(Please read the first part of this first, part one. Or else it will make absolutely no sense.)
A lunatic went up to a concession stand at a movie theater to buy some popcorn, with a $100 dollar bill. As the employee, dumb struck, gave him some change, the loon proclaimed with a twisted smile, "Sorry, I have no cents." Get it, like sense, and he's a loon, you know? OK, whatever, I'm just gonna blog.
We were in a very bad situation. We had signed up for a hot air balloon ride and couldn't find the company employees who we were supposed to fly with. We had called them and they hadn't answered, twice. So would we get to go on our hot air balloon ride or would it be like the last time where it hadn't worked? Only time would tell. We got a phone call from Dad's phone, and as he answered on the right road passing by the polo people, he was breathing soothingly when he got the words to stay at the Mexican restaurant and that their pilot and crew were on their way. We were very glad and parked the jeep on the right side of the dirt lot across from the restaurant far down by a field. Another small sedan also parked by us. A lady and an old man got out, asking the same question and also calling those people, wondering where in the world they could be and if we were supposed to be parking here. We stood in puzzlement together before a van pulled up, grey and fairly small, behind a trailer deck and an overturned hot air balloon. Thank goodness they had found us. We had gone inside to investigate at that time, and a small man with brown hair and very skinny introduced himself as Ferrel. He had a blue nurse material shirt with name tag and loose hair. This was my first time seeing our new pilot.
The last guy, his name Mark, had been serious, kind of stress-filled, and had dry humor. Ferrel was a people person, a smile on his face, which made him even more suspicious of letting us down for the flight. Would it work? But as he explained he was late in traffic, was sorry he had put Dad and our family through that, and then led us on the wooden balcony to the restaurant with a clipboard checking off our name, I saw that I would probably like this man. He made the other people sign the confidentiality agreement, as he led us over to the van. A young mother who was tan and vaguely resembled Jennifer Lopez and her two black haired tan sons came up also, and I was sad that these two boys were going on the flight with us... only because they might be rowdy and ruin the mystery and greatness of the ride and view by being either scared and panicky or noisy. Do I sound like an old man or what? I just wanted to have some peace up in that beautiful place. But anyway, we stood as he told us what was going to take place and some guys in a truck came, large beefy men, one of whom was white and the other three Mexican. They all were wearing regular casual clothes, no uniform(unlike the other guys) and baggy shorts with hats turned around. We were trusting these unassuming men with our lives. Gulp.
This is how it was gonna work: we would arrive at the launch site, get ready to go, step into the hot air balloon you couldn't get in gracefully, stay up there for a while until sunset, watch the sunset, and then land not facing the ground and your back against it, knees bended, and then drive back to where at the parking lot we would drink wine and then have h'ordurves at the Mexican restaurant, free of charge. It seemed like a pretty good plan, but this time would it work, unlike the last time? Would the winds once more destroy our flight? Would something else go wrong and further cause our balloon to misfortune? Maybe I should just quit wondering and just let life's river flow on. We waited while a man took a long time to get here, who arrived late and talked to Ferrel. There was a little argument in Spanish before the man left, shaking his head. Ferrel had fired the man. Wow, this was getting interesting, a little drama to the mix of the blog post. I was sad the man had lost his job, and that he was unemployed, but he had shown up way late. The white guy who was large and had brown hair and huge nostrils, fairly young and smelling like a pig, brought a large black haired Mexican man with a purple shirt who could help out. The basket had four steel columns making the base and the fire spouter, with black handles on the sides of the beige real basket. It was certainly traditional from the early days of the balloons reign. The men were supposed to attach the metal to the columns holding the basket to the columns, but they didn't know how to do it and asked of Ferrel. The crew didn't know how to fasten the balloon part of the machine that held us up in flight? Two gulps now.
