Summer School

Up, up and away

By Amy Brase

An adrenaline junkie, I am not.

My kind of rush comes from being first in line at Herberger’s on Black Friday. The big yellow slide with gunny sacks at the State Fair provides just enough thrill to send my heart racing. Don’t look for me in the bungee jump line, on the bull-riding machine or, really, in anything that involves swimming.

Mine is a cautious, calculated life. I choose adventures based on how much I can control them.

My Facebook friends had every right to be suspicious the day I posted this status update: Amy Baker Brase is throwing all caution to the wind (literally!) in a hot air balloon tonight! It wasn’t entirely true. I had been mentally preparing for flight with the Rochester Balloon Company for over a month. Since ballooning is extremely limited by weather conditions, I was told to respond like a firefighter, meaning the call could come at any time (or at least any sunrise or sunset).

When I was least expecting it, I got the call from Keith Dahlgren of the Rochester Balloon Company, co-owner of the dazzling balloon known as Rainbow Twist along with his wife Cathy and buddies Doug Schmidt and Chuck Dery. This was really going to happen! At 6:15 p.m.! Wind conditions were just right—an ideal 5 to 7 miles per hour—and all systems were a go. Without much time to second-guess my decision, we headed to the launch site—Bamber Valley School. It’s different almost every time.

While preparations for takeoff were underway, two new crew volunteers and I were given precise safety instructions, like “Never get in front of the basket during landing because the balloon could knock you over” and “If you’re holding onto the basket and your feet leave the ground, let go!” As I signed the waiver, Chuck said reassuringly, “You’ll feel safe up there.” With a wave to my kids and a send-off from the crew, we took to the sky! One moment we were on the ground and the next we weren’t. After each dragon-breath-sounding roar of the flame, I could hear my 2-year-old scream as she burrowed deeper into my husband’s shoulder. Consider her traumatized perspective: a gigantor balloon just carried her mommy away.

With every blast from the burner, heat from the flame pushed the balloon higher. There were no butterflies in my stomach. There wasn’t even that weird sensation you get in an elevator. In fact, my only concern at this point was the grove of trees that surrounded the school yard. I was certain that we were going to end up in the branches and my family would be forced to witness the misfortune. But with one robust burner blast, we pushed significantly higher and sailed smoothly over the treetops.

The only noise on our entire flight was the occasional roar of the flame. Well, there was also the sound of Keith hollering to people in their backyards. Yes, ballooning, surprisingly, is extremely interactive. We bobbed up and down over neighborhoods in the Foxcroft area and all along County Road 22. Keith jokingly asked a family on the deck if we could join them for dinner. A youth soccer game halted while they huddled to wave at us.

It suddenly occurred to me that these people thought we were special. They were going about their ordinary evening routines—grilling hamburgers, walking the dog, riding in their paddleboats—when lo and behold, a massive rainbow balloon appeared in their corner of the sky! And we were the magical people in the magical balloon!

There’s something so enchanting and breathtaking about a hot air balloon inflated to full glory. It defies the boundaries that we so sensibly build and, if even for only a moment, inspires us to believe that anything might really be possible.

While I was getting all wrapped up in the romanticism of the moment, Keith and crew member Steve Griggs were pondering adventure—something balloonists refer to as “splash and dash.” Since we happened to be approaching another body of water, the word “splash” sent racing darts of fear through my abdomen. So much so that I didn’t even hear the word “dash.”

I had specifically asked my husband about water landings earlier that day, seeking reassurance that it would never happen. Truthfully, I had considered throwing a few of my children’s arm floaties into my pocket as a precautionary measure. Because, simply stated, I don’t float.

“We’re not landing in the water,” Keith answered. “But we are going to take a dip.”

“Are you serious?” I questioned, as the color left my face. “I don’t know how to swim; I just feel the need to tell you that.”

Both men laughed. “Do you mind getting your shoes wet?” Keith asked. “The basket is porous so the water comes right through.” I realized that this was part of the sport—adventurous and novel. I also recognized that I didn’t have much choice in the matter.

“Okay, let’s do it!” I proclaimed, with a voice unrecognizable to even myself. “But you deserve to know that I plan to write this part very dramatically.”

As we descended, people on their docks began to show concern. I wondered if any of them were calling 9-1-1.

“Should we land in the water?” Keith shouted jovially at a man who looked particularly bemused.

“I don’t think you have a choice!” the man yelled back. “Oh, I have a choice!” Keith responded. And with that, we tapped the surface of the water and it rippled with impact. As promised, our shoes got wet. But then we rocketed out of that lake like nobody’s business!

The rest of the flight was absolutely peaceful. I couldn’t help but exclaim about the beauty of Rochester from 2,700 feet above the ground. The residential areas, the parks, the clinic, the fields in the distance—it was like flying over a meticulously-designed train set.

We had been airborne for almost an hour when Keith radioed the crew about landing spots in the northwest part of town.

There are a few horror stories out there about balloon landings gone wrong. Keith Dahlgren is known for his “stand-up” landings, though. So when he radioed to the crew that we were coming in pretty fast, I hardly quivered. Because there were my kids with gigantic smiles on their faces! And there was the crew—gloved and ready—including Kyle Koerner, who happens to be one of my former kindergarten students. Could this night get any sweeter?

The landing was as smooth as silk. And I was presented with a bottle of champagne and a “First Flight Certificate.” They told me it was tradition that I should read aloud the “Ballooner’s Prayer.” I checked for the jokester’s twinkle in their eyes, but there was none. And so I read:

“The Winds have welcomed you with softness,
The Sun has blessed you with his warm hands,
You have flown so high and so well,
That God has joined you in your laughter
And He has set you gently back again,
Into the loving arms of Mother Earth.

” With that, my flight was complete. I had thrown my fear to the wind and put all my trust in God, the Sun, The Winds, and Keith Dahlgren. I can’t imagine living the rest of my life without ballooning again. Blame it on the adrenaline.