Hot Air Balloon Ride Over Albuquerque, New Mexico

Albuquerque, N.M., is known as the "Hot Air Balloon Capital of the World" and for good reason. Nearly every morning balloons can be seen flying across the mountainous skyline, and every Fall the city hosts the International Balloon Fiesta, a world-renowned event attracting ballooning experts and enthusiasts from around the globe.

For my five-year wedding anniversary, I surprised my wife with a hot air balloon ride over the city. It was sweet. It was romantic. It was authentic, and it was a blast. View the photo album here, or click here to continue reading to experience more about our Saturday morning peek inside the world of hot air ballooning.

The Dawn

Because of the mild morning temperatures in Albuquerque, ballooning is a year-round activity here. The typography and weather of this unique Southwestern city combine for perfect ballooning conditions. Gratefully, the conditions on our anniversary were no different.

At 6 a.m., my wife and I curiously drove into a large dirt construction site, which appeared to be a small subdivision, sans houses or structures. Dozens of headlights lined the barren neighborhood, giving this pre-dawn meeting a covert, mysterious vibe. Multi-passenger vans pulling small trailers arrived moments later. Monster-sized, diesel-powered pickups passed by carrying large wicker baskets, and our excitement began to rise, realizing that we were about to float 1,500 feet up in one.

We parked and met up with our guide, Jim, a part-time, FAA certified pilot for Rainbow Ryders. He was friendly and knowledgeable, and he handed us a waiver to read and sign. I skimmed over the typical legal jargon until I got to the line that read something like, "Rainbow Ryders is not responsible for trespassing or any legal action brought about due to landing sites." At that moment, my "Spidey sense" went off because that sentence meant balloon pilots don't have much choice about where they land -- legal jargon is never so straightforward and oftentimes needs layman interpretation. I pointed this out to our pilot, who laughed it off.

Jim and his one crew member, a stout, quiet fellow named Dan, began to unload the basket and unpack the balloon. It was going to be a nice day. The temperature was a cool, but the skies were clear. Sun rays began to silhouette the Sandia ridge line to the East.

"There's going to be a loud noise," Jim said. WHOOSH!! Light blue flames shot 15 feet out of the burners, briefly warming the morning sky.

"I'm going to need your help," Jim said as he cranked a large fan. He instructed another male passenger and myself to stand and hold open "the mouth" of the balloon.

After a few minutes, the balloon began to hold air. Occasionally, Jim would hit the burners. Our bright, yellow balloon quickly began to rise and we were instructed to get in the basket.

"Don't exit the basket until instructed," our veteran pilot said as he gave us a quick safety briefing. "Prior to landing, I will give you the command 'Prepare to Land'." He went on to tell his four passengers to grab the handles inside the basket, bend at the knees and hang on. "Whatever you do, stay in the basket until I tell you to 'Exit the Basket'."

WHOOSH!! Jim lit the burners several times and the balloon slowly lifted off the dirt lot. The warm, orange sun crept over the mountains, casting long shadows along the ground.

The Dip

Within seconds, we ascended to about 100 feet, putting us above the tops of the Bosque region, a dense, cottonwood forest which lines the Rio Grande. A swift wind carried us southeast. Jim held off the burners for a minute or two, and we eased down to tree-top level. The basket scraped along some cottonwood limbs.

The ground floor, covered in scrub bushes and tall, tan grasses, could be seen through the canopy, lending incredible depth-of-field. Jim hit the burners lifting us up and over the dense forest.

Download MOV00087.MPG

Soon, the muddy, brown Rio Grande, which cuts a wide swath through the heart of Albuquerque, was directly beneath our basket. Jim skillfully piloted the balloon until the runners along the basket's bottom made a brief, easy splash in the slow running river. Other balloons followed Jim's lead, descending for this classic touch-and-go. "It's like on the postcard," my wife said.

WHOOSH!! We began to rise. At elevation, the Rio Grande began to appear not so grande.

I pointed to the Rio Grande Nature center, nestled inside the Bosque region. This conservatory boasts a large pond for migratory birds, an interactive museum, a quiet reading room and observatory, several miles of trails and numerous gardens, which highlight the high desert and river valley's diverse mix of vegetation. From the air, it reminded me of a machine-gun bunker.

The Dogs

As we rose higher in the cool air column, the noise of the city disappeared below. "Can you hear that dog barking?" I asked my wife. "Yeah, it's really loud," she said. At first, only the occasional dog could be heard, but as we drifted across a residential area, the noise began to rise.

At a few hundred feet, dozens of distressed dogs below could be seen scrambling on top of their doghouses, spinning in circles, and running laps around their backyards. The Dog Whisperer would even have a hard time with some of these panicking pooches.

When I mentioned this to Jim, he said the sound of the burners drove the dogs mad. One local commented that she had to board her two dogs in a kennel during the annual balloon fiesta. "They just won't stop barking at the balloons," she said. My wife and I chuckled at the canine chaos below.

The Drifting

The morning drifted by at the pace of childish wonder.

The scenery was spectacular. Buildings in downtown Albuquerque looked to be the size of Monopoly hotels. The West Mesa, the flat nothingness west of the city, stretched for miles. Five cinder cone volcanoes majestically kept watch over the west side. A dozen other balloons could be spotted lifting off from the Balloon Fiesta Park, combining for a total of 22 airborne on that morning. Large, black spots dotted the southwestern landscape, which Jim said were the locations of mesa fires that had scorched hundreds of acres. The numerous New Mexican mountain ranges pierced nearly every horizon. And my wife looked beautiful as she surveyed the scenery in relative silence.

