He Tales - Albuquerque Balloon Fiesta

DANCING IN BALLOON LIGHT

DAWN PATROL
It’s 5:45 a.m. in the black of a desert night on the north side of Albuquerque, and the freeway off ramp is jammed with a wall of cars. Up ahead, several police cars are parked, and officers are guiding the traffic along the frontage road with their flashlights carving arcs of light to send us on our way. Approaching the officers, we notice they are dressed for the frigid pre-dawn cold, with long black duster coats and thick bomber jackets. But looking closely, we also notice something not usually found at traffic snarls, jester hats and smiles, as the officers point us on our way by mimicking break dancing moves. Turning off the frontage road with the rest of the traffic, I notice the street sign, Balloon Fiesta Parkway. We have arrived.

As we slowly snake down the road to the launch park, brightly lit yellow orbs slowly rise from the Earth, flickering with the blast of large propane jets against a black sky. Welcome to “Dawn Patrol” at the 33rd annual Albuquerque Balloon Fiesta.

On the field below, the pilots and crew of more than 700 balloons from around the globe stand in frozen anticipation, watching these few brave souls rise into the blanket of night to test the winds. This morning, the oversized luminarias float South off the field, rise gently into the sky, then drift back North across the field – hanging like a row of lanterns stretched by God to light the path to heaven. The pilots on the field begin to smile, sensing what is to come.

As shades of deep blue creep up over the black ridge of the Sandia mountains rising mightily to the East, the crews start to unload their trucks, laying out tarps and fans, baskets and balloons on the damp green grass. We watch the crew of Breezy Rider assemble their basket, dropping a large propane burner on poles sticking up from their small basket, hooking up cables with carabineers to connect the basket to the rigid metal frame housing the burner. After connecting the hoses to the propane tanks, they run a “burner check”. Tongues of blue and yellow flame spit a loud hiss into the sky, instantly warming those around the balloon. I almost wish they could run the jets straight until dawn, creating an impromptu campfire. But as quickly as it started, it is over. The crew are off to the next chore, and we go on our way.

I notice a friendly group in well-matched blue team jackets manning a powerful fan, blasting air into a yellow and pastel balloon with all the subtlety of a lawnmower. Their balloon is called Levity, and their lively manner fit well here. As I stand at the back of their truck to take a picture of the filling, I notice their basket on its side. Across the bottom of the basket, in a large cutout on white poster board, is the cartoon figure of a somewhat flattened boy. I ask the lady directing the fan about him. “He’s Splat, our mascot.” she cheerily replies. She tells me Levity is from Albuquerque, one of the many balloons that fly here year round. I tell her how much I like the name for her balloon. She said it seemed to fit, “You know, levity – light hearted.” Only then do I realize the pastel shapes ringing the balloon are hearts.

As dawn approaches, turning the sky to a muted steel blue, the large field in front of us grows into a forest of balloons. There is nothing on Earth like a field filled with almost 200 balloons preparing to take off. Their scalloped sides remind me of the mighty columns of the great hypostyle hall in the Temple of Karnak in Egypt, only these balloons are significantly more massive. Kimberly and I walk straight into the forest, hand in hand as we smile and laugh.

Slowly, one by one, the balloons are ready. While each balloon approaches its launch temperature of about 225 degrees with long blasts of their fiery jets, the “zebras” are working the field. Zebras are the officials in crazy hats and referee-striped shirts using loud whistles and a bit of yelling to keep everyone safe. Balloon pilots cannot see straight up from the basket, because there is a big balloon in the way. With several hundred balloons launching in the morning “mass ascension”, there’s a good chance you could have a balloon above you, so the Zebra’s first job is to stand back from the balloon and check the sky overhead, making sure it is clear.

He also checks the field down wind, making sure the 90,000 awe-struck visitors glued to the eyepieces of their cameras realize a very big, very hard basket is about to knock them over. It’s easy to miss the yelling of the zebras because the propane jets from so many balloons fill the your ears with a continuous throaty blast. Once the coast is clear, the zebras toot their whistles, and the balloon roars its jets to warm itself to the idea of floating into the dawn.

As the sun crests over the Sandia Mountains, balloons rise into the sky like the seeds of a dandelion blown by a small boy making a big wish. The sky to the south looks like an armada, and every minute new balloons race off to join the "flighting"

Amongst the many multi-colored morsels, “special shape” balloons stand out against the turquoise sky. Airabelle, the cow floats fittingly beside the barn of Old MacDonald’s Farm. Little Angel and Little Devil are chasing each other around the sky, while the flag-shaped America One and the space shuttle shaped Patriot launch into the morning. Kim likes Ham-let, the pink-winged wonder from team “When Pigs Fly”. I’m rather fond Azul, the smiling blue monster with cute little wings. Everyone in this sea of humans on the field has their own favorite. Except of course for the kids, who are so busy racing across the grass collecting the balloon trading cards from each team that you quickly realize ALL the balloons are their favorites.

