As balloons go, I live
a pretty ordinary life. Up before dawn even cracks, out for a spin on the
wind, down for a generally gentle landing, and then back in the sack. The
ritual repeats nearly every week.by Breezy Rider
As balloons go, I live
a pretty ordinary life. Up before dawn even cracks, out for a spin on the
wind, down for a generally gentle landing, and then back in the sack. The
ritual repeats nearly every week.
Last October's flight began as just another outing. Following a chilly ride in the back of the truck, I was unloaded onto Fiesta Field. This is not our typical launch site, but I've been there before to participate in local balloon club events.
As usual, my crew began by spreading out the blue plastic tarps, ever considerate of my nylon skin. My basket and its contents were inspected, and the inflation harness secured. My burner heaved its flame in a routine check. Once the cables were connected, my envelope was tugged from its canvas pouch. My parts properly joined, I awaited that first breath of air. Soon, BJ the Fan was inflating my envelope and chilling those unfortunate crewmembers at my throat. Once my fabric was unfurled and packed with air, the burner warmed me so much that I glowed.
When I started to rise, however, I realized that this was no ordinary flight. I found myself surrounded by several hundred balloons. Local orbs, out-of-towners, aerostats bearing foreign codes. Balloons of every size, shape and color imaginable. What was going on? A convention? A reunion? Had we come here to spawn?
My thoughts were disrupted by yet another surprise. An immense crowd of people had gathered around me. They pointed at me, photographed me, and watched me with intense curiosity and joy. They smiled; the smaller ones even laughed. Why, I was surrounded by such excitement, that I beamed brighter with each blast of the valve.
And then my pilot and her mate, tense yet confident, climbed aboard and proceeded with the final checks and instructions. (I was amused to note that two sets of keys from the truck had boarded with them!) My passengers, the crew and spectators were transfixed with anticipation, as a striped stranger approached us to direct my launch. Thumbs went up, weight came off, and aloft we climbed, joining several other balloons with all the precision of a choreographed dance.
As I ascended, I nearly gasped at the sight below. A veritable sea of balloons extended beneath me, upright and eager, and encircled by awestruck crowds. I advanced across the normally barren field, marveling at the magnificent spectacle beneath my wicker, a spectacle of which I was a part! I puffed my panels with pride.
While we slowly drifted across the enormous bouquet of balloons, my pilot was thrilled beyond restraint. She released a constant squeal of air, outshouting my blast valve and wiggling my wicker. While I could hardly contain my own excitement, I thought more about hers: Just don't wet yourself!
Eventually, we moved beyond the field, while waves of balloons behind us were released to the sky. With a tug on my green line, I rotated slowly and scanned the mass ascension from aloft. Balloons covered the field and filled the air. Nearly a thousand balloons formed an abstract rainbow of colors that spanned the horizon. It was awesome.
At that moment, I realized that this flight was not about the pilots, passengers and crews, as always seemed true in the past. Nor was it about the many visitors who had gathered with them. No, this event was about us, my balloon buddies and me. And we were magnificent!
In tribute to this enchanting flight, I granted my contents a gentle landing. Then, upon the desert terrain, I stood upright and proud, greeting my fellow aerostats as they approached and landed all around me. Soon, there were dozens of us, standing at attention and honoring our own as each balloon descended into our midst.
Several months have passed since that awesome event. There have been many quiet flights on the west side of town and an occasional outing elsewhere. I still enjoy the relative peacefulness of our local gatherings, with the familiar faces that greet at the launch sites and meet at the tailgates.
But I long for October, when my balloon brethren will return to Albuquerque. Once again, in unison, we'll display our splendor and celebrate our sport. And, once again, I'll gloat.
