons. My reply was "Of course! If you get a license, I will buy you a balloon." Well, obviously, I had to back up those words. She took her check ride in August of 1993, and we bought an Aerostar 8.
We had been crewing for about a year when this took place, and I found that I was irresistibly drawn to the sport myself. First there was the desert. I must have secretly been a desert rat all those years I spent prowling the streets of South Philly, never realizing that I would end up in Albuquerque and finding my home here. I love the desert in the morning. I love the sunrises. I love the smell. I love looking for coyote, rabbit, deer, elk, and other tracks that I see before and after chasing. I have made some of the best friends through ballooning that I have had in years. Balloonists are good people. They will always help you and are among the most unpretentious people I have met.
How could anyone not be captivated by the Albuquerque International Balloon Fiesta and feel proud to participate in a World Class event? How could anyone not hold their breath at the sight of balloons rising in Red Rock State Park in Gallup, or in the valleys of Angel Fire, or over the White Sands of Alamogordo? Even when flying frightens the bejabbers out of you, you can't help being held spellbound during a mass ascension.
Ballooning marks my holidays and vacations and makes them happier. There are many events, but Valentines day means Friends and Lovers Rally in Albuquerque St. Patrick's day has meant Los Lunas on occasion, Roswell means it's near Memorial day. Labor day brings me near to White Sands, Fiesta turns the final quarter of the year, and Red Rock makes my Christmas Season. It means we see old friends that we only see once a year. Jill Farkas and Scott Majetich come in from Window Rock and Bill Morse from New York City. The sight of the El Rancho hotel dressed up for Christmas is something I look forward to all year.
Most of all, though, what makes ballooning so enjoyable for me is the look on my wife's face when she knows it will be a good day to fly and we plan a Saturday or Sunday or both, flying the balloon. So, I perform my ritual, setting the alarm for 2:30, getting up to turn on the tanks, re-setting the alarm for 5:00 a.m. so I can get up and load the rest of the gear. I've always said that any time a person loves something so much they should do it, no matter what. My wife loves flying and that spark hasn't dimmed one bit in five years, and shows no sign of doing anything of the sort. She also loves unselfishly giving rides to her friends, her crew, and anyone who visits from out of town. Competition or Commercial flying may be fun for some, but for my wife it is the pure joy of flying and flying well. She always wants to do the best she can. All of that makes it more fun for me as well.
It also doesn't hurt that we both think we have the "Most excellent crew on the face of the earth." Maybe mentioning them is not considered good writing, but they are often left out of much that is said about ballooning. So, thanks, Crazy Ted, Karen, Page, Debbie, Shelley, Kirsten, Manuel, Marisela, Sue and Sam, Cynthia, Phyll and Pat, Jenn, Karen and Tony, Carlann and Dean, Kyle and Kara, Pat and Lee, Vicki and Ron, Bob and Irene and all those who only came out once or twice. These are the real heroes of ballooning, but then of course, I am very prejudiced.
The crew will go on wondering when I will make my first flight. It will never come. It would be a hair-raising, white-knuckling experience that would be the worst of my ]life. They long to douse me in Champagne, but I tell them they need to find another reason. My hero is John Madden, because he can afford his own bus.
I will go on ballooning though, loving the desert, the wonderful rallies, the good friends, the many first timers we give rides to, and listening to them describe how wonderful their ride was. It never makes a dent in my armor, though, I just smile at the good time I have already had.
