Up, Up, and Away in My Beautiful Balloon!

"Once you have tasted flight, you will forever walk the earth with your eyes turned skyward, for there you have been, and there you will always long to return." - Leonardo da Vinci

Ever since I can remember, I've had dreams of flying. Doesn't everyone?

A few years ago, when that movie about "the bucket list" came out, I thought about it carefully and realized that I only had one item on my own personal bucket list: to ride in a hot air balloon!

My oldest sister and I compared notes, talked about it, realized we shared a similar dream. I was surprised and delighted when my very generous sister purchased three tickets for a hot air balloon ride: for her, my husband, and myself.

This summer we started planning our adventure. My sister had bought the tickets from an online vendor who provided us with a list of individual participating balloon pilots in each of the 50 states.

Upon calling around for information, she discovered that some of those (more local) vendors were no longer in business. Instead of taking flight from a venue nearby, we learned that the closest vendor who accepted the tickets we got launches from the Quakertown Airport, a bit south of Allentown, in eastern Pennsylvania, about a four-hour drive from where I live.

We also learned they only take flights up for sunrise and sunset trips. We would need to meet our pilot in Quakertown by 6:30 am for a sunrise flight, or 6:30 pm for a sunset flight. Taking into consideration our four-hour drive, it was going to be a very early morning or a late night.

We made numerous attempts to schedule a flight, but our plans were cancelled several times. Once it was clear and beautiful, but way too windy. Once or twice it was too stormy.

Then my father went into the hospital for an unexpected heart bypass surgery; we cancelled the flight we had scheduled for the day before that, as my sister was needed for an early-morning hospital transport. It seemed that maybe this flight just wasn't meant to be.

This past Saturday night, I received an e-mail from my sister: she had contacted the pilot, he said he was clear for Monday, the weather looked promising, we were booked for a sunset balloon ride, all systems were go - go - go! Wait - what! Suddenly it was on! I wrote back - yes, let's go!

Then on Sunday morning, there was another note from my sister: oh no, one of the major routes that my husband and I needed to travel to get to her house was going to be closed all day. Did we think we should reschedule? We checked the maps, quickly charted a backroads detour, told my sister we would find a way, we would MAKE it, no matter what!

I had been excited before, but suddenly I was like a little kid at Christmas. Happy to be going, finally. But to be honest, a bit nervous too: none of us were familiar with the area where we were going and it seemed a long way to go. I printed out mapquest instructions, we packed drinks and sandwiches, and we set out Monday afternoon on our great adventure. My husband and I drove from our house to my sister's; from there the three of us rode together.

After uneventful travels, we met our pilot and his chasers (the guys who chase down the balloon when you land) at the Quakertown airport at 6:30 pm. We saw their van pull in with an attached mini trailer. Out jumped three men. They came over and talked to us; they asked us to sign waivers; we signed over our tickets; they began unloading stuff.

Out came a wicker gondola, some big fans, then a large bag. Out of the bag came the prettiest balloon you ever saw! All the colors of the rainbow! The pilot told us we were in good hands: he had more than 20 years of experience flying balloons. He explained that he would take us up, and the other two guys were the chasers who would bring the vehicle to wherever our balloon landed and take us back to our starting point.

I got out my camera, snapping away as they put things together, unfurled the balloon, arranged the fans, began pulling the balloon out, letting it inflate. We milled about, a bit nervous, very excited, actually pretty much beside ourselves at this point. It only took them about 15 minutes to set it up and inflate it.

And then suddenly the pilot was saying - the balloon is inflated, we need your weight in it to help hold it down, jump in, jump in, jump in! He placed a step stool by the gondola. In jumped my sister, then me, then my husband. The pilot and his two helpers were holding the balloon steady, messing with the propane. The pilot jumped in; the helpers let go. As the pilot opened the blast valve, propane ignited, sending hot air into the balloon - and suddenly we were aloft!

We sailed out, lighter than air, up and over the nearby houses and out over Quakertown. We were not far above the ground, and could easily see the faces of people, their houses, the details of what they had in their yards, their swimming pools, their grills, their flowers.

Dogs barked and followed our balloon. A bored tabby cat who was stretched out on a sidewalk - no doubt feeling my gaze and my camera the way cats do - stood up and looked at us suspiciously.

A little girl in red pajamas ran waving into her yard to watch us pass by. People shouted and cheered and whistled. Cars stopped. Horns beeped. We smiled and waved back to everyone who waved at us. We shouted out hello. It was like being a movie star, or maybe the Queen of England.

