It can now be de-classified that we did in fact take to the skies once more right about the time of our anniversary -- a family-friendly Mile High club if you will. Our flight trajectory logs:
Stage One: I call it...The Smoulder
Inflation and take-off from Hunter Valley on a cold, early morning. Burners give off heat as intense as my selfies.
Stage Two: Ka level ni Cruise at Connelly
Cue Take My Breath Away (the '80s Berlin version, not the gawdawful Jessica Simpson one)
Stage Three: Slow Descent into Madness
Let me be clear at no stage of the ride did I ever feel scared or in danger that being said I was surprised in this day and age there is still no real balloon steering technology and it's basically left to the elements when and where you might end up landing it might be on top of some wildlife it might be in the middle of a swamp it might be on a Get-Off-My-Lawn local vineyard owner holy heck you might just barely clear the treetop line and get across the frickin' highway
Stage Four: Crash Landing on Poo
And so it came to pas...ture. We landed in the middle of an unknown livestock farm's grazing lands and our pilot jokingly radioed her ground crew to see if they knew where we were, if there was any way for the recovery trucks to get there, and if the land owner had been seen running out firing a shotgun in the air (at least, I hope she was joking). As it turns out, the owners were perfectly lovely and helpful, spotting us slowly dropping from the sky then coming out from their house in quad bikes with small children naka-angkas. We also received radio confirmation that a tracking team would be able to pick us up eventually...until then, we were just a dozen or so dorks waiting in a basket surrounded by s*** and spiders.
The operators sell the heavy, sweaty packing up process as all part of the ballooning experience and yes it was kinda fun and besides whatever we gave up in free labor services we made up in the post-mission complimentary breakfast and wine cellar raid
Mission Accomplished
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