Realizing one`s dream of a lifetime may perhaps be one of the most
traumatic moment of our life. To travel at Mac 2 in a jet fighter, or drive a steam locomotive? No matter how old we become, most of us have ambitions never yet accomplished.
Now I have been lucky enough to have done most things, but as time ticks on, the chances of doing something a little reckless get less and less! Overhearing a friend in a pub the other days really made me tremble with excitement.
“It`s the most wonderful exhilarating feeling,” he was saying.
“Floating at three thousand feet high above the countryside with only the sound of the wind through the rigging and the intermittent roar of the burner. It just had to be hot air ballooning!
I nudged my wife, “Hear that Lovey, how do you fancy a trip?” From the look on her face I might well have said, “Let`s climb Mount Everest.”
“You`ll never catch me floating around in some dirty laundry basket, suspended by a lot of hot air, you must be bonkers!”
I finished my drink and had another, then tackled the young gentleman who owned the balloon.
“You`ll have to be up quite early,” he said. “Other than that it`s a piece of cake.”
“How early?” I asked, knowing that I was the world`s worst early riser.
“Half five and ready for six?”
My heart got the jitters as I heard my voice say, “Splendid, I just can`t wait to get airborne.”
For some unearthly reason, other than power lines and Telcom, it`s not at all possible to take off from the comfort and safety of your own back garden. Oh no! Take-off was scheduled at some God forsaken aerodrome, a good two hours ride in my motor-car.
My wife and I didn`t sleep that night, there just wasn`t time.
As planned, we arrived at the site in fine form and frozen to the marrow. The eerie shadows flickering in the morning darkness somehow reminded me of that scene from Macbeth and a `blasted heath’ but were a clear indication that Jimmy and his team had arrived and were unpacking the balloon.
My wife grabbed my arm as I got out of the car. “You can always call it a day if you like Lovey, I won`t say a thing.”
My adrenalin was pumping so much energy into my sinews that I just had to go on.”Wait in the car while we are rigging the balloon, I`ll collect you when we`re ready.”
One of the nicest things about ballooning is the popping of champagne corks to celebrate the event. Yes, we`d finished off two bottles before we had unfurled the silk and set the basket up!
Now all we had to do was fire up the burner and it`s up…up and away! Or so I thought. I knew that Jimmy was having problems, and I clambered over the rigging to ask if I could help.
“You haven`t got a pricker on you have you?”
I was immediately floored “A pricker?” I asked.
He took another swig from the champagne bottle, “Yes…you know, for the opening up the burner jets that are blocked up.”
I checked my trouser pockets thoroughly. Not a pricker in sight! Then I thought of my wife and the bulging portmanteau she carries around with her.
She was fast asleep when I got to the car.”You haven`t got a pricker in your handbag by any chance?” I asked casually through the car window. She came awake and wasn`t amused. ” Pricker….what`s that?”
I didn`t attempt an explanation knowing full well that it was not an easy subject for a woman half asleep and at a quarter past seven in the morning! With one half of the burner out of action, we decided to abort any attempt at flight that day. My hopes dashed, I returned to the warmth of my car.
By the time we had reached Nelspruit, my wife had a pretty good notion regarding prickers and their application to burner jets.
Imagine my surprise that evening at supper. Placed neatly beside my knife and fork was an aluminum pricker. A relic of the age when `Tilly’ lamps adorned the living room, and we all cooked by means of a paraffin stove.
“You found one then?” I asked. My wife nodded, “We mustn`t forget to take it with us when we go overseas, blocked jets on that 747 might delay our flight!”
Geoffrey Kennell.©