They didn't look even close to as professional as the other guys in Phoenix. But they were the ones leading us up so we got what we got. Ferrel helped them, visibly irritated, showing them how to do it next time. And then we signed some more papers, looking them over thoroughly, not totally trusting this branch of companies. He did that white balloon thing from the last time (a one out of about ten similarity) where you use a pipe or pump inside of the car to fill the white balloon with hydrogen, and thereafter let it up in the air. They do this to tell what way the wind is blowing, compass in hand and guess which way they’ll be going, for the search team to find them when they land. Ferrel let one of the small boys try it up, and they were delighted as it slowly floated up and then vanished into a tiny speck. It was like a little pea falling into an abyss, just the opposite way. I was amazed how fast it went up, then up, then up more until it was gone! I used my compass on my phone (it’s an app) to figure out what direction, as it went vaguely east. Ferrell used his also. Well, I then pointed it and made it go on 0 of the numbers and coordinates, which is actually really hard to get it resting on that number, or any number. A slight move can be fatal. After we had done that, the men seemed ready to drive to the location. We left our cars, and Ferrell assumed the authority of driving, with us in the back…again, for the second time. Although we were with those boys, the mom with them on the second to last seat, and Dad in the back Mom in the second chair with the elder people, because she is claustrophobic and doesn’t want to be in the very back. Dad talked to them from behind.
One of the workers who couldn’t get in the truck that would follow us later with all the set down equipment and was dubbed, “The Chase Vehicle” got in the very front on the passenger side as Ferrell talked a little about his past career, the area, and a bit about hot air ballooning. Although I didn’t hear him that well from the back, so can’t get you the exact details of it besides deducing the subjects. And as we got onto another dirt road and bumpier it got, his voice was drowned out. So I thought a little, a lot about if we would really get to go on a hot air balloon ride. The past guys were a lot more professional, and had uniforms, a driver and large crew, with a big hot air balloon that was there separately. It might not of been as high class but we believed that this would be the one that would soar us into the heavens. Who would’ve known that the ones we would be flying with wouldn’t be the really big awesome company but rather these guys at a restaurant with sweat pants?
We came to a small square dusty from the desert, with some oaks and palm trees on some sides of it. Why were they picking this place to take off at? Although, they weren’t directly close to us, but still…
Hey if you haven’t seen it already, the Phoenix blog, I suggest you either reading it if you’ve never before or trying to remember it, for I will mention it a lot of times. And also, I won’t describe the takeoff of the people beside us as good as I did the last time, and I want you to have an adequate description. Okay, back to the blog.
There was the truck, plus a hot air balloon turned over, blue and yellow, but already fast filling with air. And then there was a colorful striped hot air balloon, that was already ready to go, the truck holding a rope down, and men putting staves in the ground to hold it in until it was ready for the flight. A few people boarded through the black footholds in the basket weaving, most of them old with large hats and cameras, sandals, not exactly the most wonderful climb in. The people at the last place had said there was no graceful way to do it, a term that the ballooners and employees would later say a lot. People stumbled and held on to the columns, helped up by the crew. I thought about how I would get up, blunderful or graceful and swift. I am a kid... or maybe I might not even get the chance, there was a slight breeze going along as we went to ours. People moved their legs along the rim and then clattered down, and some even jumped or stood there too long and couldn't even get their knees over the large wall. But, they eventually got into the four sections surrounding the pilot's area with the large propane tanks, cylinder, and then the rope was cut as they leaned back and forth on the ledge, waiting for the hot air to fill and the right time to come, it was all about the wind, timing, the among of air in, everything.
Some of the crew were given phones and cameras as they took pics of the ballonists, and then gave them back when they were done posing. Any moment now.
The time was right, and we watched, being close to the action of the soaring people as they rose up, and we thought that we would soon be next. Although, rising doubts in my mind, not like last time when I was really excited, drifted about. I thought this because I had been tricked once, and that maybe I didn't think that this crew would do the same thing twice...well, it was a branch company. They got up... up.... and the people waved to us... and I hoped that they would touch ground again. They took pictures and snapped their cameras, flashes on and off, as the colorful balloon with the square beige basket lifted to heights they had never been before in the open air, such a delightful feeling as they rose and their faces diminished to mere points in the vast sky. They're colorful rainbow balloon was reflected off a large blue. We were beneath them as the men, the crew, put the trailer that had the basket on it and some of their supplies in the van and truck, separate teams. They would follow the hot air balloon and arrive at their point of landing. The cool thing was, they never knew where they were gonna land. That's the part that makes it exciting. We were about to be like those people, lost in the air and the earth below us. Well, maybe... we would fly.