Suddenly we were transformed. We were the Balloon People, people of the air, people of magic, carried aloft by gentle winds into the heavens.

Explaining that our mother would be quite displeased if I, her younger sister, fell out of the balloon while taking pictures, my sister spent most of the ride clutching both the gondola and my waist. I was never afraid, but I was careful.

I saw a hummingbird following our balloon, getting close, checking it out. Then another. Did they think we were riding a huge hummingbird feeder into the sky? I pointed them out to the pilot and he laughed. So did my sister. "Hummingbirds follow my sister," she said to him.

The pilot told us that during their fall migration, the monarch butterflies sometimes follow his balloon. He wondered if they thought it was a huge flower. Looking up into the inside of the balloon (see photo) and admiring all of its gorgeous colors, I could see what he meant.

I was enchanted by the idea of our balloon and its admirers; our winged escorts. My heart almost broke from the joy of finally becoming one of them, after all these years of yearning: flying through the sky in our rainbow balloon.

Our balloon shadow followed us into the fields, the trees, the streets below. As the shadow passed over each area, I could see reflected on shiny things (cars, street lamps) the jeweled colors of our balloon: ruby red, sunflower yellow, pumpkin orange. Giddy as children, we waved to our shadow selves.

There were a few things that surprised me about our trip. One was how tiny the gondola was. Four of us (none of us very large people) fit in it, but barely. There was little room to spare. We stood upright the whole time, clutching the sides of the gondola.

Also, the propane flame that kept us aloft was right above our heads. The pilot would regularly open the blast valve to add more hot air. The noise was surprisingly loud. It was hot. It smelled of propane. I imagine the pilot's hand that was running that valve got plenty hot. My husband, six feet tall, said he was worried his hair might catch on fire; every time the blast valve sounded and the hot air came gushing out, I think we all ducked; even me, at all of my five feet two inches tall.

The pilot told us he could control our going up or down, "but whether we go left or right is up to God." We traveled at a speed of around six miles per hour. The pilot had a small cell phone or some device that regularly reported to him our speed and some other information. He pointed to a few round gauges on the side of the gondola - the highest we traveled was around a thousand feet.

He said that above us our balloon contained about two tons of air, easily the weight of a large automobile. The thought of two tons of air seemed mind-boggling to me. Who thinks of air having that kind of weight?

We saw a balloon in the distance: a fellow traveler! Their balloon was gray, nondescript. Full of newly acquired balloon pride, I laughed and pointed it out, told our pilot, "But OUR balloon is so much prettier!" Suddenly it was my balloon too.

The pilot told us we would soon need to put down in a nearby field; we could try to keep going but might run out of fuel and have to crash into a tree to stop. Heading down seemed a more prudent option; and so down we started to go.

As we came close to the ground, he told us there would be some bumps, and there were. We were all holding on tight, but at the first bump, we were jolted a bit. My sister pitched forward into me, sending my knees scraping against the wicker and dumping her without further ceremony (but unhurt) onto the floor of the gondola.

Another bump, another one or two, and suddenly the chasers were there, pulling into the closest parking lot, running over to grab the gondola, steadying it. The pilot kept inflating the balloon enough to keep it aloft, and the chasers guided our balloon across the field with us in it. We came to a stop, and we climbed out one by one - always keeping enough weight in the gondola to give ballast to the balloon - and then the balloon itself started to come down.

Within about fifteen minutes, it was down and all packed away. As they unsnapped the pieces of the gondola quite easily by hand and put them into the trailer, I thought: "And THAT was what we were clutching onto when we were all the way up in the sky!!!????" And shook my head.

The golden sun was setting at the horizon. The men continued to pack things into their mini trailer. In minutes they were done; suddenly we were in their van, heading back to the airport and our car. The whole ride took about an hour and a half, maybe a bit less. But it was absolutely the adventure of a lifetime!

We quickly packed ourselves into the car. In two hours we were back at my sister's house, where my husband and I got my car and headed for home.

As we were driving along the river in the dark, a familiar route home and one I have driven so many times over the years, I had my eyes to the skies, for it was the time of the Perseid meteor showers. My husband and I had been out briefly two nights in a row, and had not been disappointed.

As we drove home, I looked up into the August sky, and I caught sight of the biggest, brightest meteor I had ever seen: suddenly, a great, sparkling light arced all the way across the sky!

I am sure that I will dream of this day: the day that we became the Balloon People, people of the air, people of magic, carried aloft by gentle winds into the heavens, riding on a rainbow of brilliant shining color, with hummingbirds as our winged escorts . . .