A journalist and a lot of hot air? Not surprising, but still cool.

Writerjax — Tue, 15 Jul 2008 18:23:00 GMT

Ok, so sometimes, Moday's turn out to be better than you think. Sometimes a perk comes along and drops into your lap, as if from out of the sky.

Such was the case yesterday - here I am, trudging through e-mails and manila folders with one eye on the clock as it crept through the afternoon, when the phone rings. Instead of getting the fifth Bad Pitch of the day, however, I got an invite to a media event.

In a hot-air balloon.

It was about 1 pm when I got the call, and lift-off was at 6 pm in beautiful, bucolic Greenfield - the heart of Franklin County in Massachusetts, and also the host city for the annual Green River Festival, for which, oddly enough, I have tickets. Coordinators had devised a media flight to tout the festival and its obvious balloon component, and to help drum up sponsors for the 2009 festival. I have no idea how I ended up on their radar screen, but hey, no complaints.

I jumped into the trusty Scion with little more than a Randy Marsh 'See Ya' to my editor, and headed up to where the trees grow tall and the air seems a little cleaner. Ah, Franklin County, with your rolling hills and responsible energy policies. And people call Boston the Hub!

This was to be my first hot-air balloon flight, so I may have pushed the pedal to the metal a bit. I got to 'the flight site' about 20 minutes early, sat in on some planning chatter among the festival committee that only got me more excited about Saturday's event, and then turned my attention to Paul Sena and his crew as they hauled a balloon and basket onto the field that I later found out was named the ThunderBuster.

Only as Paul told me, you can't just say 'that balloon is called the ThunderBuster.' Nay, you have to say THUUUUUNDERBUSTERRRRR! Fine with me.

Here is where the first of a number of misconceptions I had about balloon flight was dispelled; it doesn't take forever to blow up a hot-air balloon, it actually only takes about 20 minutes from rolling out the canvas to seeing it pop into the sky over the basket.

Here are a few more things I didn't know, because apparently I'm a little thick when it comes to aviation:

• I did not need the sweater I brought along for the ride. We were not leaving the earth's atmosphere.

• Balloons aren't really steered to the left or right; they go up, down, and where the wind takes them.

• Balloon flight is not loud, except when the fire is shot into the canvas, and even that's not that loud.

• You don't turn around and go back where you came from in a balloon. I almost hate to admit that's what I always assumed. It's actually much cooler - a chase car follows the balloon, and the crew inside parks where the craft decides to land and grabs lines to hold it down.

Once the balloon was inflated, the pilot and two other riders (I was the only member of the press that responded to the call; seriously? Seriously.) and I climbed in via a precarious little step and peered down as we lifted from the ground, people waving goodbye as we floated away. We did a 'touch and go' so Paul could show us how the basket lands - with a bit of a thud, a pitch, and a drag. Not so much to be unnerving, but there was instruction to bend our legs at touchdown, so me with the wrecked left knee was appreciative of the dry run.

Then, we rose - higher and higher, the shadow of the balloon getting smaller by the foot (about 4,000 of them), and the farmland of Franklin County stretching out below us. This is by far the best way to sight-see, and it was only made better by people in cars and even on foot waving to us as we sailed by. Although so high up in the air, they were able to see us and even yell hellos - we saw some backyard barbecue-ers, and asked them to cook extra burgers for us as they flailed their spatulas in our direction.

After flying over neighborhoods, streets, Little League games, and row upon row of corn fields, Paul started looking for a place to land and talking to the chase car via Walkie-Talkie. They suggested a field that we missed, and later a cemetery that was a little too close to some power lines. We had an up-close-and-personal encounter with a tree, but Paul assured us that with a little burst of flame, we'd fly right over it, and we did.

On the other side of the tree line was a small neighborhood, and it was here Paul decided to land. The chase car in hot pursuit, we began to descend onto the backyard of a private home. The husband and wife owners of the house ran out frantically - the former looking a little concerned at first, the latter snapping pictures with a huge grin on her face. The neighbors came out of their houses, too, crowding around and waving and shooting photos, and we gently bounced to a stop without leaving a mark on the lawn.

One at a time as the balloon began to deflate, we scrambled out of the basket and threw our bodies onto the canvas to help push the air out, so the balloon could be gathered into its carrying bag. A round of applause for Paul followed, and another for the homeowners, who were presented with a bottle of champagne for serving as a landing pad. The woman who lived there was thrilled; she said in the 20-plus years the Green River music and balloon festival had been staged in her hometown, she'd always dreamed a balloon would land in her yard, and now, her dream had come true.

She, her husband, and their neighbors waved goodbye as we left in the chase car - the goodwill was really inspiring - and we trekked back to our cars as the sun set. Back at home base, Paul and his wife set up a little table with cheese, crackers, chips, and champagne, and toasted us for completing our first balloon flight.

With luck, I'll actually get to see Paul and my fellow riders on Saturday when I attend the concert, making my little Monday excursion even more worthwhile. Paul said no matter what the circumstances, as a pilot he's realized that a hot-air balloon flight is one of those things people like to "cross of their Bucket Lists." It's now crossed off mine, making room for even more flights of fancy.

See the whole trip on flickr here

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