Those Magnificent Men In Their Flying Bags

Those Magnificent Men In Their Flying Bags
October 5, 2002
early in the morning, the sun rises and so do other things, like for example balloons.

		A tarpaulin must be spread to prevent the balloon envelope from getting punctured by rocks, grass and thistle
		A basket has been assembled and is ready, now Brent is testing his burners
		Balloon's (Shooting Star) basket gets connected to the envelope with steel cables.
		Sid and Helen hold up a "skirt" of the balloon (Shooting Star), so that its envelope can be inflated with cold air from a motor fan.
		Meanwhile, one can see through the balloon (Shooting Star) to the other side. You can see the fan in the lower left corner; notice Tom on the other side, holding the crown rope stretched to make the envelope hold its shape and place.
		This is a view from the other side -- at the balloon's crown. I took this pictures while we were attaching a top flap (called parachute) with Velcro, to seal off the envelope for final inflation and heating. (This is Free Spirit, a different balloon from the one on previous pictures).
		Sun rises on the left, balloon (Shooting Star) rises on the right. Notice the venting flap being now completely sealed. Tom is still holding onto the crown rope.
		Balloon (Free Spirit) acquires its almost full body lying on its side on the ground, using cold air only. A pilot will only need a few seconds of burning to heat it. Then it "stands up" into its flying position.
		Balloon (Free Spirit) rises quickly into vertical position, while Linda holds its swing in check by the crown rope.
		Free Spirit, flying.
		Balloon (Noname) chase -- where will it land? Crew and their cars in standby.
		Strong men hold the crown rope at tension, no less strong other crew grab armfuls of balloon (Noname) envelope and push out (unbelievably foul smelling) remains of hot air and burnt propane.
		Both teams got near each other -- the result (Noname's envelope) rests on the tarp like a long, flabby noodle.
		Now it's all about stuffing it all back crown-first into a bag. Skirt and steel cables must remain uncluttered as they need to come out first for the next flight. (Noname)

Joseph a Etiénne Montgolfier did not express much interest in their family business -- a large paper factory. However, they played with paper enough to notice that when burning, parts of paper rise into the air and fly. They figured smoke did that a and started experimenting with trapping smoke in paper bags, until they invented a fire-balloon, which brought a promise of fulfilling people's ancient dream of flying. Nobody knew at the time what ascending above ground could do with human body. Would passengers perish from lack of air, or some other mysterious ailment? Hence, animals became the first aeronauts - a cock, a duck, and a sheep. The experiment was a complete success (well, besides the fact that the horrified sheep stepped on the duck, breaking its neck). But, whom to choose for the adventure and honor of first manned flight? I'd be great to have somebody of the royal court do it, unless he died. A death row convict, on the other hand, would not be missed, but if he survived, he'd be a hero and that was not a good thing, either. Eventually (as a compromise), a pharmacist Pilatre de Rozier and marquis d'Arlendes flew. Their endeavor became quickly popular, but balloons (both hot-air and hydrogen-filled) were often attacked by ignorant country mobs with flails and rakes. What else could they think about a huge monster floating in the air, often spewing fire and smoke? Certainly an infernal creature!

The early aeronauts kept searching for means to tell the defiant peasants that they were mere God-fearing humans, and avoid lynching by an angry mob. It came natural in France, where monks just discovered how to make Champagne -- bottles carried a mandatory royal seal. Since then, a bottle of sparkling wine became an integral part of basket equipment, and is rumored to having helped many a modern day aeronaut when being confronted upon landing by angry locals, such as herd and land owners.

OK, maybe it's not exactly like this, but this is how the story comes from Brent (a balloon pilot), and since he serves Champagne while telling it, I never felt an urge to challenge its veracity (after all, wine fits to every occasion!). Oops, I'm getting ahead of myself here, bubbles are being served after landing and you don't know yet, why and how we happened to stand one cold morning on a field near an airport in Morgan Hill!

Ages ago, Sid began longing for a bird's view to this world and sought ways how to obtain such perspective. He found the pages of Jeanne & Tom and paid for his first flight. Being talkative, he made his pilot, Jeanne, tell him how to make such flight happen, how volunteers and quite some organization are needed. At least a few people must help a pilot to inflate a balloon, somebody (other than the pilot) must chase it with a car, resolved to reach a landing spot and help again to deflate and pack the balloon. An aerostat is left to mercy of air currents -- sometimes it is possible to land it back on the spot where it took off, often it travels miles away. Pilots use quite a few helpers, whom they reward "only" by taking them along into the skies. And thus Sid landed on a list of volunteers, and that prepared my way into the air.

This year's was my second ballooning. While the first time I was mostly eager to get a chance to hitch a ride in a basket, and probably obstructed building a balloon more than helped, this time I expected to enjoy a ground crew role. Brent was to fly with paying clients, clearly there was no room left for helpers in his basket. I decided to document the whole process of a flight. I swung my camera over my shoulder even before we met first people at the meeting place. First silhouettes stumbled out of a dark night, yawning, contrasting with noxiously agile Tom and Brent. Best flying conditions occur at dawn, for then wind calms down. Getting up at five a.m. may seem to be a flaw on this otherwise beautiful hobby, but fretting around during sunrise has its charm -- suspense, chill, coffee flasks, gloves and wooly hats, silence, romantic glow. Sometimes they take off in the dark and await dawn, hovering in the air.

