July 25, 2008: Spring Creek, Nevada

About 5 years ago my sister moved to Spring Creek, Nevada, a town that would have merged into neighboring Elko years ago were it not for a hill between the two communities featuring a National Forest full of 4-foot high trees (not like the planted forests of the Cascades, they just didn't get any taller). It was my plan to continue my re-integration process there, primarily because she has dogs and it had been ages since I had taken advantage of the simple pleasure of absentmindedly stroking a dog while reading a book.

Higgins, the Best Boxer in the World:

Plus my sister also lured me in with the possibility of going for a ride in her friends' hot air balloon. Despite multiple ballooning opportunities while overseas, I never felt like paying an exorbitant amount for 1/2 hour of airtime with a bunch of other tourists. Gayle and Martha, on the other hand, were hardcore balloon enthusiasts and all one had to do was meet them by 4:30 a.m. to help set up, thereby scoring a free ride. Thankfully, I'm a morning person.

Ballooning, it turns out, is a lifestyle, not a hobby. The balloons are expensive, the multitude of gear fills a painstakingly organized trailer, and the sheer scale necessitates a crew of able bodies (there were 10 of us that morning). A launch site requires a large space preferably free of basically anything standing higher than an inch off the ground, and a landing site, well, one takes an open spot when they can find it (hopefully accessible by a 4x4 and owned by someone who doesn't mind unannounced guests dropping in attached to a 50 ft high balloon shooting flame out of gas burners). I would not be surprised in the least to find out that it is cheaper to own and maintain a plane than own and maintain a balloon.

In contrast with the image of effortless flight, it requires a surprising amount of loud noise and physical force to get a balloon off the ground. It took five people to move the the rolled balloon sitting neatly in a humongous basket and, while unrolling it is easy, holding the opening wide enough to accomodate the hundreds of cubic feet of air being blown in by the industrial fan powered by a generator gave me quite the shoulder and arm workout. That wicker-y looking basket? Also a minimum two person job. Thankfully, the gas tanks get wheeled around on a dolly.

With everything snapped, screwed, and bungee-ed in place, we allowed the balloon to right itself, dominating the landscape with a smile that must drive non-morning people crazy.

The "Misbehavin'" in all her glory:

After a few ill-advised jokes about trapdoors in the floor of the basket, the crew released their hold on the basket and we shot up into the air. Seriously. Balloons do not all rise gracefully and slowly from the ground. This was a rocketship headed for the stratosphere and my ears started popping like popcorn.

Man, myth, balloon pilot, it's Gayle!:
Once I recovered from my shock at being instantly transported from the ground to several hundred feet in the air, I noticed that it was indeed quiet, peaceful, and quite pleasant. Drifting at altitude gives one time to study the landscape in detail, and be studied in detail, as well -- some early risers waved at us as we passed overhead.
I was marveling at the play of light on the nearby Ruby Mountains in the early morning sun
when Gayle set off the burners and I yelped as 8 gazillion BTUs of flame erupted with a roar and nearly lit my hair on fire.
Height is not an advantage in a balloon. I wedged myself in the corner of the basket as far away from the burners as possible, not quite believing Gayle's amused assertion that he would warn me next time he was going to hit the burners.

I took stock of my immediate space from the comfort of my corner and realized with a start there was nothing even slightly resembling a steering wheel in the basket. In the back of my mind I knew there wouldn't be, but it's only when I found myself suspended from the air way too high above the ground beneath a giant, maniacally smiling balloon, sharing space with way too many gallons of combustible fuel, that it really sank in there was no steering wheel.

"How do we, uh,..?" I stammered while making a circular motion with my hand.

"Steer?" chortled Gayle. "We've just been maintaining altitude. Check this out," he said, firing the burners with gusto.

In an instant we were 20 feet higher than our previous altitude and...floating in a completely different direction at a completely different speed. I know that there are different air currents at different altitudes, but to see it in practice with such marked variation in such a short vertical space (to me) was an eye-opener.

Especially in a wide-open space devoid of mountains or other formations that I would expect to influence wind. We played around for a few minutes finding a multitude of different currents moving in different directions at different speeds, the balloon suddenly displaying a surprising amount of manueverability. I was impressed. The balloon was no longer such a passive means of transport.

Eye in the sky -- the early morning traffic report view:

Because we had been frequently firing the burners to find the different air currents, I soon discovered they were great for harrassing jackrabbits. Every jackrabbit in a 200 yard radius would freak out when the burners went off, zig-zagging at top speed in a frenzy of activity that looked like pinballs bouncing off the sagebrush as we floated above. Unable to look up and identify the source of the noise, they would settle down after a few seconds, only to have us set off the burners again and set them leaping off frantically once more. I could have done that all day and been happy.

It was time to let a few of the other rookie crew have a go at flight, however, and we set down with a gentle crunch amongst the sagebrush near the main road. With the new passengers loaded up and set on their way,

Up...Up......And away!

my sister and I jumped in one of the "chase" vehicles -- yet another integral component necessary to pick up passengers and dismantle the balloon.

It's a little like a tornado chase (without quite so much at stake) trying to figure out which roads to take and which direction to go in order to follow the balloon. Radio communication with the pilot helps some for anticipating directions, but can't open up fences or locked gates. After about 15 minutes, Gayle found himself caught between some powerlines next to the main road, unable to catch a current that wouldn't blow the balloon directly toward a hill at speeds he considered unsafe with passengers. So he set the balloon down. Right on the side of the road. Impressively not crossing the white line with the basket.

Within minutes a cop was there not quite sure whether to arrest us or shut down the road. I doubt there are any guidelines in the cop handbook specifying what to do when a hot air balloon sets down on a main road in one's jurisdiction. Meanwhile, the few early morning cars on the road slowed down to rubberneck. I could see them thinking "Whoa, did that cop pull over a balloon?!" Turns out so-and-so's kid was in the same school as the cop's son and pretty soon it's "Hey, how would your son like to go up in the balloon sometime?" Crisis averted. Quite effectively, I thought. For a brief moment I considered getting a balloon so I could talk my way out of potential future moving violations.

Gayle offloaded his passengers and we let go of the basket, releasing the balloon. Initially it went straight up above the power lines, then caught a quick current that pushed it directly to the hill Gayle had been trying to avoid in the first place, picking up speed as the air encountered the initial gentle slope. "I'm going to try and put her down before I get carried too far," he shouted over the radio. Then we lost contact. Note to self: Invest in radios that don't require line of sight.

There did not appear to be any roads in that general direction, but luckily Reed, the driver of our chase truck, remembered a dirt road that he thought led where the balloon should have landed. One rutted dirt road impassable to cars and a healthy dose of off-roading later, we saw the Misbehavin', balloon being pushed at an angle with the wind. Gayle had managed to set it down in a level spot, although it soon became apparent that the real challenge would be to get the balloon down without it getting caught in the sagebrush. A couple of super-size tarps later (all those bumps are sagebrush),

we wrestled the balloon into a coil in its basket, loaded it in one of the trucks with help from a hydraulic back gate (I hereby nominate the inventor of the hydraulic lift for sainthood), then put the rest of the balloon away, and headed back to the launch site.

The real treat turned out to be the spread of food and drinks Martha set out back at the launch site upon our return.

Martha and Heather setting out the start of the spread. Yes, there was also champagne:

Now that's a tradition I can appreciate! It had been an especially interesting first flight experience and worth celebrating. Martha and Gayle are always looking for volunteers, so let me know if you happen to be near Elko and I'll see what I can do to hook you up for a little adventure.