Fluorescent tropical fish Guppy & Sushi openend Friday morning in Reno.

Carol seems to be observing first balloons, but we cannot be sure that she can see them — for she did not have her morning coffee yet.

The kids had their start of the school year sweetened by a huge Lego exhibition. I had hesitated at first whether to go at all (after all Lisa has not been a Lego fanatic, and the entrance fee was rather expensive), but when I suddenly noticed that a weekend was sold out, I quickly got us tickets for Friday. This had fit us tremendously, as the children had a day off, and this way we were able to entertain some special activity.

When approaching the exhibit hall, Tom began to panic because of signs everywhere saying sold out; I had to assure him that we already held our tickets. I did not understand at first why the were selling only a limited quantity of them, but then I beheld those crazy crowds and I realized that it could not be done any other way. Even so the hall was filled by thousands of people, and lines were forming for access to some activities. I had planned that we would spend about two hours checking out various things and then meet up with Hippo for a dinner. Well, after two and half hours I was still unable to peel Tom off of building a street car network in Lego City, much less dragging him anywhere else. Lisa for most of the time focused on Lego Friends (they finally make Lego for girls), with occasional excursions to other attractions — but she, too, unwaveringly refused to leave the exhibits. Thus I purchased us a grilled chicken from a vendor stall and forced my offspring to sit down for a moment and eat.

Ballooning sport needs no tutoring; it consists mostly of hanging out and chatting.

The children need to be made busy, of course — here they joined forces to stretch the balloon envelope during cold inflation.

Despite the lines to some projects, there were still plenty of locations left for play and assemble to every heart's content. And if you did non want to participate in building replicas of famous structures, design robots or cars, you could still throw yourself onto a huge loose heap of blocks and create on your own. The only regret I harbor is having left my camera back home. So you must believe my word that it was awesome and be OK with a few pictures from the official page.

The children did eventually last at the Kidsfest for the bulk of its duration that day; we came five minutes after opening at four, and left by quarter to nine, i.e. fifteen minutes before closing time. And since we took a street car to the downtown to save ourselves the hassle with parking, we got home around nine o'clock. Offspring happy, I was drained.

Everybody races to take off — and a race it is indeed, of precision target flying, and I'm flying in it on Dragon Moon (middle).

Queer things can be seen from a balloon afloat, like a pig that can fly.

One weekend after Labor Day, an annual Great Reno Balloon Race takes place in Nevada. This year we had finally decided to participate. Hippo went to work on holiday Monday to get comp time for the following Friday; we released our kids from school and hoped to drive out on Thursday around noon, to reach Reno on some decent hour in the evening. Alas, uncle Murphy had planned both of us business meetings for Thursday afternoon, and we got free only at three thirty. Not that we would not anticipate of traffic being problematic, but a jam was in effect not just on freeways, but on all alternative routes as well. I took us over an hour to cover only the first thirty miles across the East Bay area. Then it got better; we avoided Sacramento via a detour through Kirkwood, and the rest of the way went as planned.

Smoke on the eastern side of Sierra Nevada was unpleasant; it came from a huge Yosemite wildfire all the way to Carson City. Reno looked (and smelled) a little better, but locals claimed that this was practically their first day without it. Still on our way, I tried to coordinate our pilots. You see, we had arranged that we would crew for Jennifer, but then it turned out that Jeanne and Tom would come from South Dakota, and Jen had offered us back to our original pilots. We needed to get a crew parking permit that would admit us into the race area, but we had to postpone it till morning — with our late departure and traffic jams, we had reached Reno by ten o'clock in the evening, about an hour past ballooning lights-out.

When the envelope is packed back in its bag, one can lounge on top of it like on a sofa, here in the company of our pilot Jeanne.

Burner flashing during Dawn Patrol is synchronized over radio.

We asked for a five o'clock wake up call at the hotel reception and fell in our beds. By five thirty we were parked behind the hotel/casino where Jennifer was staying, got our parking permit from them, and followed them on a mad drive through the city to the launching area. I had, sadly, underestimated my supply of morning caffeine. Until that day I had assumed that I was not quite addicted to it, and that I could cope with only a chocolate milk from a box — but this whole morning remains in a mild haze, despite being given a chance to fly. Jeanne's passenger did not show up and so I could hop in the basket and follow the whole race from above.