The hot air balloon, which I could see as yellow and blue somehow, was filling up it's dents and getting fatter, band more bubbly as it sat down, on it's side, pointing it's face to the trees surrounding it. We weren't in that rural in area, and there were still some trailer parks, chain link fences, piles of junk, and BEWARE of DOG signs close by. We talked to the lady and her sons, and it was her birthday today. This was her present, being lifted to the blue yonder. The lady, brown haired and short haired at that with a chubby body was kind and we talked to her, a resident of CA from Santa Monica, but her husband, rather skinny, grey haired, with hair not coming down to bangs, looked a little anxious and did not talk much. Was he worried that it wouldn't go up or if he would be safe if he did go up? I do not personally know the man's thoughts, don't have any friends that are brains, so.... sorry but I can only pose questions. I am sure that you are disappointed at that as we have many questions already unsolved in the universe, but I mean, it happens. Back to the blog now.
It filled slowly and slowly up, coming from just a flat piece of material on the ground that was blue and yellow with fans on either side blowing air into it into the half circle it had become. I wondered at one point, it was either on that day or the failed Phoenix flight(hey all those things have an F sound.) when I wondered what it looked like in there, as Gene the crewman(Phoenix time) got in it at one point, and what it felt like. Ferrell at one point as we stood there talking, snapping pictures with our big professional stuff and video cameras, led us over to the balloon and basket. Intrigued, us kids, the two tan kids, Rebecca and I, got our phones(Rebecca and I) and my video camera, the small kids having nothing to hold. Ferrell had been very nice to us so far, kind and making funny jokes to the kid, absolute opposite from Mark the No Emotion Faced Deep Voiced. He had a little bit of jokes though. What was Ferrell leading us to? We went to the left of the rapidly filling balloon, skitting by some fans that breezed my buttock. Then I gasped as he pulled up a string connected to a rope connected to the column, going into the large beautiful area where you could see into the hot air balloon. It was so unimaginable.
The long yarn-looking cords stretched down on either side, square sections of the woven blue and yellow parts of the puzzle all up there. It was endless, like a dream, and I felt I could just walk in there and be lost in the crazy maze that looked like it wasn't real. But I didn't, realizing the danger of stepping in and possibly having it all come down on you. It was pretty and the little pointy end, beige and all the white lines, as I still wondered what the shape was. This was crazy. I took ample photos and had the wind in my face, or the fan stuff. This was the same experience I had had at the recreational park by our house, with an old counselor lady named Pam and several kids and that circular rainbow thing where you go under with everyone holding it, but this was a huge proportion of it. I was very awestruck as I came in there. We quickly went out, allowing the fans to do their magic, and leaving the optical illusion to itself as it then filled with air more and more. It was like a curved bubble, fat at the top and sloping to a curve as it went downward.
Pam and several kids and that circular rainbow thing where you go under with everyone holding it, but this was a huge proportion of it. I was very awestruck as I came in there. We quickly went out, allowing the fans to do their magic, and leaving the optical illusion to itself as it then filled with air more and more. It was like a curved bubble, fat at the top and sloping to a curve as it went downward. It got larger and wider and fatter as the time went on. As they pulled it up on a slant, balancing on one side, and Ferrell got in, I now saw what the blue and yellow was. It was a mouse, to be exact, Mickey Mouse, in a hat and waving a wand that made yellow stuff all around, and he himself was yellow. It was from Fantasia! I was glad we were in California, flying with America's favorite mouse, only days away from going to the original Disney Land.
M-I-C-K-E-Y M-O-U-U-S-E! Mickey Mouse the magician!
