Don't Call Me Ishmael: Lending a hand at the Liftoff

People poured into the Memorial Park before dawn. Patchy and sometimes ominous clouds moved east as Pikes Peak went purple a short time before sunrise caught the mountains. Heavy rains the night before deepened the morning dew across the launch field. I would repeat this ritual the next two mornings.

I had seen the balloons rising from past Labor Day Liftoff several times but had not visited Memorial Park before. For years, I talked about it with the lady who cuts my hair. I noticed the balloons above the Springs and she mentioned her friends and their balloon. The talks continued at every haircut for three years. On Friday morning before the Labor Day Liftoff, I found out this year would the year. I planned to volunteer without any idea what to expect.

Even with the rain and some unfavorable winds, the balloons would still rise, just later than planned. Only on Monday would the pilot decide to keep the balloon folded and not launch. The Saturday morning crowds were the thickest, with people funneling into the park at 6 a.m. The first balloon launched in the 46th Liftoff and the crews sprung to work.

Across the field, balloons swelled to life. Across two waves, seventy-five balloons would rise from the field. It all felt impromptu. But I had talked about balloons for years with the lady who cuts my hair. This year she invited me to volunteer if I wanted. I definitely wanted to. Friday morning, I found out about start times and meeting times. The rare chance to join a balloon crew was not an offer I could turn down.

This little piggy went aloft

At first the Liftoff felt claustrophobic as people watched the balloons fill. People moved in for photos and the balloons briskly moved them back.

Whether spectator or crew member, the balloon was always going to win that matchup. Holding the mooring rope, you could test your strength but eventually the pull of the balloon would force you to bring the rope to the basket. We straightened out the fabric of the balloon, adjusted the Velcro strips atop the balloon and watched as the air flowing into the balloon pulled it upright.

Our pilot grew stone serious as the balloon straightened before liftoff. Number one warning – don’t get in front of the basket. The basket might look like wicker, but it weighs 800 pounds and could kill a person standing in its path if it suddenly picked up speed.

With the balloon aloft, we jumped in the truck and began the chase. The crowds had to move, and several people were adamant about not leaving their seats despite the truck needing to leave the launch field. The truck roamed across southern Colorado Springs, following the balloon through a maze of neighborhoods. The modern balloon chase crew has advantages, including two-way radios and apps to keep in touch even if the balloon left our sight.

Disney must know about these

When we spotted it again, relieved washed over the chase team – the balloon landed off a fairway at a nearby golf club. At the gate, the groundskeeper greeted us amiably; obviously he had been through past Liftoffs and knew the wide-open golf course would be a frequent landing spot. As we reached our balloon and began to tear it down, two more landed elsewhere on the course.

The balloon aloft

Back at the launch field, the crowds had vanished. People watched the two waves of balloons rise, then went home. They would return that night for the glow event, where lights would illuminate the balloons.

I skipped that event since I signed up the help the crew on Sunday morning. Sunday’s weather was even clearer, and the balloon inflated quickly. Even in the second wave, the basket went up earlier than Saturday.

The balloon soared out of sight as the pilot did a Liftoff tradition and skimmed near the surface of Prospect Lake. The trick is to wet the bottom of the basket without getting any water inside. Balloon after balloon attempted the feat.

Then I heard the least-expected words of the weekend from our pilot - “Bill, you get in.” I could hardly hide my excitement. A few blasts of propane and we slid back into the sky. I viewed my city in new dimensions. In one panorama, I could look from the Cheyenne Mountain Zoo to Garden of the Gods. Even the mountains felt different from this vantage point.

I asked the pilot if we were 200-300 feet above the Springs. He said our altitude was closer to 800 feet. I realized the cars looked awfully small from our position. The balloon surprised me. We were at the mercy of where the wind carried us. In still air, propane control could only move us up and down.

I expected the basket to move around, to have the choppiness of a boat. Yet it was stable and didn’t budge. We stood on a platform in the sky. I kept an arm on one of the support struts anyway. The highlights of the Pikes Peak region feel richer from new perspectives.

I wake up every morning to Pikes Peak but from the balloon the look felt new. Garden of the Gods almost seemed more spectacular from afar, when set against the low-slung city around it. Prospect Lake popped out of the landscape, along with more distant features such as the luxurious Broadmoor Hotel and the Shrine of the Sun above the Cheyenne Mountain Zoo.

The pilot brought down the balloon in a church parking lot barely wider than the balloon. But it fit and we deflated and packed the balloon in a short time.

Making friends at the Labor Day Liftoff made possible a grander volunteer opportunity. The Albuquerque Balloon Fiesta would fill the skies of central New Mexico in less than a month. And new crew volunteers are always welcome.