1500 Feet

1500 Feet

       Today was forecasted to be the hottest day of the year but It was early morning and Marty was on the road with his girlfriend to a secret location. It was his birthday; she’d promised that it would be the best surprise ever. She was full of surprises and Marty was pleasantly baffled about their secret event. So here it was, 5:45am and they were driving through miles of farmland, over long winding roads appearing mile after mile beneath a gentle mist, a light lazy fog blanketing all the uniformed rows of kale and vines of concord grapes. Eventually, they turned towards an old barn in Newberg to see rows of double-axled F-350’s, about six of them, each parked one behind the other.

          A small crowd was  milling about on an open field. The air was  crisp, a bit of a chill was there but it was otherwise comfortable for now as the heatwave had yet to commence. There was a sense that once the sun rose, it was going to warm up quickly and transform into a picture-perfect, yet hot summer day.

        A canopy was set up with tables for checking in, marketing posters all around. It turns out that this is an adventure Marty had never in his wildest dreams thought he would be a part of. In the center of the poster, floating above the horizon, with the sunlight gleaming off its silhouette, was  a hot air balloon. Marty looked back towards the F-350’s just as the crew of men and women pulled back a massive blue tarp that revealed what looked to him like an oversized  brown picnic basket that Yogi Bear and Boo-boo would’ve coveted. There were blowers, loops of rope…all the things that create the conditions for a satin canopy to be filled with hot air and used to transport thrill seekers on a whisper quiet trip high above everything, all while being treated to a panoramic view of all the land. .

       The pilots gathered everyone around, about fifty  folks. Some were surprisingly young, maybe 8 or 10 years old. Others were much older, late sixties or early seventies, finally able to throw some money at a fun, new experience. All the staff rattled off introductions, informing Marty and his girlfriend  that they were going to need help to make this flight happen. Each team was directed to follow the instructions of the guide; and everyone was promised an amazing experience that would stay with them for the rest of their lives.

     Everyone broke off into six groups and assembled themselves behind the F-350 that was  affixed to the flaccid would-be vessel.  Marty was alive  with excitement, but there was something else beneath the surface as well: a fresh, churning ball of fear. Marty would later reveal to his girl that just the week before the excursion, he’d seen on the news a video of a hot air balloon plummeting to earth, the basket charred and on fire as it struck a power line.  All of the occupants onboard were killed, dead before they hit the ground.

      He kept it to himself. What kept him grounded, calm, and able to partake of this aerial escapade was twofold. First, everyone helped to put the balloon and its components together. They all  unfolded the main inflatable body, and unfurling it made Marty aware of the toughness and rigidity of the materials. This was not a large sheet of satin, as he had imagined, but a tough canopy of coated nylon or polyester fabric. The other calming fact was that the guides inspected all the lines for tightness, tears, and abrasions. It seemed clear that everything was intact. The pilots held up the fabric at different points and opened it as wide as possible, while a hurricane fan the size of a Volkswagen Beetle blew air into the fabric to begin the inflation. It slowly was filling up, and Marty began to see the vibrant, radiant colors filling out as the mass of fabric expanded.

 Wow! This is really happening Marty thought to himself. He watched in awe as the balloon  began to swell.

         Other groups were engaged in the same process with five other balloons. One of the F-350 trucks backed up with the basket and other staff worked it down a ramp. The basket had propane tanks rigged to its main blower to generate the hot air needed. Everyone was urged to back away as the main blower fired off, and Marty’s balloon began to fill in. In a few minutes, it had risen off the ground and needed to be  held down with ropes by the staff.. The balloon was a towering 80 feet high and 55 feet wide. Its main color up top was a sunshine yellow, with red and blue alternating vertical stripes going around the base.

         Marty, his girlfriend, and the other four passengers climbed into the basket one at a time. He felt his heart racing, and that ball of fear was beginning to grow. But then he noticed his girl. Her eyes were dancing like a kid in Toys-R-Us with a blank check. Her exuberance quieted Marty’s concerns. She was totally composed and excited by the expectation of our launch, which was eminent. Watching her had a soothing effect on Marty; he drew strength from her excited yet tranquil state.

        There was a short safety briefing,  the highlight of which was how to assume the crash position. This involved grabbing the rim of the basket and dropping down to a squat on the balls of your feet until the “all clear” command was given. Marty and the others were also reminded to be careful not to drop items like cell phones or cameras or other valuables over the side of the basket. Then, with a blast of the main blower, the staff released the ropes, and they were airborne. The launch was flawless and smooth,  like blowing a bubble and watching as it is caressed and taken away on the breeze.

