Mum turned big ol 60 last year. I wanted to do something nice for her. I thought about getting her a nice piece of jewellery...then remembered my brothers & I pitched in and got her a ring for her 50th...which hasn't come out of her jewellery box since. I know, we'll go do something fun then! Hipsters are all going on about giving experiences not gifts these days. "Here I made this wheel of cheese in my en-suite, for you. I put my love into it. And just a little bit of hair probably, too". Happy Birthday, enjoy the dysentery.
Anyway, Hot Air Balloon! I've always wanted to do it. So, good chance mum has too right? Actually no, she's never considered it. But I don't see why that should make it a bad present.
So I got her a Voucher - 1 hour Hot Air Balloon trip including a champagne breakfast at a Vineyard in the Scenic Rim (actual tour we did is here) with all the transfers. It took us 7 months to book it, but we went yesterday. Their first balloon float of the new year.
If you've ever thought about going on a Hot Air Balloon, it's like this:
Phase One
Get picked up at deserted car park at Mt Gravatt at 4.15am. Check. Loiter like a drug dealer and avoid what appears to be a rape van in said car park cause you got there too early cause you were waking up every half hour all night worried you were going to sleep through your 3 alarms. Check. Our driver was very awake and happy. Like, I was concerned. It was in-human. We're over here holding onto our eyeballs with our fingers to stop them rolling back into our heads, and old mate is all smiley and cracking jokes. I checked the back of the bus for jars containing body parts. There were none. Yet.
We arrive in a friendly little field in Jimboomba where a few giant-ass balloons are waking up, reaching their rounded chubby cheeks towards the sky. 10 stories high apparently. Neat.
Phase Two
We climb in the, no shit, actual wicker basket. My inner maniac was giggling hard by this point. My outer maniac only giggled a bit, trying valiantly not to make me look unstable. Failing, unfortunately. Come on, it's a proper basket! Like a giant fucking picket basket! Ahahahhahaha!
So the picnic basket was a rectangle, and divided into 5 bits. The middle bit was it's own section, then each square to the sides were further divided into 4. So 4 bits for passengers (6 peeps in each) and the pilot gets the middle with the fire and the highly, highly flammable gas bottles. I get in close to what we'll call the cockpit, or the cock-basket, if you will. The cock-basket had just enough room for the pilot to stand, totally surrounded by big-ass gas bottles. Very flammable. The instrument panel...is a tablet, and some hand held gadgets you can get a BCF taped to the picnic basket.
Inner maniac barks laughter.
I look around for the radio. I know there has gotta be one, you know, to call Mayday if needed. I see a lonely walkie talkie.
Above Ben the Pilot there is a square metal frame, with a HUGH fucking Bunsen burner on each corner, and like a big trigger for each one, so he can stand there and grab em and squeeze it like a HUUUGH flame thrower, pouring the power of hell and its numerous demon armies into this building-size happy yellow sack leering over us.
Inner maniac falls to knees and slaps the ground whilst wheezing for air from laughing so hard.
Now, there is no way balloon pilots aren't manics. Come on, the kind of person who floats under a big sack in the sky and sprays a massive flame thrower in gleeful joy towards the heavens every day has to be totally batshit. I am not complaining, mind you. Ben the Maniac is a fucking inspiration.
Phase Three
So Ben the Maniac Pilot melts a few more tanks, and we start to float up. I was kind of expecting that a balloon ride would be a bit crazy...you know, like windy, cold, maybe feeling a bit like you're strapped to the outside of the plane instead of cosy in it. Well it isn't. At all. It was much more like standing in a giant picnic basket, next to a friendly fire demon, in your back yard, and the ground is actually a big TV showing google earth and someone is just slowly pinching it to make it zoom out ever so slowly. I've had the couch wobble more than that basket.
I apologise for most of my pics being shit.. I was a bit worried about dropping my phone over the edge, because, you know, I'm an idiot and that's just the sort of thing I would do. So that's why all the pics have the back of mum's head in them. Sorry everyone.
Oh fun fact - you can't steer a balloon. Isaac says to me the day before the ride, "So do you just float around in the wind?" and I'm like "Dude *scoffing arrogantly*, of course they wouldn't just do that. They must have some control otherwise you'd just end up crashing. Duh". Joke's on me. Floating around in the wind is exactly what they do. The manic pilots can spin the balloon slowly, and control the rising and descent using their hell fire and by popping the top off the balloon to release hot air in a hurry. But as far as direction is concerned, they take precise measurements of wind speed using little baby balloons in the morning before the float (I'm saying float instead of flight, because I'm right), so they know "ok at 1,000 feet we're going east slowly and at 3,000 feet we're gonna turn around and go that way real fast". Wind changes all the time, so they use their highly technical walkie talkies to keep in touch with the other balloon manic pilots to relay what each other are experiencing re. height and speed. Totally bonkers, and very very cool. I mean, I have trouble crossing the road even at the lights and not dying, and these guys are making magic happen. It's just incredible.
We landed so gently I was like “Um Ben, why’d you stop? I was so close” and he was like “Baby, I’m already finished and making breakfast”.
We came to rest amongst the lactating females of a dairy farm, helped squish the hot air from the now flaccid balloon, and then headed to O'Reilly's Vineyards for bubbles. Life is hard.
Inner maniac arrived at breakfast heavy lidded, satisfied.
If you're into adrenaline rides etc, ballooning probably isn't for you. But for me, someone who's done a little flight training and knows a little bit about how crazy it actually is to be doing such a thing, (as well as having an inner maniac), I thought it was fantastic. I didn't care about the scenery really, I just loved the experience of using basic high school science to take 25 people 6,000 feet in the air safely just for something to do of a morning.
Quick tips for anyone else wanting to go ballooning:
You don’t need a jumper if it’s summer. A fire the size of your car is hot. Really fucking hot actually.
It’s not windy, it won’t wreck your hair.
Wear pants. You gotta climb into the basket, there’s no door. It’s a genuine giant’s picnic basket.
Getting up early sucks.
That is all.
Happy Birthday Mum!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!