There is something totally awesome about hot air balloons. Think about it: huge flames are filling delicate sheets of colorful fabric with hot air to lift them into a clear, blue sky. And only clear blue skies because if it's crappy outside, you cannot fly a hot air balloon.
Temperamental, just like me. Love it.
Temperamental, just like me. Love it.
My love of hot air balloons began as a child in Lake Zurich, IL, quite possibly the classiest of the northern Chicago suburbs. Or not. But in the summer we lived there (yes, singular, just one summer), a couple hot air balloons landed in the yards and park of our neighborhood, which was incredibly exciting. We got to check the balloons out as they deflated and talk to the hot air balloon pilots - which, seriously, how awesome do you have to be to fly hot air balloons? Pretty flipping sweet, if you ask me.
Upon consultation with the one and only John Ash, it has been confirmed that hot air balloons are a pretty extreme and alt form of transportation. That's all the support I really need to legitimize my love of hot air balloons.
I think John Ash might be the HRO or hypemachine of transportation methods. Or maybe not. I'll have to Think About It.
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