It was rapidly filling, and it seemed the dream of making it to the skies would not be disappointing. Just to think that we would make it, we would get up, as the crew, as unorthodox as they were, pulled the ropes and made Ferrell balance and then come down. They must truly be strong men. This was the "hot air" part of the process. Ferrell, gloves on, touched his hand on a metal bar lever that blew spinning cylinders by the columns into the hot air balloon, gushing red and orange flame out into the contraption. I could feel the heat of all the hydrogen and fuel mashing together, like a dancing girl as it spired into the balloon. It would define out the noises in the air, blurring out everyone's voices, and then it was quiet as the balloon creaked, held only by those men with the ropes. It sprayed and churned again, blinding our eyes in the brightness of the inferno, before standing still again. It was an eerie time, wondering if it would pop and when the balloon would stand up, fill up, and would be ready to go up. It was the same thing that had happened in Phoenix, except we had seen it happen to another person's balloon, not ours. It finally, due to lack of wind, became on it's square bottom, and the basket had Ferrell in it with the propane tanks. For a few more minutes he filled the hot air in, enough for it to fly up and bee virtually weightless. That would be holding it up for the rest of the time, hot air and regular air.
It was time to go in, Ferrell said, as I remembered him saying earlier to actually get closer to the heat if you don't like being under the fire, and the hotness. The wind moved it towards the other sides, so, even though it sounded crazy, if you stay under it or closer to it the cooler it gets. We didn't need to bring a jacket among all the breezes and cold wind, because the flame wold make it warm and cozy in there. But as I was saying, it was time to embark on the machine that would take us to the skies! There was ten of us all together(including Ferrell in the middle with the propane), so our family, being the four together, got the larger area on one side, with the elderly couple on the right side of the left of Ferrell who was in the middle, the lady and her kids to the left and on the left of Ferrell. We were lucky to have that large area all by ourselves. I was just waiting for how terrible the kids would be. Come on, just let us in so you don't have the chance to cancel it, come on! The elderly people got in blunderly, with crew helping them in and taking pictures. The man did not smile. The kids got in easy as they climbed up on the footholds; heck, it was easier than the rock climbing they did at the playground! And now for us. I gulped, savoring maybe the last time I was going to be on firm ground.
Strategically Mom was to go first, and she did so well enough with a little clumsy fall at the end, and a slow old woman's step in. She's not too old though. Dad handed her the black bulky camera bags, and she placed them at the other end, so he nor us would step on them. Rebecca was the next in. She got on those footholds, swung on the column, and came down on her two feet. She smiled at her graceful youthful tramp inside. Now me. I gulped, then quickly placed my great new shoes on the footholds, swinging my foot over, and jumping down with my butt getting off the ledge. Mine was flawless too. Dad was the last was in. Don't take your time, we need to go before they cancel, and go into the airs!!! His trademark black dress shoes, flat and leather, got on the black footholds. Grasping the column for support and handing Mom the camera, he put his large beige khaki pants bottom on the rim, trying against hope to get his foot over. His neck pulsed as he made the slow climb over, then letting go of his strangle of the column and clattering to the basket. He held the sides, panting. Rebecca and I tried to conceal our laughter, but alas it was too funny.
We were now ready to go! The men took our picture as I squinted with the sun in my face, wondering if they would let us go and keep the camera for myself. My video camera and phone never ceased rolling. They held the ropes back, gloves on and the main rope still holding onto the truck. Then they undid it, and I looked up as Ferrell again blew the fire up. It was a gushing living breathing fire, and it made you wanna close your eye's as you looked at Satan's pet bursting up into the skies. We rose slowly. Inside the compartment, was a black floor, very firm. You could think you were on firm ground or in a building when looking and feeling it. Black stiff straps were our means of hanging on as we soared and rose. It was amazing as I held on and looked below. The crew, waving, sacked up and got ready to follow us. Soon I saw the trees around the dirt area all together from an aerial view, and then the surrounding polo areas. Ferrell, trying to get high as he pulled certain levers to make move up and down, later utilizing bags of sand, couldn't hear us as the small man put on special goggles so he wouldn't go blind looking at the hot air. Didn't he look like something. The kids peered out and weren't too loud, more shy and sitting down beneath their Mom.
