Arianna: Prosser Balloon Rally

Written from the pilots point of view...

The sky is royal blue. The sun has not yet advanced beyond the horizon. The last of the night's stars are fading with the growing light. Dressed in my pajamas I step outside and take a long, deep breath. The air is cold, though not as crisp as last year. I look up; the sky is clear and cloudless.
My team and I leave the hotel where we are staying and drive to the airport to set up the balloon. I keep my window rolled down and allow the cold morning air to wash over my face. The drive is short and, when we arrive, not even the faintest hint of gold has yet reached the horizon. We are the third team to arrive at the airport.
We spread the Big Blue Tarp out over the damp ground. This helps protect the balloon from tearing or getting too wet. Next we heave the canvas bag containing the balloon out of the trailer and begin laying the material out over the tarp. My balloon is designed to resemble a patchwork quilt made of green and gold. Pastel and royal greens mingle among pale and rich golds creating graceful patterns that weave their way across it's surface. We attach the material to the wooden basket and triple check that it remains secure.
The airport is becoming full now and the roar of enormous fans can be heard all over town. I plug our fan in and turn it on. The fan blows huge quantities of air into the balloon. Slowly it fills, the fabric billowing mightily. I look inside of the balloon's cavernous belly and watch the patterns wave as it is inflated.
Finally, there is enough air inside to start adding heat. I squeeze the trigger on the big propane heater attached to the basket. Blast! It emits great streams of flame. Blast! Even after all this time the sound still startles me. One of my team members holds onto a rope at the top of the balloon. He stretches it out, allowing the hot air to circulate evenly. The basket is now tilted at an angle. There is almost enough air for the balloon to stand upright. And... now. The balloon is standing. More team members are now holding ropes to make sure that the balloon, and I with it, do not float away before we are ready.
A crowed has gathered. Thousands of people all talking, gasping, admiring and laughing. I can take one person up in the balloon with me. I scan the crowd in search of the one person I would like to take. Then I see her. She is a mother with teenage children. I beckon to her and invite her to fly. She climbs into the basket with me and I instruct my team to release the ropes. One... Two... Three!
We are rising rapidly into the air. My guest gives a surprised gasp and then grins. I grin back. I pull the propane trigger. Blast! We are rising higher and higher. We soar over trees, past birds, and over fields. The breeze catches us and we move toward the Yakima River where even more people have gathered on the bridges. The cold air rushes past us and numbs our faces and hands. I breathe deep, taking in all the smells of Prosser. The smell of cut hay mingles with cooking food. The scene is awe inspiring. On the ground a person's view and perspective is limited. In the air you can see for miles.
We pass a flock of geese heading south for the approaching winter. They fly around us and it seems that they say farewell before departing. Below us the river sparkles in the morning light. Spectators are waving up at us. I gradually bring the balloon down. We glide over the bridges mere feet above the onlookers. And then, I let the balloon down towards the water. We are going too fast. We are going to plummet into the cold water. At the last possible moment I pull the trigger and we slow down. The very bottom of the basket skims the surface of the river. We ascend skyward. I judge the distance between our current position and where the river curves out of sight. One more time. Again I let the balloon down and we skim the surface.
As we lift back into the air I feel exhilarated. The joy of flying fills my person. We soar. We soar and we do not come back to earth for a long time.