A Ballooning Fad

The incursion became apparent early last week when an unlikely armada appeared in the sky. The giant multicolored craft floated leisurely over the city, settling now and then on golf courses, vacant lots and a nearby mesa area, and drawing crowds of excited spectators for a close look. Within a few days, the invaders had dominated the conversation and captured the imagination of most of the area's earthlings.

The occasion was the Third Annual International Albuquerque Balloon Fiesta, which last week drew to New Mexico 120 hot-air balloons and hundreds of their devotees from all over the world. To celebrate the fast-growing interest in ballooning, the "aeronauts" dipped and soared in a madcap series of races. Between events, they floated lazily above the city in their four-passenger gondolas and gossiped about ballooning's hardware, history and folk heroes--including Forbes magazine Editor in Chief Malcolm Forbes, who drifted all the way across the U.S. in a giant yellow-and-blue-striped balloon last fall, and self-styled Adventurer Thomas Gatch, at week's end still missing after an attempted transatlantic flight.

Balloonists at the fiesta had ample opportunity to show off their skills in competitive events. As chase trucks wheeled over the scrub grass in pursuit of the bobbing air bags, aeronauts entered in the "coyote-roadrunner" race trailed after a lead balloon, attempting to duplicate its difficult maneuvers. Others joined in the "precision tumbleweed drop," sweeping as low to the ground as they dared without getting caught in capricious ground winds, then tossing pieces of tumbleweed at a target. There was also a "bicycle balloon" race, in which a passenger and his bicycle are carried aloft and set down as quickly as possible beyond a specified point; the bicyclist then completes the race by pedaling furiously to the finish line.

Less competitive balloonists at the fiesta preferred to sail aimlessly on high and simply watch the events. "Hell, I just enjoy hangin' around up here," said Robert Miller Jr., an alfalfa and wheat farmer from Kansas. The races meant even less to another of the floaters: "My ego gets just as inflated as my balloon up there above it all."

But even drifting requires skill and the proper use of controls. By pulling a lever, the balloon pilot can feed more propane to the burners located at the top of the passenger gondola, heating the air in the bag and propelling the balloon upward; pulling a rope opens an air vent, allowing air to escape from the bag and causing the balloon to settle toward the ground. Direction of flight is dependent on the wind, but the balloonist can frequently alter his course by changing altitude to catch a different air current. The sport, in fact, requires a firm knowledge of aeronautics, a thorough training course, and licensing by the Federal Aviation Administration. It also requires considerable cash, perhaps the major factor in preventing an even more rapid growth of ballooning (there are only an estimated 350 balloonists in the world); the average price of the gondola, bag and accessories is about $6,000.

Seasoned balloonists are always prepared for emergency landings and generally travel with an extra bottle of wine or a six-pack to placate property owners who object to having a giant bag of hot air settle on their land. Farmers are the most difficult to handle, explains Balloonist Alice Megaro, because "pigs and horses get very upset--though cows couldn't care less." A few find it cheerful to carry a supply of marijuana. Noted one aeronaut as he floated placidly above Albuquerque: "At this altitude, you only need half a joint."

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