And so much room there was in there! If I wanted too and wasn't too interested in our flight, I could spread out on a bit of the floor, or the corner, and nestle up to a book amid the churning sounds of the wind and all. But I was interested. Forty feet off, then fifty! We slowly rose and rose, and to the rich people playing polo we were a strange sight to be seen, a large with wizard hat and wand holding up a square object with ants waving.... a few blinked and waved, distracted and out of the game. It was better than those little square windows in a plane, much better, and I only felt a little anxious and perfectly safe up there, the ledge being over most of my body, no footholds on this section. I could only just peek my head over. But what a cool bird's eye view! I wish I had wings to see all this, the little suburban houses and trailers, junky with barking dogs and big fences. If everyone could fly it would be very easy to go over barbed wire fences. It looked all like a dream, unreal art piece at the MOMA (Museum of Modern Art) and I had not experienced anything like it. The dogs of all different sorts, pit bulls, golden retrievers, big and little, all howling and barking like they were seeing a giant animal on a circle in the sky that annoyed them... well, they were.
Ferrell, under the rare fire hot air pumps he did, said that for some reason every time he or someone else went up, those stupid dogs would bark. He did not know why. We went up higher and higher, skirting up with the wind making us go east, and then towards the city. There were mostly little orchards and farms we passed by, rectangular and square fields of beige and green colors. How lucky we were to be up here, seeing this stuff, that probably even the farmers themselves had not seen from this view! There were also palm tree farms, which looked just crazy all in a bunch, shady and dark.... how would it be like to just jump from this view into all that, the large tall trees with their green sprouting leaves, and the beige long trunks... so weird did it look! I was so glad that I had been lucky enough to come up here this time, instead of not being paid our money in Phoenix and then not getting to go today. Although Phoenix's desert and broad valleys and imposing mountains probably would've been more scenic, it is just so stellar to be up in this thing and look at the ant-like people below. There's no feeling like it, none at all, than being in a hot air balloon, and it feels like you have the whole world before you, and that you are above the world, just a sight it is!
By the end of your lifetime you should embark on a hot air balloon, if you haven't, reader.
An hour passed of this great spectacle, us talking about this wonderful thing with fresh zeal, and Dad glad that his son shares in his love of balloons. Dad got new lenses out of the bags by his feet, and we had to go to the right with Mom when he did so, as she did also. We held onto the black straps as Rebecca and I conversed about this good time, staying on the bottom with our heads down when the flame bursts above us, not liking the sound or the sight as it came above. I tried to talk to Ferrell a few times, but alas he could not hear me, or sometimes he did and I could not hear his answer to my questions. Maybe when the fire stopped and we stayed at a height for a while. And that time did actually come when we emerged at a long way up, 4,000 feet off the ground. On our way up I had never ceased to be amazed at the height, the barking dogs, and the houses of people. As we floated up there, not going up or down and only having a light breeze, I looked around at the beautiful scene below me. We were as high as we were ever going to be in the basket, and around us a valley was long and detailed. The brown mountains protruded on most sides, brown and jagged as the southwest had been sense. To our left as we teetered around the area, was the Salton Sea, blue and fading with white blurring into the waters, and making an optical illusion that surely showed it's depth and beauty.
It was like a mirage, sent down into the deserts of California, from away and with the particles in the air blurring it, really oddly. On our opposite side were palm trees all around, green and beige, small broccoli to us at this height. The surrounding area was most suburban, with little houses and leafy backyards, and main streets, shopping outlets, together with small hotel skyscrapers to our left. The salton sea was very far in the distance, but closer we could see Indio and La Quinta, hardly making it out. Dad saw a lagoon that looked like a birds wings flapping upward, and several rectangular shapes. What was that? Dad took pictures with it with his super-special lens, capturing the scenic destination, whatever it was.... wait a second... that looks familiar... is that Motor Coach R.V. Resort? It was Dad who, seeing the nice motor homes and the waters with no lake close to it, asked Ferrell what it was. He didn't know and wasn't from that area and did not frequent it a lot. But on Dad's camera it pretty much confirmed of it being the resort we were staying at. How fantastic to see it so high up! Dad would later show the ladies at the office who had given us dog walker suggestions for the day when we had left the aerial photo of the park. Just one of the days on the trip.
