Hot Air Balloon Rides at the New Smyrna Beach Ballon Fest

A hot air balloon ride is on everyone's bucket list. When I saw the ad for the New Smyrna Beach Balloon Festival, I knew we had to go.

I'd been looking forward to it for weeks, examining the schedule, charging my camera battery, and dreaming.  The weather looked iffy though — the balloons could only inflate if the winds stayed below 8 mph. The fest was being held close to the beach where winds gusted stronger than that daily.  AND a storm front was scheduled to move through over the weekend. Iffy.

We decided to go up for two nights, because I knew if I went up for only Friday OR Saturday, the show would not go on.


Friday night we ate a delish surf-Mexican dinner at the Taco Shack, a totally casual open-air place where cats strolled below the wooden benches, the food was quick and hot, while the beer was cheap and cold. Perfect.  We felt as if we were back in Costa Rica. We'll be going back.

We met up with some friends and family at the Balloon Fest. The place was crazy. Normally, New Smyrna is a sleepy little beach town — I think the city by-laws state you must be retired or surf to live there.  Half of Central Florida must have filled the muddy airport parking lot that day.

Vintage planes sat parked along the runways, displays for the airshows taking over the skies all weekend.  Nearly a hundred vendor booths took up far too much space, and of course Kiddo talked his Grandma into buying him a souvenir. The obligatory greasy food court was jammed with people eating anything imaginable that could be fried or stuck on a stick {or both}. But they had REALLY cheap beer — win!  A giant Ferris wheel and a bustling, overpriced carnival lit up the evening sky.

But I didn't care about any of that. I bee-lined it straight for Balloon Island.

A few withered nylon bags were strewn across a field, their colors and shapes not clear in the twilight. People tugged wicker baskets from the backs of vans and trailers. They were so much smaller than I had imagined, only 4 x 5 or so, just big enough for four people to squeeze into, and small enough to easily fit into the back of a pick-up truck.

The winds gusted far higher than the allowed speed, but a few brave crews tried to get their balloons up.  The basket and balloon started down on its side, while the mouth was held open to capture the wind. Once enough air filled the nylon balloon, the flames turned on, sporadic bursts lighting up the sky.

But the balloons never left the ground that night. It was just too windy. We watched jets flare like sparklers, parachutes fall with flaming trails, and a jet-engine rigged school bus roar past at 200+ mph.

We missed the full airshow Saturday, but as we sat on the beach we caught glimpses of the jets and biplanes practicing along the coast, cruising by in tight formation above the sand and sea.

A front threatened to cancel all the night's activities, and rain chances went up as the day grew long. The afternoon brought a few brief showers, but a few of us decided to brave it anyway.

I could see the outlines of balloons as soon as we neared the entrance.  We raced through the crowds, eager to get in line for a ride.  My wonderful Hubby joined the queue while a friend and I took our boys to explore — but not before we enjoyed a smuggled-in champagne toast {shhh}.

Now, this was a tethered balloon ride.  While we would LOVE to go for the hour-long ride gliding high above the Florida countryside, we didn't have the $200 bucks a person to shell out.  I'll save that luxury for a ride over wine country or some foreign destination, thanks.  Heavy ropes connected the balloons to trucks and vans. I would have loved to have ours break free, escaping above the crowds, but that wasn't going to happen.

Tickets in hand, we let Kiddo pick our balloon.  We were third in line. He was impatient, dying to get into the sky — so was I.   It was actually tough to climb into the basket, find the foothold low on the wicker, and I was barely able to swing my leg over the top. Inside, there wasn't any room to maneuver, and I thanked the stars that I vetoed my skirt at the last minute.

The three of us just barely fit in there with the captain. 

The flames burned hot against my slight sunburn, they were close, bright, and blinding as the sun.

The inside of the nylon dome was huge,

 a brilliant hollow Easter egg holding us suspended in the air.

Storm clouds closed in on us, and lightening flickered in the distance. Our time up in the air was far too brief, but the lines snaked across the field, others waiting {some rather impatiently} for their time in the sky.  Kiddo scored a second ride with our friends, and not minutes after they descended the rains came.

We grabbed a cheap beer and stood in the rain watching the balloons deflate. There were going to be many disappointed people that night, but we would not be amongst them. We had a blast.