Sunrises and Hot Air Balloon Crashes

The flame explodes from the burner into the air.  My prickled hairs welcome its warmth.  I didn’t expect Nevada to be so cold in October.  I glance beyond the wicker basket to see the sun begin to rise above the rock masses of the desert.  I feel weightless and lose any sense of gravity as the pilot works to defy it.  Tory is doing a little excited jig in the corner.  Cindy and Angel are still freaking out over seeing  P!nk’s Las Vegas mansion we flew over minutes ago.  Four still-drunk- from-the-night-before bridesmaids and the bride also continue to freak out over the mansion.  Next to me, my mother is beginning to relax and enjoy herself.  Here we are. 

Thousands of feet off the surface, this motley crew floats seamlessly in a manmade yellow, red and orange sun.  Everyone aboard is laughing and smiling.  The pilot leads us closer to the ground to see the different elements of this desert like cacti.  We skid just above the top and I feel as if I am flying. 

Up in the air we go to jump the next mountain in view.  Cheering on the pilot, we thought this was a great, adventurous idea.  Adventurous was right.  Within moments of clearing the mountain, large gusts of wind began to rattle the balloon and basket.  Soon enough the balloon is almost parallel to the basket and the pilot is telling us to brace for a Level 4 landing, which had earlier been described as the roughest one we could have out here.

My mother and I squat down in our cubical of space with our backs to the outside of the basket.  Crashing into the surface, my head rebounds into the wall of the basket so hard it knocks the wind of me.  I sink to my butt and let out half a wince and half a laugh as my mother bursts into laughter at our situation.  I feel the strength of the wind drag us along the earth as it fills the balloon.  After about a 50-yard stretch, the wind finally dies down and the guide is able to get us back upright. 

Standing up, Tory is almost in tears from laughing so hard while her moms just stare openmouthed.  The bachelorettes are rolling and Snapchatting the whole event.  My mother is smiling like a child.  Our crashing site looks as if a boulder had hit and left an imprint.  Looking far ahead we were almost a mile away from the target landing spot.  At 7 a.m., there we were.  Ten women and one hot air balloon pilot were stranded in the desert outside of Las Vegas. 

More winds decided to attempt to demolish us and each brace got easier to prepare for and somehow more hilarious.  Thirty minutes later a van finally appeared and four grown men ran toward our direction.   There was no cleared off pathway this deep in the desert so the men had to run a distance to catch us, especially since the wind kept pushing us farther away from them.  Once they finally reached us there were a few more braces to face, but we eventually made it out of the basket safely.  The woman driving the van lugged a cooler over to where we stood and pulled out two massive bottles of Proseco, orange juice and plastic wine cups.

There in the early hours in the middle of the desert four bachelorettes, one bride-to-be, a lesbian couple, two freshly 21 year olds, one stay-at-home mom and an experienced hot air balloon pilot toasted their mimosas to one of the most adventurous and humorous mornings they had ever had.