I asked Ferrell how it worked, and at times he would either answer, ignore me or be talking and then drown out to talk later. The first living things into a hot air balloon was a chicken, hound dog, and something else I forget... oh well it might come to me. It wasn't exactly the best place to want to know stuff about the hot air balloon. The temperature reading that looked like an oversized calculator told the air frequency and temperature, also the heat of the fire and other certain things. We saw the colored balloon land up against a brown mountain, very close after it had departed. Because the wind had been blowing fairly hard when he went up and it was too bad for him in his location, he had to land. Was the unlucky trip cut short? No, for almost as soon as the man arrived on firm land, the wind died down mercifully and we got to stay up for an ample amount of time. All the people were just specks to us, the foreign cars zooming past like cars, the small dots in traffic, and the women at the boutiques. Several people looked up and we saw them wave with their microscopic hands. This was so cool! They were our toys and we were the players, and we could just pick up their little forms and play them around as much as we wanted. Well, that might not be totally true, but it was what Rebecca and I were day-dreaming about.
How superb this overlook! How magnificent this view! Everything but the very clouds and God above us, this great collection of small cities beneath us, it made me feel so separate from the world, and how small I was in proportion to all of reality! Even this city was so big, everyone having their own thoughts and secrets, and I was just one of the 7 billion active brains and neurowaves in the very realm of the planet, only a leave on a tree in a vast forest or a grain of sand on a beach, a stem of grass in a field, a piece of snow on a jagged mountain. If this was so big and so bustling, with so many souls doing so many things, what was the world like? If more planets with possibly even more life than on our planet, what was the universe like? Then I was only one particle in one grain of sand on a beach, or even smaller than that. Being in a hot air balloon, having all this before you really makes you question your small part in such a humongous world, and makes you praise the glory and nature God has created, this wonderful Earth. It was truly one of the most unique experiences ever.
And we were now on our way down, to end this great event. Spencer had used a harpoon gun to pop a hole in the heat resistant nylon, and, our cameras were plummeting off as they had bumped off, as we sheer rocketed straight down to our deaths. The balloon whizzed and the shape shifted, with Ferrell trying to contain this puppy. It wasn't working. The elderly people were shaking and pannicky, our parents eyes widened, with Rebecca and I screaming. The kids were on the floor, face down. The ground was getting closer and closer, and people in a brick house screamed in terror as a rectangular beige thatch thing fell into their living room, mortar and wall everywhere. The roof had caved in with the force, and most everyone was knocked out except for Ferrell, the lady, Rebecca, and her sons. Such a fall.
Just kidding that didn't happen.
But we were on our way down to end this event.
We lowered in altitude, thanks to Ferrell's pulling of levers and releasing of pressure, or making it less hot so that he didn't go as high. I was sad we were going down, and before we did totally asked Ferrell a few questions, about that door. He said it wouldn't open and it was just too hard to open that the other way was a lot more easier. The basket itself was new and thousands of dollars so Ferrell doubted it would do anything bad. The balloon, fairly close to the ground at this point and not going down any more, passed over some suburban areas. Little adobe houses and brick ones, the one you would see in most family neighborhoods, were filled with mothers and babies coming outside to see this crazy event. Ferrell mentioned he hadn't gone over this area before, so these folks weren't seeing a hot air balloon around them every day. Cars honked to say hello to us, men stopped on their bikes and looked up with waved hands, and kids in subdivisions waved and screamed hello. Kids playing football in their backyard ceased the game to see the flyover. "Hi!" and waved hands were a common sight for us to see, and even though we couldn't see the detail on the kid's faces and adults, by the tone in their voice we could see their delight and enthusiasm. Rebecca would later say she felt like a princess and these were her subjects all waving and saying hello to her. We shouted stuff like "Buy me some pizza" and in unpopulated places spat to see how far it went, the silver saliva gone in only seconds.
