I couldn’t sleep Thursday night. Like a kid on Christmas Eve, the anticipation was too much.

In just a few hours, I would leave terra firma for the first time in a hot air balloon.

Getting up well before dawn seemed more than a little unnatural, but I needed to be in Foley at 5:30 a.m. The flash of light outside when I got up was not a good sign. Neither was the thunder that followed. It was pouring rain when I left the house. I hoped it would bypass Foley, but I was out of luck, along with the rest of the folks signed up for Friday’s media flight.

Since I have known pilot Frank Anger for years, I texted him Friday afternoon to see if there would be a chance I could ride with him in his “Spirit of America” balloon during the Saturday morning competition. Things did work out, which made getting up at 3:45 a.m. two days in a row worth it.

The choreography of a crew setting up a hot air balloon is a sight to see. Everything fits in a small trailer. The envelope (the multicolored balloon part) weighs about 250 pounds. When packed, it fits in a bag the size of a small recliner. Unfurled, it will hold 77,000 cubic feet of hot air.

The crew stretched out the envelope and assembled the basket and propane burners. Gas-powered fans were used to blow air into the envelope. Once it is mostly filled with air, Anger used the burners to begin heating the air, causing the balloon to stand upright. As I climbed into the basket, Anger cautioned me, “Don’t touch anything red.” Being colorblind, I was a little apprehensive until he pointed at a pair of red cords.

We were joined in the basket by Lisa Kirkland, who won her ride through an online contest sponsored by Gulf Coast Newspapers.

The liftoff was smooth and easy. Once in the air, I was amazed by how smooth the ride was. It was like riding on air. (Sorry, I couldn’t help myself.) As we drifted from the takeoff site along the Foley Beach Express, it was fun getting a different view of town. It’s amazing how different things look from above. I could locate Highway 59 but all the side streets were lost to me.

As we floated along, I was amazed how quiet it was up there. Except for when the pilot had the burners firing, the silence was almost deafening. We might have been 100 feet off the ground but we could clearly hear people hollering “Good morning” to us. And there were plenty of people out Saturday morning. In many cases, we saw folks sitting out on their front porch drinking coffee and watching balloons float by and just relaxing. And we saw and heard just about every dog along our flight path. Anger said that the sound of the burners creates a concussive echo that really annoys dogs.

Winds blow different directions and different speeds at different altitudes. So after crossing 59, we started going up and down, looking for a more southerly breeze that would get us closer to the festival site. A large bulls-eye was set up on the ground. Pilots tried to get their balloons over the target to throw a numbered bean bag. The one closest to the target wins. Despite searching, we couldn’t pull off a left turn. We drifted north of the sportsplex.

With the contest a bust, the next order of business was finding a place to land. There were nice open fields to the south, but no left turns allowed. We saw one pilot setting down on the other side of a quarry. After dipping down to get a closer look, we decided to keep going.

The limited ability to turn kept us focused dead ahead for a suitable spot. We found the corner of a peanut field that had promise. Anger feared a rough, high speed landing, and got us in position, with knees bent. But a special vent opened the top of the envelope, letting a large amount of hot air to escape at just the right time. The landing was more of a bump, a tilt and a slight skid. Then it just sat there. A look down showed the basket hit ground and moved less than 2 feet. We did minimal damage to the crop.

The flight seemed to last hours, but it was only 36 minutes and covered about 5.5 miles.

As the ground crew drove around the turn row to get to us, Anger used a blast of hot air to lift the craft just off the ground. We then pulled it a few feet to the side of the field to deflate the envelope and begin the packing process.

We arrived back in the Foley Sports Complex for the closing ceremony of most balloon rides – the champagne toast for a successful landing. Anger unfolded a table and chairs and pulled out two bottles of champagne and a handful of flutes. Since Kirkland and I were first-time flyers, we were told we had to pick up the glass of champagne without using our hands. While we were bent over, champagne was squirted on our heads. Tradition or not, it seemed like a waste of champagne.

Of course, I had orange juice in my flute. Since I had to head to Stockton to cover the Vietnam Memorial dedication, I chose not to drink and drive. I did drive home for a quick shower before continuing my work day.

William Moore is the Senior Editor at Gulf Coast Newspapers. He can be reached at wmoore@gulfcoastnewspapers.com