The Dangerous Landing

After approximately 90 minutes of flight, Jim began looking for a landing zone. With no propulsion outside of the wind itself, Jim decreased our elevation to catch a southwesterly wind to carry us to an empty lot.

"Remember what I told you about landing," Jim said. "Stay in the basket until told to exit."

As we approached the ground, a barbed-wire fence became visible, reducing the size of our intended landing zone. Another company's chase crew was parked in the middle of the field, recovering one of their balloons. Our solo chase crew, Dan, zigzagged the Ford pickup through the private property lot. Passersby looked on as we made our final approach.

"Prepare to land!" Jim said.

About 25 feet above the ground, the wind was whipping steadily and the pace of the balloon quickened. The basket began to skim the light bushes and cactus until bumping hard on the ground. The slower basket forced the speeding balloon out in front, and we began to bump and scrape along until eventually tipping over. Two men from the other ballooning company rushed over, grabbed hold of the basket and kept us from becoming airborne again. For another 15 feet of so, the basket, as well as the passengers, which included my panicking wife, scoured the lot until coming to a complete stop. The other male passenger put his left foot on the ground. Everyone yelled, "Put your foot back in the basket, sir! Stay in the basket until we tell you to exit, sir!" Thankfully, the skidding part of our trip was over. The once-airborne vessel quickly became a half-ton, ground-bound sinker, with our ride capped off by a thrilling drag through the desert.

Dan finally arrived and began working on folding and packing the balloon. Another, larger basket crash-landed 200 yards to our west. The 10 or so passengers in that balloon drug along the ground as one of the crew members stood on the basket like a professional sailor during the America's Cup in an attempt to keep it upright.

Dan and Jim began disassembling the basket and folding the balloon. The passengers were enlisted again to help pack and compress the brightly-colored nylon. Several other balloons drifted pass our unauthorized landing field as our concerned pilot looked on. "I don't where he's going to land," Jim said.

It didn't take long for us to find out.

The Dead and the Dirt Lot

After we finished loading the balloon and ourselves in the truck, Jim began calling the other pilots who flew past, finding out that their vehicle was stuck and needed to be pulled out. We circled in and around neighborhoods looking for them. "There they are," I pointed. We backed up and drove down a paved street to find a concrete wall separating us from the other groups. Dan hopped out of the truck and scrambled over the wall.

As we turned a corner, we could see dozens of people standing, unarranged, in the large, dirt lot. As we approached the street, we noticed the uniqueness of their landing zone. Colorful murals of a bloody, cross-bound Savior and other religious symbols covered the concrete barriers leading into their landing zone. Small fences surrounded the plots. Bright flower arrangements and large bows adorned the tombs. The groups we came to rescue had landed next to the creepiest graveyard I'd ever seen, which proved my point that balloon pilots always choose where to land.

Unfortunately, one of the crew had driven their van into the dirt lot, only to have gotten stuck up the frame. The back wheels were sitting in large ruts. Some passengers stood around talking, some stood in silence, others stood and pointed. Some crew members just stood around. VROOM! Dirt and sand flew from the back tires.

Jim and I took charge and had the other crew disconnect their cargo trailer. One man sat in the stuck van, waiting for the green light to hit the gas. I helped get the vehicles hooked up. Jim dropped his diesel in four-wheel-drive and began pulling the van out. VROOM! The van's driver spun his tires, digging a longer, deeper trench. "STOP! STOP! Let him pull you out," I said. VROOM! VROOM! The driver kept gunning the gas pedal, eventually causing Jim to dig in. Another off-road vehicle then hooked up to Jim's truck, for a unique, three-way tow. "Lay off the gas, man," I shouted at the van driver. "What an idiot," I thought to myself.

"Why doesn't someone tell him to stop hitting the gas?" my wife asked Dan. "You tell him," he shyly said.

After a few minutes, the van sputtered to solid ground. Our group loaded up and drove back to our cars. "I hope that guy in the van is a better pilot than driver," I joked.

"That guy in the van," Jim offered up, "was Troy Bradley, a world-renowned balloon pilot." My wife and I sat in awe, and I think we even laughed out loud.

"He has set dozens of world records for distance and cross-Atlantic flights, and so and so ...," he continued on for several minutes explaining the Troy's awards and complex science behind ballooning. Jim even explained how, on extra-long flights, pilots and crew save their waste to keep the balloon aloft. Jim's admiration for Troy shone through his monologue and knowledge of Troy's accomplishments.

Feeling a little embarrassed, I commented, "My brother has this theory that every man has one thing he's really good at, like an alpha dog," I said. "I guess Troy's is ballooning."

"At the Balloon Fiesta this year, you can tell everybody that you helped pull Troy Bradley out," Jim said, pinning me with an invisible merit badge. "I guess so," I said, thinking about how I'd just confused a world-record holder for an idiot.

The Dent

As we got back to the take-off site, we were offered champagne and snacks for breakfast. There, Jim awarded my wife and I with our first flight pins and flight certificates. Jim asked for payment and handed me the receipt. I signed in shock as I realized that the price on the web site was only for an individual and not a couple. The balloon ride was more than double what I'd expected. "Happy Anniversary," I said to my wife. She smiled, enjoying the memories of the morning.

RELATED LINKS
Story about romantic balloon rides, which quotes Troy Bradley
Link to Troy Bradley's world records
Click here for photos of our balloon ride