It was definitely a feel-good time, a united just kind of waving and cheering that really made everyone come together. I loved having being waved out and shouting stuff like "Call me!" and "It's not dinner without apple pie" at the puzzled people below. We weren't actually that high up in relation to them, and they were still pretty far away, in relatively. Does that make any sense? But anyway, I loved that cool time. It was just one of those moments Was just one of those moments. Just one of those moments. One of those moments. Of those moments. Those moments. Moments.
We weren't in the best part of town as we lowered, and that could be seen from our viewpoint. Rock and brick flat houses, littered with all kinds of things in their yard like fridges and small bikes,boxes and even more barking dogs, were seen in multitude. The lights of the day dimmed, and we were supposed to get there before the sunset set to drink wine and see it from a distance. As we went over fields and small playgrounds, plus Catholic schools, that man who was anxious in the beginning, the elderly man, as Mom later reported, got panicky and started telling Ferrell where he could land when it got even more dark, almost as black as coffee, grey tones and the last bit of daylight holding on. We were very sad that the great views and awesome time was coming to an end, but like Ferrell had said, the goal of the flight was to land. Would we achieve that goal?
Ferrell walkie-talkied his crew even from this altitude, telling where he was on his compass, by all these closed school fields. The old man kept saying "We can land there! We can land there" probably scared of riding in the balloon this late in the day. Plus, he had been anxious the whole time. We had had our flight not canceled, but now we're we gonna have a safe landing? Ferrell talked to them and they told them where they were, saying that now they had found an open field on a farm and I saw them, in the truck, preparing to meet us and take the hot air balloon back after we had gone in the van. The flight had been way more than we had hoped for, and now it was coming to an end. There was, however, a large fake palm tree that supplied energy to places and was really a telephone pole. Would we scrape by it without hurting the basket or the balloon. Video cameras and cameras were put away by everyone, and Ferrell had already told us once he would say, "Assume the Landing Position" which was butt against the wall, holding on, knees bended, and not looking at the landing, even though common sense says too. I was very scared, and Ferrell had never been in this area before, plus it was dark. And it was my first hot air balloon landing. It wasn't going to be smooth, that was for sure.
But even though I was scared it was still exciting, and I wished I could get it with my video camera and see us land. But, if I did that, then I would risk the safety of my video camera and the basket's balance, so it was better to be safe than sorry. We were riding in at a tremendous speed. "We're gonna land, set up everyone!" Ferrell's voice rang out in the cool night breeze, not saying what he said, I guess he was too paranoid and worried. We knew what he meant however, and Mom and Dad were in the back up against the wall, and Rebecca and I frantically took the other spots to the right by Ferrell. It was happening!
The land was like nothing you would imagine. I felt the wind on my back as held on tightly to the straps for dear life. As all I was seeing was the sky and some neighborhoods blinking lights in the distant horizon, all my other senses came alive. It happened so fast, in only a manner of seconds. I heard branches, or leaves, and a scrape, with a THWACK! and a CRACK, and I wondered quickly what that was, the wind or something else. Before I knew it we were dragging on the ground, scraping the basket's bottom along some dirt, dust from the night emerging to guard us. We balanced on one rim of the square----this is crazy--- and as my head spinned we crashed down on the dirt. The men from the crew put the stakes in the ground and the rope to the truck, securing the balloon to the ground as Ferrell got out, and we all got out. For a few minutes we stood there, dazed, at what had just occurred. There were huge straight tracks in the dirt, which the kids played in as they laughed. Mom said, "Did you see that? We were inches away from that tree... telephone line." Everyone talked about that with vigor, saying where they were and stuff... I hadn't seen it but only heard it. Well, the crew slapped hands with us as they prepared it down, turning it over and puffing the air out. We were now on firm ground. What an adventure.