But Kimberly and I both agree one of the cutest teams is the Little Bees, twin balloons Joey and Lilly. As the bees get ready to take off, we race over to the large crowd in front of them, joining in the loud applause as this couple floats away hand in hand, (literally… they Velcro them together!) before they slowly spiral toward each other to kiss and dance their way into the sky.

The sky is now full of balloons from horizon to horizon, as well as several directly overhead. All together, more than 700 balloons hang against the still airs of the sky. Amongst the football, soccer ball and globe of the Earth, several wonderfully patterned balloons float by. A Paisley balloon called Hale-ucinations joins Dolphin, Bloomin’ Balloon(flowers), Alien Inflation, and Castle Dawn I to decorate our eyes. The corporate balloons have also made the trip to Albuquerque, with the Pepsi Globe, the Wells Fargo Stagecoach, a large bottle of Jack Daniel’s Lynchburg Lemonade and the Energizer Bunny among the many instantly recognizable special shapes slowly passing by.

Albuquerque is very unique for flying balloons. The Sandia Mountains to the East create wind effects, causing the lower winds to run to the South while winds at about 1,000 feet and up reverse and go northward. Locals call this “the box”, and it is the primary reason why this is the biggest and best balloon fiesta in the World. After taking off and flying South, then rising up and shooting back North, several of the balloons are perfectly lined up to descend and float South again, landing directly on the field from where they launched. This is called “flying the box”.

As the pilots gauge their descents, the zebras work to clear trucks and trailers, people and gear from the field to prepare for the landings. As pilots descend, they have to time their landings just right to hit the field in an empty spot. Several test their flying skill by floating low over the flags at the raised berm on the North end of the field. Kimberly and I watch one pilot come in over the flagpoles with only one foot to spare on his way to a quick landing. The crowd cheers the pilot’s skill as another balloon landing to the East of us temporarily blankets the low sun, creating a ballooner eclipse.

As the baskets approach the ground, dozens of spectators serve as impromptu ground crew, chasing after each balloon and jumping up on the baskets as they hit the ground, adding the weight needed to drag them to a stop. Of course, this looks like fun, so I jump into the action, helping to wrangle a big silver and yellow balloon called High Society to the ground. As I grab the nylon straps at the top of the balloon to help empty the air, I get a blast in the face of the hot propane-infused air, uncomfortably warm even in the cool morning.

As I hang off another basket, some ground crew rush up with a horrified look on their faces. They motion behind us, and as we turn we see that Smokey Bear, a special bear-shaped balloon flown by a retired U.S. Park Service Ranger, is wrapped up at the peak of a 670 ft radio tower west of the field. We watch in astonishment as the balloon shreds itself on the tower, while three black dots climb down the ladder of the tower towards the ground. (News reports will later reveal that the pilot had two passengers, ages 10 and 14. The three made it safely to the ground, but the accident shakes up many on the field.)

Kimberly and I are wiped out. We pick up some Greek gyros from one of the many white tents lining the midway that sell everything from balloon hats and pins to funnel cakes, from turkey legs to Honda generators. As we walk over to a picnic bench to enjoy our lunch, we think about the small miracles we have seen this morning. It’s 9:00 a.m.

NIGHT MAGIC

I’ve always thought of ballooning as a morning activity, saved for those brave souls who chase sunrises. Here at the Fiesta, they have created a special event for those of us more inclined to the sun’s last rays than the first. After a day of driving through yellow leafed Aspens and Birch trees nestled in the spruces and firs of the Sandia mountains, we return to the field to witness Night Magic. As the sun settles on a glorious desert day, the balloons crowd the field once more.

This time, however, the departure runway is closed. The purpose isn’t to fly, but to glow. 180 balloons nuzzle up with each other as night approaches, filling the field once more with a forest of wicker basket trunks and leaves of nylon fabric strung across wire branches. The darkness helps us find the soul of each balloon, as the glowing jets of flame fill each tree to the point of bursting.

Old friends take on new faces as their inner selves are revealed. Azul, the cute monster of my morning - looks almost, but not quite, menacing by night. The flag balloon America One is glowing with more patriotism than this morning’s flight revealed. The large black eyes of Alien Inflation laugh at you as the pale green skin flickers in the night.

The point of this nighttime uprising is to let the balloons shine, so at regular intervals the announcer comes over the loud speaker with a countdown. 10…9…8 he begins, as the massive crowd picks up the count. 3…2…1 we yell, and then they go on the glowfensive, every balloon on the field lighting up against the darkening night.

In between the “full burns”, the announcer leads the call for “flicker burns”, a cacophony of flaming Morse code as the balloons toggle their noisy jets. Kimberly and I are standing smack in the middle of the field, and the scene reminds me of a dance hall, with a massive disco ball somewhere overhead playing light into little flickers all around us. I grab Kimberly quickly by the arm and in front of 90,000 friends we haven’t yet met, we begin the “Propane Waltz”. Tonight we are in Albuquerque, dancing in balloon light.
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