Up & Away

He’s anti-heights. So when my husband told me he would like to ride in a hot air balloon someday, I was puzzled by that statement. I just put that tidbit of information in the back of mind and left it to collect dust.

Several years later a co-worker approached me to buy raffle tickets. The ticket was only ten (10) bucks. On every-other-day, I would walk away laughing. It seems I get nickel and dimed at work. Someone is always selling something on the behalf of their kids or grandkids. And with an office with over 50 women it’s quite a few nickels. However, on this day I purchase a ten dollar raffle ticket for a hot air balloon ride during Art and Air Festival for two. That tidbit seed was planted and I acted on the behalf of my marriage.

The Art and Air Festival is one of those rare festivals were people actually get up and out of bed at sunrise on a weekend to watch people inflate gigantic balloons and watch them lift off. Sure, it’s pretty…..pretty amazing that people attend.

Anyhow.

I suppose you can tell where this is leading. Yes, I won that Hot Air Balloon ride for two people. Needless-to-say, the hubby was thrilled.  An event not on my bucket list. 

The ballooner called me to make the arrangements. She inquired as to mine and my husband’s weight. I gave her the same number twice since we weight the same. (How depressing is that??? And it’s not 123.) She questioned me again about the weight. And again. Three times I had to repeat my weight to a complete stranger. Not something I normally share with anyone including spouse.

Groggily we arose one Saturday morning (a day off mind you) at 4:30 am to meet the ballooner at 5:00 am. (Not a typo.)  A thrilling part of ballooning is helping to attach the balloon to the cargo cage and thus watching the balloon fill with hot air. 

Oh yeah, like working for your ride is thrilling. Maybe that is why the raffle ticket was only ten bucks?

And then came the scale. We both had to stand on the scale while the balloonist noted our weight. She did comment that I was correct with our weights.  Like I’m known for my dishonesty. Maybe stubbornness and other traits that are normally viewed as “bad” but dishonesty isn’t generally one of those unless I simply don’t like you. (But that’s another story for another day.)

After the weight scale ceremony, we were off. The first few hundred feet frightened me as we cascade upward over the oak trees, houses and cell phone towers.  And then I relaxed. I might live through this experience after all. My afraid-of-heights husband is totally fine. No issues with him. 

As we got comfortable with our balloonist, we engaged in conversation and we learned that she is a certified pilot. Yeap, in order to legally fly a balloon, you have to be a pilot. She had been ballooning for over 20 years and competes in contests. She was proud of the fact we were flying in a balloon she made. 


Made? As is handcrafted?? 


Yes, her and her husband sewed this balloon themselves. Now I’m scared again. I worry when I wear handcrafted, sewed by myself skirt that I may of missed a pleat or seam and I’m showing more skin (or slip) that I should be. But a handcrafted balloon that is flying several hundred feet about the earth? I am not quiet paralyzed with fear, but I have heightened awareness about survival.

And then it gets worse in the fear factor sense.

She wants us to get our feet wet; in a river. She is going to skim the river and then quickly rise above the tree line and avoid the power poles simply for the thrill it and because she claims she does, just like in ballooning contests.  I suppose the only fear I’ve had before stepping into a balloon is the fear of hitting a power pole and being electrocuted. I know a rare event similar to winning the lottery but my fear nonetheless.

At this point, I panic. I tell her I will jump out of the basket in the river and take my chances. I’m serious. She’s aware. Change of plan.

We land, the chase car picks us up while another packs the balloon and basket.

I lived through the experience while keeping my feet dry.

This morning, I witnessed the balloons in the sunrise for the annual Art and Air festival. I think I will get up early tomorrow morning and watch the balloons rise.


Once was enough for me. Been there, done that.

Or maybe I’ll just get up early and have a beer with my bacon. After all, it’s Saturday.

Prost.