Travel Journal, 109
I love all forms of travel. My favorite means of, “getting there,” of course, is by train. The whistle, that click-clack of the track, zero jet-lag, and a slow sway of wheel-on-iron gives this nerd goose-bumps. There’s something majestic and patient about going by rail. My favorite children’s program on PBS was Shining Time Station, the first TV show featuring Thomas the Tank Engine. I can still sing the entire theme song. And I thought Ringo Starr was only famous for being cast as the conductor, not as one of the four Beetles. I digress heavily, but you get the idea: I love trains.
But hark! A vehicle of another breed oozes far and away more majesty and require loads more patience than the locomotive. The train looks like futuristic teleportation by comparison.
I give you the Hot Air Balloon.
My wife and I recently took her parents to a hot air balloon festival in central Iowa. By general rule as a proud Minnesotan, I spend very little (if any) time in Iowa. But to ride a hot air balloon, one must go where the hot air balloons are. And I must confess, Iowa’s grand, open, farmland spaces offer perfect take-off and landing opportunities for ballooning.
The National Balloon Classic takes place each summer in the small city of Indianola, IA. I had never heard of Indianola. But let me tell you, ballooning is important there. And it should be. The festival there hosts balloon pilots from all over the US. Thousands of people come from all around to participate and watch hundreds of colorful balloons.
The festival runs only from 6 p.m. to 9 p.m during that week. Evening is the calmest time of day here. Ballooning is highly weather dependent. Two days of flying had been cancelled due to “windy” conditions. And by windy, I mean windspeeds higher than 8 mph. But this night looked just right. We parked our car, grabbed our lawn chairs, and found a spot overlooking the take-off area. I can’t call it a landing zone, since a whopping 0% of balloons ever land in the same spot from which they take-off. We met with our pilot and crew for a briefing.
The flight was a go. The weather checked out. And the plan was simple. The crew would first fill the balloon with “cold” air from a powerful fan. This would inflate the balloon, but not give it lift. Once it filled, the pilot would use the flamethrower-like device mounted to the basket to heat the air, giving the balloon lift. And in a moment’s notice, we were hurriedly shuffled into the wicker basket before the balloon got too far off the ground.
A quick word about the basket. Think of the not-so-groovy 80’s or 90’s wicker furniture that your parents or grandparents had/have. We all know what I’m talking about: that barely comfortable three seasons chair with the removable cushions, rounded corners, and flaking white paint. This is exactly the type of basket that hung from the enormous balloon.
I don’t know how long hot air balloons have been around, but let’s just say that technology has changed very little since then.
We lifted from the ground and slowly rose into the sky. Utter silence broke only for the occasional flamethrower blasts above our heads. And in no time, we rose the around 3,000 feet above the Iowa farmland. For an hour, we floated along. I would say that we flew, but that’s not accurate. Come to find out, hot air balloons have almost no directional control whatsoever. The pilot can control the altitude with heat. And he can rotate the balloon by pulling on a release cord, letting out air from the side of the balloon. But steering? Nope. A crew for five or six followed us in a van with a trailer, remaining in radio contact the entire time. And eventually they directed us to set down in a space between cornfields. Surprisingly, we came to a nice and soft landing in that exact spot. Each crew member then grabbed the side of the basket, the pilot gave the balloon a teensy bit of heat, and it lifted slightly from the ground allowing them to move the balloon to the road. And in a jiffy the balloon was deflated, folded, and on the trailer with the basket.
The sun was setting and our delightful balloon ride was over. It felt like a long journey. So I pulled up Google maps to see how long it would take us to get back to the festival. We had traveled a mind-boggling distance of four miles.
There are certainly faster ways to travel. But are there better ways to travel?
anthony forrest