           Marty’s balloon and all the others that took flight alongside it were truly majestic and quiet as they effortlessly glided across the sky. The sole break in the silence was the main blower as it elevated us to 500 feet. The balloons drifted along following the invisible but wispy air currents. The sun had risen and began toasting the entire valley, which was now aglow with the morning sun. One could see the morning mist rising from the ground and evaporating as the warming rays of the sun burned it away. The view was amazing. The pilot - middle-aged and clean shaven with special forces sunglasses - was sharing a brief history of the local farms and their goods. Marty had the thought that the pilot might be an ex-Army Ranger, which would explain the military-like precision with which he provided instructions and information as we soundlessly drifted across the plains.  

I’ve got a treat for you guys, he announced;

   Operating these hot air vessels is  a refined gift requiring precision guidance and focus. I’ll show you by taking us to visit the river.

  They saw a winding river in the distance. The pilot  released a flap, and the balloon  began to descend slowly and steadily. The balloon was at the perfect angle, and the river slowly rose up to meet them. With a blast of the propane heated air, they  slowed to hover at a perfect two or three feet above the water. Everyone ooo’d and ahhh’d, took pictures and video with their phones, and were surprised when they actually briefly skimmed the surface of the water, making ripples as they passed. We heard our pilot chuckle.

   Some looked at each other, a bit concerned.

He sensed the  angst of the passengers,

   I just had to clean the bottom off, give her a little dip, he bragged with a wide grin.

Marty noticed that about three other balloons followed their lead, while the others maintained their lofty routes. How majestic and exquisite these vessels were with their vibrant colors drifting across the firmament!

    Ok, let’s get back to it guys.

He gave a blast of the burner, and we whipped up with a little twirl and jolt which emitted some loud Woooaaahs and a vigorous round of applause  as he took us to greater heights.

            1000 feet he announced, can you see the difference?

He fired the blower loudly for even more height, claiming the wind conditions were perfect to ascend to 1500 feet, as there was no turbulence or swirling conditions. The air held the balloon and its cargo steady and securely, as if it were cupped in its hands.

          They were floating seemingly aimlessly for another forty-five minutes until the pilot received some radio chatter informing him of the field they had been granted permission to land in. His team was busy on the ground estimating the trajectory of the ballon brigade and negotiating with local farmers on which field we were to descend to. He released a flap at the  apex of the balloon’s dome and the balloon began its descent.

   Cameras were actively recording. The descent was too fast. Everyone seemed confident that the pilot  knew his craft and was simply trying to give us another thrill. Marty thought so, too,  until the operator had released the levers and was banging the bottom of the radio.

         Apparently he had lost comms and was trying to beat his radio back to life.

   Shit, he muttered, stupid fricking thing, always giving me a hard time.

The balloon was still descending quickly. They were headed for a flat series of grass fields.

        Wow, a little too fast? Marty felt.

The operator seemed a little distracted fiddling with his radio as the ground rose to meet them.

       Wow, this is kinda fast isn’t it? Someone twenty-something girl remarked.

It seemed to snap the operator out of his daze.

Crap, he said, and he grabbed the blower and opened it full board, but it did little to slow their  momentum. The balloon was coming in at a 45-degree angle as they were about 100 feet up and closing in on the ground fast!

      Crap! He bellowed; everybody crash positions! Crash positions now!

We all squatted down grabbing the edge of the basket as it came down hard!

      WHAM! The impact rattled Marty’s teeth and he bit into his  tongue a little. The impact caused them to bounce back up into the air as the pilot gave the blower a bigger tug.

      WHAM! They hit again as he was working the flap and the blower to get the balloon  under control. This time the basket was dragged across the farmer’s field, kicking up grass and dust and dirt behind it. The basket bounded up bounded up and crashed back down, jarring everyone as they held onto the edge and balanced themselves on the balls of their feet. Marty  glanced over at his girl and saw some concern on her face but she was actually smiling.

   She’s loving this! WoW!  

  Marty thinks he is falling in love.

The basket took its final lurch and slammed into the grass field while the operator worked the flaps and kept it grounded. The friction alone helped slow the momentum and brought the oversized picnic basket to a halt on its side.

All Clear! All clear! The pilot  yelled.

    All the passengers  slowly released their grips, weakly stood up and climbed out of the tipped basket.

       Wow, that is what we call a hard landing guys!

He said triumphantly to our group. Marty felt like his elation was more than preposterous; the pilot had lost control of the balloon, and almost got everyone busted up.

 Nonetheless, we all began applauding weakly, still a little shook-up.

            Marty told his girl that  he wanted to kiss the ground as he could still feel his heart pounding in his chest.

   But not his girl, she was stoked.

   That was awesome!

She said as she high-fived Marty and gave him a big hug.

One by one, the other balloons were piloted into position with a soft thud into the field all around them. The caravan of F-350’s raced towards the collection of fabric and baskets.

   This first of many adventures was over, but Marty was still falling hard for his girl. Her outgoing nature and taste for adventure was refreshing and invigorating. He couldn’t wait to see what she’d come up with next!