The Friday's task was to hit a target with a sandbag, with a long red bow attached for better visibility. It seemed simple enough, but try to get your balloon to a specific location in three dimensions! A balloon cannot be fully controlled, it flies with the wind — the only thing that a pilot can regulate is altitude. With luck, he or she can find streams varying in direction at different elevations, and control the balloon that way.

Pilots and crews of Dawn Patrol got together for a small party.

On Sunday, too, select balloons (including both ours) had lined up for the popular "Glow Show".

The target was located beyond McCarran Boulevard, which makes a circle around the whole city of Reno — locals were probably thrilled by the total traffic jam caused by partial closure around service entrances to the ballooning area, and by the total chaos caused by the low flying aerostats. We had crossed the road several times, as Jeanne tried to adjust the balloon to fly as close to the target as possible. I had probably exhibited a strong coffee deficit syndrome — Sid and the kids drove on and across McCarran and allegedly waved at us and called to us from the target, but I had REALLY not seen them, never taking notice at all.

Before we landed and packed the envelope, I felt a complete caffeine breakdown, so I insisted on going to a Vietnamese restaurant, for they serve a strong coffee there. Meanwhile we were to experience a bonus encounter with a local law enforcer — McCarran Boulevard has two lanes in each direction, and the rightmost one toward the city was closed for through traffic so that balloonists with their trailers could enter and exit. We drove out, a geezer with a glowing stick asked us whether we wanted to turn left or right, so that he could possibly stop other cars. We were turning right, so he waved us through and we continued in the right (thus otherwise closed) lane until the spot where cones ended and so did the closure. However, a cop stood there, stopping us and yelling at us that the lane was closed and that he HAD PERSONALLY SEEN US to almost cause an accident. We told him we came out of the ballooning area, to which he reacted that the lane was reserved for the BALLOONISTS and we had no business being there. Well I understand that it's a drag hanging out on a busy road since four in the morning, and I understand that by not having a huge truck with a trailer, we could not be easily identified as balloonists, but the chap was completely impervious to any explaining. He must have somehow gotten training from his totalitarian comrades of socialist Czechoslovakia of late. Or perhaps he, too, had a caffeine withdrawal, who knows whether he had managed to get his morning coffee?

Hippo became a lucky passenger of Sunday's Dawn Patrol.

Other Dawn Patrol balloons as seen by the aeronauts of Dragon Moon.

Eventually I was allowed to start my day. The Vietnamese restaurant was just a cafeteria counter inside a shopping mall, and coffee was not on their menu, but when I had asked for ca phe su nong, the clerk did not show any surprise, only checked that I really meant the strong hot coffee, and the cook briskly came out and served it (he apparently had to see the white woman who asked for this traditional Vietnamese beverage).

An unpleasant surprised awaited us at the hotel in the afternoon — the advertised swimming pool was present, though unheated, which meant now, in the fall in a desert, when nights are cold, that it was of not much use. Even our children were squealing when trying to dip in; fortunately Hippo volunteered to take them to a hot tub. Still I think this was the only shortcoming that we ever found at the hotel — unlike other balloonists, who lodged in luxurious casinos, where they charge extra for every fart (including, for example, a coffee maker in your room, or paper cups for the coffee!); we had all those included. It's true that we had to pay extra for our breakfasts, but the restaurant offered adequate quality/price ratio.

Tom's first real balloon flight had thus taken place in the midst of some ninety other launches in Reno, Nevada.

Tom's first flight certificate.

We dined together with our balloonists in a Bask restaurant. This one is specialized for families generally larger groups — soups, salads and sides are served to be shared, from big bowls in the middle of the table. Wine is treated similarly (there's a bottle on the table) and the only thing one orders per person is main dish meat. It's a very merciful system — you eat what you manage to, and if you decide to skip, for example, soup, and double down on a salad, you can. Or you can sample something of everything.

On Saturday both our "our" balloons flew Dawn Patrol, and so we had to get up by four o'clock. Sid had a flight promised, but when we had arrived on the spot, Jeanne turned him down saying that she was not feeling well and would not risk taking passengers. This works with balloons just like with climbing — the very sport carries certain risks that are, under ideal conditions, quite minimal. Given that you in fact put your life on a line, any exaggeration of this risk is unreasonable.

And now our son is headed for the skies.

Meanwhile almost everybody took off.