Brent released three little test balloons (yes those regular party-sized) and everybody watched very tensely their trajectory, while having a learned discussion on direction and strength of the wind. After none of us could tell the balloon from dots on our retinas (spots you'd see if you tilted back your head and stared unblinkingly into an early morning blue sky), it was declared that no dangers lurk in the air above our aeronauts, and we could begin to build a balloon.
First, a huge tarpaulin must be spread on a level ground, to protect a fine fabric of balloon's envelope from sharp things. A heavily punctured bag does not hold air well, increasing the consumption of propane; balloon becomes less and less usable, until it is ready to retire and a freshly orphaned aeronaut must save money for a new atmospheric vehicle.

We carried out and assembled the basket, Brent tested burners. Then we unwrapped the actual balloon (a big bag), attached it to the basket and began to fill it with a cold air, using a small gas engine propeller fan. It surprised me that this (cold air) inflates the envelope to a practically full shape. Finally, one has to heat it up a little with a burner, and it's done. Clients hopped in, we took their picture, wished them pleasant flight, and turned around to see how Dana, who did not have any clients, managed to proceed with his balloon.

In a short while, he, too, was in the air, but while Shooting Star with Brent and his clients traveled westwards to hills, Dana only circled elegantly above Morgan Hill and landed on the same field by the airport where he took off from. I got my chance to fly on his next round, and so even this time I got to fly.
I don't really know how to describe a balloon flight. You stand inside a basket, hovering high above earthly fuss, and you slowly and most silently glide over the landscape. Pilot would interrupt this silence periodically with a horrible roar of the burner. Air currents travel in different directions at different altitudes, and so instead of "turning the wheel", one regulates a direction of motion by changing altitude -- by changing temperature of the balloon's air. One might say that it feels as if "nothing is happening". Instead, I would like to attack a claim that the world seems nicest from a horseback. There's real tranquility in a balloon basket, sunshine and perception of wind calm (you don't feel any air movement, because you are being carried at the speed and in the direction of wind). Simply cool.

Dana managed to fly another perfect circle. Larry took my place in the basket and I found out that during my absence on the ground, my husband left me. Brent with clients could not find a wind, which would bring them exactly back, so Sid with Tom drove out into the country. During a balloon chase, crew consult with a pilot over a two-way radio, which landing spot to use, while trying to reach it with a trailer. The pilot must find a reasonably flat area, sufficiently far from trees and power lines, accessible to the chasing vehicle and crew, where it would be possible to deflate and pack the valuable balloon and load it on the trailer.

Meanwhile on our field by the airport, several curious yet timid onlookers came together, as a festival Wings of History just opened here. Dana set out Larry, attached the balloon to a long tether from the back of his truck, and began offering free public rides, like in an elevator. Funniest were children's reactions, as they could not decide in the basket whether to cry from fear of the burner roar, or squeal with joy from flying. They frequently did both at the same time. Then we ran out of propane and had to pack. Eventually Sid, Tom, Brent and his clients from Shooting Star, came rushing back, and once Dana's balloon got stuffed back into its transport bag, refreshments were on order, as well as ballooning stories and sparkling wine. I must say that after having built a balloon, flown at some 1,200 feet, hanged onto the basket during passenger exchanges, and packed it all back, I was pretty hungry.

Industrious Dana drove off while we were still eating our breakfast, and brought his second, larger balloon named Free Spirit, and then offered short tethered rides to enthusiastic visitors of the festival until noon. Right in the middle of the day, a mild breeze started blowing and airborne situation turned suddenly dramatic. A balloon represents a huge sail area and contains a great mass of air. Inertia of the envelope (including all that air) can rock the tiny basket so that passengers have to hold on for their dear lives. It was clear that the fun was over. After landing this (quite obviously last) batch of visitors I, Tom and Sid flapped off the basket and tried to maneuver it onto our tarp, protecting the envelope from thistle, rocks and sharp grass, so we could deflate and pack it downwind from the basket. If you think that moving a still floating balloon is a simple thing, then I warn you: we worked like horses. Though Dana leveled his basket a few feet above ground by giving the balloon short, frequent bursts of flame, the whole system (basket, envelope, air) weighs about two tons -- although it does not fall to ground, moving it even a little bit is a workout -- especially against the wind; then the balloon easily sweeps off even a load of three people and one Hippo.

Unfortunately I got no pictures from this circus -- we needed every hand to tame this big bag of stale air. Sun was baking us alive and we ended being totally drenched in sweat. Our morning sleeping deficit, too, kicked in, as well as unusual muscle strain. We said goodbye to these magnificent men on their now sad and gray luggage, which holds inside merry grandeur of aeronautical "bag". With eyes willing to close and feeling like after a good party, we gladly headed back home, to our pool and our bed.

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