Then something odd took place. A man, bearded we thought in the fading light, came from one end of the green trees around this unknown area, and he walked toward Ferrell and said, "You can't be on here," or "What are you doing here?" He said it in such a manner however that we thought they were friends, and that this was just a joke. Our thinking was soon denounced. As the light post above flickered a lot he hit him with the palm of the hand, outstretched, right at the shoulder, making him go back a bit. Ferrell, calm and professional, answered him that he wasn't on anyone's land and if so was sorry. Up against the van door, Ferrell asked him a few questions, still reserved. Maybe he was trying to not get shot. We'll call the man Mr. Grumpy Pants as I show you a little dialogue
"You can't be doing this after dark. It's a penalty by..." Grump Pants got interrupted.
"I know, I know. I didn't plan it that way. We stayed too up and couldn't find a place." The small man against the large man stood his ground.
"The police are after you Ferrell! The police are after you! They're around and have been scoping you out!" Grumpy yelled and looked straight in the eyes of Ferrell.
Ferrell grinned. "Well they know where to find me. If you'll excuse me, I have people to take back to their cars. Thank you." He turned on the man as we all watched the scene that had just unfolded. Then, it got weirder.
A teenager with brown buzz cut hair and a pale face and shorts tramped around the area Grumpy had entered from. He kicked his feet up high and held his hands like a praying mantis. He was probably mentally retarded, and shouted some things. Grumpy took him by the arm and took him out of the area, as the crew packed up. Ferrell got us in the car quickly, still his nonchalant self. It was virtually the same seating arrangements as before. As we drove to our cars in the dark of night, Ferrell apologized for that man, stated he was a competitor just trying to scare him, and he let the subject be. There were still many unanswered questions though. Were the police really after Ferrell? Was the man's violence and command simply a bluff? Or was Ferrell's life in danger? Would he get in trouble with the law for landing there? Who in the world was that kid? And why was there a mechanical crow on the telephone line reporting all this to Spencer to make a rival blog post about? We would probably never know.
We would later call Mr. Grumpy Pants a balloonatic. Haha, balloonatic.
At the restaurant parking area, we stood by the van parked across the lot from the restaurant, and Ferrell got some wine out and a cooler of orange juice for the kids. Some people got a combination of them both, for instance the Mom, and I just had Solo cups of OJ. After the toast, Ferrell told us an excerpt from the History of the Hot Air Balloon, where two men of honor and prestige went up in the balloon, and with them a Catholic priest. We listened to the beautiful poem I can't replicate(tell you why in a moment) and were handed a special official paper saying we were now balloonists, with all the pictures of the balloons you could ride on. We picked Magic, the Mickey one, and Ferrell signed the whole thing. It had the poem on that, but alas, we have already sent it home because we didn't want the stiff delicate papers to be torn up on the road. Oh well. Ferrell then took us to the outside part of the restaurant away from the rowdy motorcycle patrons, and all of the hard rock, oh and drunk people at the bar, into the crickets of outside and the darkness all around, besides some people playing soccer. Ferrell stood by a little bit, complimented me on my questions and smartness, and then left.
Ferrell was a very nice man, a great pilot and guide, and cool under fire. I'll never forget him.
Thank you for leading us to the skies, sir!
We then ate Mexican spinach dip which was the free appetizer coming along with the ride, and then talked to the elderly couple about our trip, although the man was cold and put his arms around himself, later going to get a red fleece jacket and sitting, not talking though. The sons and the Mom bade us goodbye after hearing about our trip, but later we found them in the restaurant with the bar and all that... was she trying to avoid us or wanted to drink on her own check? We didn't know. I got a little salad which is what I had that night, and then ate more of the dip before we took it home. The man said he was tired and left with the lady, and Mom called him a party-pooper. Well, we took Rebecca's pasta in a box and thereafter we left.
Then we went to sleep at the R.V. park.
You know, although it wasn't the prettiest of scenes and Phoenix was more professional and maybe even safer, it was great to just experience the hot air balloon, meet Ferrell and those other people, and maybe if we had gone on the other one I wouldn't have recorded it with my video cam. God works in mysterious ways. Well, you know that I had a wonderfully great time on the hot air balloon, so beautiful, crazily spectacular, and all. Please do it before you die. Please.
Goodbye for now.
Never carry a knife on a hot air balloon ride... know that from experience,
Andrew.
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