Floating over Reno, freaking out pooches


September 18, 2001

One of the cool things about being a member of the media is that you get to do really neat stuff for free. Of course, being a member of the media also means that the public holds you in the same esteem as yak parasites. But that's not important right now.

What is important is that I was able to go up in a hot air balloon last Thursday as part of the Great Reno Balloon Race media day. I joined my colleague and friend, Deidre, and a bunch of other tired, cranky reporters at Rancho San Rafael Park at 6 a.m. in the morning, where -- I swear this is true -- they had imported Krispy Kreme doughnuts in for the occasion. I am embarrassed to say that, for many of the journalists on hand for media day, this was the highlight of the morning, superseding any old balloon ride. This is because journalists, as a whole, are piggish freaks.

While I enjoyed my Krispy Kreme doughnut, I was awaiting my balloon ride with great anticipation, for two reasons. First, I thought a balloon ride would be a major hoot, and second, I have a slight fear of heights, and I wanted to see how that would pan out.

We were paired up with our balloon pilots just in time for the morning briefing. Deidre was stoked to learn that we'd been assigned to Sparks resident Cindy LaVan, whom Deidre had previously interviewed. We then listened to the briefing from various officials from agencies including the National Weather Service. A representative from air traffic control at the Reno Tahoe International Airport also spoke, assuring the balloon pilots that if they floated into the flight paths, controllers would "send the planes right in between" the balloons.

He was joking. We think. Deidre turned to me and sternly said: "That's not funny."

With that, we were off to the balloons, were the Razzmatazz (Cindy's balloon) flight crew was waiting. After the crew inflated the balloon, I was told to hop in the basket. Seeing as I have the manual dexterity of a sumo wrestler on Quaaludes, this took some work, but I got in. Deidre -- 10 years my senior and a mother of 5 -- got in with ease. Whatever.

Cindy then fired the propane burner. Let me say that when you're already nervous, and you are not expecting a propane burner 18 inches away from your ear to go "KWAAAASSSSSSSSHHHHHT!" it can almost -- but, thankfully, not quite -- result in the need for a change of undies.

After Cindy stole the hat off the head of her husband, crew chief John, to give to me (to shield my tall, lurky head from the heat of the burner), we were off.

I kept my nerves in check as we rose over Rancho San Rafael, over the homes in the Washington Street area, and then over greater northwest Reno. From 1,200 feet above, you can see lots of things you can't on the ground. For example, it's amazing how many trees there are. They're everywhere, and as they're now turning into fall colors, it was stunning. It was also amazing to see how Reno-Sparks is growing -- sprawling, you could say -- and that isn't necessarily a good thing.

Hoping to hit another wind current that would take us back toward the park, Cindy lowered our elevation, and just before we reached the Truckee River near Reno High School, she succeeded. We floated back over Interstate 80 near Keystone Avenue, and over the residential areas bounded by Seventh Street, Keystone and Kings Row.

This provided the highlight of the trip. We got pretty low -- just above the highest treetops and power lines -- giving us a close-up view of these homes and the yards. Residents, hearing the KWAAAASSSSSSSSHHHHHT of the burner, would come out and see what was going on. Cindy would yell down "good morning" while Deidre and I waved as if we were in some sort of vertically ambitious parade. Everyone would wave back and smile. It was cool.

However, one demographic was very, very opposed to the good ship Razzmatazz and its flight path: the dogs of northwest Reno. They would hear the KWAAAASSSSSSSSHHHHHT, look up, see us and come totally unglued. They'd bark, whimper and nervously pace.

I can understand their fears; here these dogs are, minding their own business, when all of a sudden the peace is shattered by an odd-looking, KWAAAASSSSSSSSHHHHHT-ing craft occupied by three dorkily waving beings, floating slowly over their territory. I'd be freaked, too.

Aside from pooch anxiety, things were going well. The flight was calm, serene and beautiful. John and the rest of the Razzmatazz ground crew were following us on ground streets as we made our way back. It was all good.

Until the wind picked up and lurched us west suddenly and without warning. Light winds, a few miles per hour, are good for ballooning. Any more than that, and it's bad. This was more than that.

Cindy radioed John to follow closely -- we needed to land. Cindy spotted Mamie Towles Elementary School, and decided to set Razzmatazz down. John and the crew parked, hopped a fence, and started a mad dash across the school grounds. Cindy let down the drop rope, and set the basket down.

But the balloon wanted to keep going. John and another member of the ground crew, Mike, grabbed the rope and were dragged several feet. In the end, the landing was successful, although both Mike and John suffered rope burns on their hands, despite the fact that they were both wearing gloves.

Just as we were calming down after the landing, the scene was made all the more festive when several hundred kids came running towards us, like something out of an "Indiana Jones" movie.

Wow. How long until next year's media day?

Jimmy Boegle is a fifth-generation Nevadan who thanks Cindy, John and the Razzmatazz crew for their hospitality and general coolness. Jimmy's column appears here Tuesdays, and he can be reached via e-mail at jiboegle@stanfordalumni.org .

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