The Great American Brass Band Festival

2007 Festival Articles

June 11, 2007

Thrill-seeking reporter takes ride in Great American Balloon Race

By CHARLIE COX
charles.cox@wku.edu

The hare balloon is tethered at Stuart Powell Field. (Clay Jackson photo)

Participants in the Great American Balloon Race approach Stuart Powell Field at the end of the event. (Clay Jackson photo)

To most people, the idea of floating in a wicker basket propelled by fire 500 feet of the ground is an absurd notion. But not to me. Nope, since my first bungee jumping excursion at the age of 12, I've always described myself as a thrill seeker of sorts. My goal is to go skydiving this summer. Hopefully that'll happen.

So when the possibility of riding in a hot air balloon during this year's race was mentioned to me, I was extremely excited. Possibly too excited for my own good.

It wasn't set in stone that I'd be a part of the event. Rick Schoebel, of Hometown Radio and a coordinator of the event, assured me early in the week that, if there were space, I'd be let aboard. IF there were space. He seemed optimistic, though. Or maybe he was just too polite to be annoyed by my incessant pestering.

I was disappointed when the race was postponed from Friday. I'd watched the weather all week, and all signs pointed to a problematic liftoff. But the storms arrived as if on cue, and my flight was delayed by two days.

Remember when I said I was overly excited? That was fully evident when I showed up at Stuart Powell Field three hours before scheduled liftoff. I thought the earlier I arrived, the more likely my chance would be. "We'll talk to everyone at the pilots' meeting to see if we can get you up," the ever-patient Schoebel assured me.

Fortune smiled, and I was put in the flying company of Tommy Steinbock, along with Hometown Radio's Johnny Slone and a 7-year-old girl named Kelsey.

No rookies here

"Are you excited?" I asked Kelsey, thinking I'd found a fellow rookie.

"Sure, I guess," she said. "This is my third time up."

Oh well.

The race plan changed from a "Hare 'N Hound" setup. Instead of lifting off from the airport, we would go to an alternate location and land at the airport. Interesting. Tommy, not "sir," as he corrected me from saying, chose a spot near Temple Baptist Church off of U.S. 150 bypass from which to take off. After a hefty setup where I had no idea what was going on, we were ready to reach for the heavens.

As the propane ignited over our heads, we began to float. And this was the point of the trip where I realized I wasn't 12 anymore. Far from it. Feeling more than a few butterflies, I put a death grip on The Advocate's video camera I brought on board with me. But then the nervousness subsided, and I was taken by the breathtaking view from our 550-foot height. Below our basket, I saw a deer sprinting across a field at full speed. Ah, you gotta love the Bluegrass State.

The flight to Stuart Powell Field went by in a blink. Due to some confusing advice from the ground below, we weren't able to toss our mark at the target. I could tell that bummed out my pilot, but it really didn't bother me. I just didn't want the ride to be over.

And then came the landing, which was interesting. Through no fault of Tommy's, we stuttered a bit. We landed, dragged a bit, and then landed again. And then we repeat that cycle. Maybe twice.

For anyone with an opportunity to ride in a hot air balloon, I'd strongly suggest it. After those first, "Oh my gosh, I'm in a wicker basket being propelled by fire," feelings subside, you'll love it. I sure did.

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