Flying blindly

It was an atypical Sunday morning in the Dagney Velazquez household last weekend. Instead of sleeping in as long as possible before finally shuffling into the kitchen for a big pancake brunch (but I’d rather have mac ‘n cheese!), I drug my daughter out of bed at the ungodly hour of 6:00. Yes, I had to literally drag her body out of bed, because she insists that if the sun isn’t up it’s not morning. Being the obedient daughter that she is, though, she dressed herself and climbed into the car.

The whole ride to the Great Midwest Balloon Festival in Overland Park she ranted, “It’s still the middle of the night. Why did you make me wake up? We’re not even stopping for doughnuts?” So far, not our loveliest morning.

Fortunately, the sun appeared before we made it to the fields. The friendly parking attendants guided us to the perfect spot, and we leapt out of the car ready to watch some hot air balloon excitement.

We waited for quite a while because, even though the published start time was 7:00, balloonists, lik

e ultimate Frisbee players, operate on kairos rather than khronos time. Fortunately, the cinnamon roll vendor had a half price sale, so my little princess was c

ontent while we waited.

Sunday morning’s competition was simple. The pilots were to launch from a location of their choosing at least a mile from the field. At a radio signal, they would launch at the same time and race back to the field, where two very large “Xs” had been marked. The pilots would fly low over the “Xs” and toss bean bags out of their baskets, trying to land their beanbags as close to the centers of the “Xs” as possible.

Now, hot air balloo

ns’ racing is nothing like cars’ racing. It’s also nothing like sprinters’ racing. In fact, it’s even a far cry from the county fair turtle race. At the mercy of the whim of the winds, balloon pilots move their crafts up and down, trying to catch currents blowing the desired direction. The first balloon we spotted nearing the field appeared to remain in the same location for 10 minutes, and

then it shrunk as it moved further away. And this, ladies and gentlemen, was the fastest balloon. Eventually the pilot made it to the field amidst loud applause, hovered just a few feet above the “Xs”, tossed his beanbags, then landed a few hundred feet down the field.

He was the only pilot that made it to the “Xs” that morning.

About 10 minutes

after this excitement, we spotted 5 more balloons converging toward the field. Then they all disappeared. The fog that had begun as a gentle morning mist had thickened into white- out conditions. The event director announced to the crowd that the competition was canceled and that the pilots had been instructed to land as quickly and safely as possible. Not easy instructions when the pilots couldn’t even see the ground.

I can not imagine what it was like for the pilots, flying blindly hundreds of feet in the air in an aircraft that steers about as well as a blowup raft in the middle of an ocean, only more so. For those of us on the ground, the experience was exciting, scary, and mysterious.

Since the balloons were already airborne, and since they couldn’t see the ground (or power lines, or treetops, or tall buildings) the safest option for most was to head for the fields. A GPS could get them close, but finding the precise location of the landing field proved nearly impossible. To guide the pilots down, the event director asked the crowd to make as much noise as possible.

Yep, that’s right. The pilots were navigating by the sound of our whistling, shouting, and clapping. Eventually someone found a fog horn, and the

n a few police and fire vehicles parked close to the fields and turned on their sirens.

So there we all were, staring into the thick white cloud surrounding us, seeing nothing but hoping the balloonists were out there somewhere. And then we heard it- the unmistakable sound of a hot air balloon’s furnace. The crowd’s volume ramped up a few notches as we continued to stare into nothingness. We couldn’t see a thing, but we knew the balloon was close, not more than a couple of

hundred feet by the sound of it. He was just a hundred feet above us when we finally saw him. In fact, he was directly above us and descending quickly when we finally saw him.

“Run, mommy! He’s going to land on us!” shouted Aliyah.

After snapping a couple of pictures (I lived in Oklahoma for several years, where a tornado siren is a call to stand out on your

front porch and watch), I heeded my daughter’s warning and ran clear of the balloon’s landing.

It was an excellent landing, and by excellent I mean it was safe and everyone survived without injury.

This episode repeated several times while the fog continued to thicken. We didn’t see the next balloon until a few seconds before it hit the ground. We cheered them all in, and they landed not only safely, but with smiles on their faces.

Two big thumbs up to all the balloon pilots who participated in the first Overland Park Balloon Festival. You displayed courage and an admirable sense of adventure. I’m already looking forward to watching you fly next year.

On the way home, I asked Aliyah what her favorite part of the day was.

“The cinnamon roll,” she replied.

So, a big thanks to the food vendors. We’re looking forward to seeing you next year, too.