So I’m standing in the cool breeze with a go-mug coffee in my hand, admiring the view and enjoying life when suddenly, there’s a farmer shouting angrily at me. Well, at us, because there are four of us and I look down, and I say to my friends “Hey, that’s my cousin Jimmy!” I shout niceties back at him, but we’re too far away to hear what each other is actually saying, but it’s clear he’s not happy. I could just make out something about “scaring his cows” and “going to get his shotgun”.
Maybe I should explain.
This was many years ago now, and my friends and I were standing in a basket. Standing in a basket 500 or so feet (2000 meters) above the ground. Yes, we were drifting serenely along in a hot air balloon and we were sailing over and past my cousin’s farm out in the Valley Centre area east of town. I didn’t know we were heading there on account of you never quite know where you’re going in a hot air balloon on account of you go where the wind takes you. Jimmy didn’t know it was me up there – all he knew was that his cows were a bit freaked out because an eight story blue bag of hot air was hovering over them like some sort of alien blob and it kept roaring at them. The roaring part was the propane burners firing occasionally to keep us airborne, and fair enough, Jimmy’s cows – balloon monsters are quite loud and scary.
The atmospheric wind picked up and we drifted away without being shot at and with no bovine fatalities. The next time I saw my cousin I made sure not to mention anything about balloons, cows or shotguns.
I was thinking about this the other day after reading about Sir Richard Branson’s latest venture and adventure. The 74-year-old Virgin Galactic playboy gazillionaire keeps breaking daredevil records, like the first around-the-world balloon trip (1987) and the first filthy rich non-astronaut person to go to space in a self-funded rocket (2021). What a guy, eh?
And soon he’ll be the first person (along with seven or so high-paying customers) to float in an incredibly massive hydrogen balloon into outer space. Over 30 kilometers straight up - higher than any commercial balloon has ever floated. Sir Dick will be the pilot, but this ain’t yer average strapped-in claustrophobic tin-can space capsule. In fact the big circular super-deluxe cabin dangling below the humongous bladder of hydrogen features huge windows, plush chairs, fine dining, a cocktail bar and perhaps most importantly, a well-appointed bathroom.
Total trip time: 6 hours. Two hours to ascend, two to descend, and two hours to float up there on the edge of Earth’s atmosphere ooo-ing and ahhh-ing at the view out the windows, sipping martinis, slurping caviar and going to the bathroom all for only $125, 000 beans.
If that sounds a little too much for your Visa card, get this – more than 1,800 people have already reserved seats on the Space Perspective “space balloon” with the first flight with fairly flush humans aboard scheduled for next year.
Personally, even if I had 125K spare loonies, I’ll take a hard pass. My ten or so basket flights in hot air dirigibles were enough balloon adventure for me. I took the new Girl Friend who became the Better Half on a Christmas flight at Sylvan Lake. The eventual landing was a wee bit intense – more like a scary slam-and-bump-and-drag through the snow to be honest, and I thought it was all over (in more ways than one).
But that’s another story.
Harley Hay is a Red Deer author and filmmaker. Reach out to Harley with any thoughts or ideas at harleyhay99@gmail.com.