We helped Jeanne build the balloon and take off in Dawn Patrol. It's flown in the pre-dawn darkness and when the pilots burn liquid propane, an orange flame illuminates the envelope from within. This time, seven balloons went up, and since it was to be a show, a moderator from a podium coordinated it, making many a balloonist break out in sweat — they had to look for specific air layers and at the same time burn on demand, which could get them into the wrong stream. Reno Race allows only experienced pilots to participate, who have logged a minimum number of flight hours — and when I saw how hard it was to follow organizer's directions and not endanger other balloons, I began to understand why such rule was in place. In this concentration of people and balloons in the air, there's no much room for errors or experiments.

Robosaurus, the destroyer of used cars, is posing for the audience.

Lisa in the C-47 Skytrain navigator seat.

Jeanne safely landed, but did not want to continue flying in the subsequent mass ascent, and our team had thus dissolved for the day. We managed to fit in a breakfast at our hotel (with me, properly educated by my earlier crisis, ordering mostly COFFEE). Our children bravely resisted our efforts to stuff them into their beds around noon. And in the afternoon there was a party at Kris and Lance's places, hosting Dawn Patrol balloonists — kids enjoyed the company of three Labrador puppies, and Lisa became friends with the host's niece. She could possibly use an older sister sometimes, it seems.

On Sunday, not only Hippo would fly Dawn Patrol, but Tom, too, got his wish granted, and he flew in a real balloon — he had hitherto flown only in a tethered craft during an air show. I must say that Tom came back from his flight somewhat taken aback; perhaps he did not imagine it taking so long and flying so far. Later, though, he bragged at school about it, so he must have enjoyed it.

When planes take a break, motorbikes soar.

Carol and Tom in the cockpit of C-47 Skytrain.

As if there was not enough flying, an Air Show in Salinas, California, took place at the end of September. I had been in Czech Republic during previous year and we had subsequently missed it somehow. Meanwhile Tom had re-focused from trains to airplanes, and we certainly wanted to give him the opportunity. Alas, our government had a different idea; they had lately sequestered all public military performances — so not only Blue Angels are grounded, but there were no military aircraft being shown, besides privately owned ones. Canadians were trying to save the show's face a bit with a few machines, but that was about all.

Still Tom enjoyed it; he knows all the makes and models from his encyclopedias, and he kept burying us under a barrage of numbers and names; we had seen a giant Robosaurus, who dined on used cars, and lunatics "flying" on motorbikes. The highpoint of the show was a performance of Patriots — by chance we spotted their rehearsal of formations, with pilots walking around the tarmac. Quite interesting to see nine chaps march in a choreography to and fro, playing airplanes. But given the feats they later showcased in the air, such a dry run must come handy.

Pilots of the jet group Patriots rehearse their formations in person on the Salinas airport tarmac minutes before their actual show.

Patriots fly on Czechoslovak trainer jets L-39.

Meanwhile the kids started on their after-school activities. This year I have been feeling more intensely that despite being close in age, Tom and Lisa have completely different personalities and interests. They have both rejected sports, but Lisa wanted to continue in her art class, and we had newly signed her up for amateur theater — since she's been such a comedian, she may as well take advantage of it. Tom wanted to attend Lego classes, which surprised me by getting filled rather quickly this year. Previously I had signed Tom up only after a first session without a problem; this year it was full a fortnight early. At least they had opened another slot then, although the result is that lots of children attend these classes, wreaking havoc. When I spotted a leaflet announcing Mad Science at school, I did not hesitate and signed Top up right away — even this class (a combination of chemistry and physics) had filled incredibly fast.

In the end effect, though, it is me who gets to drive to and from the school all the time. Lisa has her after-school classes on Mondays and Tuesdays, so I pick up Tom at the end of his regular schedule, and Lisa an hour later. On Wednesdays and Thursdays it is Tom who stays later, while Lisa does not. Also home-comings at four thirty mean that the kids just managed to eat a snack, do their homework, and soon there's dinner and evening bath. We can practically forget planning anything else. Fortunately they are big enough that I don't have to shuttle them both back and forth — each can stay at home during those ten minutes of me fetching the other one, which saves me time and nerves. Beginning with sixth grade, the would switch to a school that's located just around the block, which should make things less complicated for me (although I'm quite sure that the onset of puberty will make me remember my taxicab-like years with a sentimental tear in my eye).