BALLOONISTS MEANDER ACROSS SKIES

With a slight stir and the barest sensation of lift, a balloon leaves the ground.

At first there is a little apprehension. You are rising quickly to 100, 200, 300 and 400 feet above the ground with nothing more to support you than a few fragile-looking wires and a wicker basket. But soon that feeling is replaced by a sense of comfort. The balloon seems contented and transmits that feeling to its occupants.

My first flight on a vehicle that was powered by nothing more than physical law was as eye-opening an experience as a person can have at 5:30 a.m.

Ray Donner, of Fisherville, Ky., was the pilot of the Midnight Express, which took me on this flight.

The morning was cool, even a little chilly, as we took off. Looking back at the ground crew with their feet buried in the sodden grass of the field we launched from, we didn't notice the line of trees that were fast approaching. A questioning remark from Donner's young daughter, Amelia -- named for Amelia Earhardt -- corrected that oversight and a short burst of flame from one of the balloon's twin burners was enough to clear the tree tops with just a brush of leaves on rattan.

Donner brought the whole family along on his trip to Cape Girardeau to participate in the Balloons and Arts Festival's balloon race. His wife, Terri, is a pilot for United Parcel Service, and their love affair with flying was transmitted into each of their children's names.

Besides Amelia, there is Chase. "We were chasing balloons around the time he was born," Terri Donner said, and Nick. Chase is short for Charles, as in Charles Lindberg, and Nick ... "Well," Terri said, "Donner is one of St. Nick's reindeer. Our pastor got a kick out of that when we first told him."

Surprisingly, Terri doesn't like to pilot the balloon nearly as much as her financial-consultant husband.

"I'm a control junkie," she said. "And in the balloon you just don't have as much control as I'm used to. I get my flying fix from my 727."

She does like to ride though, as do the kids.

There is something addicting in balloon flight. It was difficult to contain my disappointment when the 45-minute flight came to an end and we settled back onto the ground.

As soon as we lifted off, I could tell it would be difficult to determine altitude. Floating above the top of a quiet Cape Girardeau neighborhood, it was easy to carry on simple conversations with the few curious residents who were up so early. And yet a quick glance around revealed miles of scenery.

The highest we rose was just over 400 feet. At that altitude the traffic noise disappeared completely and the only sound that attaches you to reality was the hissing of the gas burners. The wind was brisk and still there was little sensation of motion.

We dipped and skirted, jigged and floated, but mostly we meandered -- a favorite word of ballooners. We meandered wherever the wind wished to take us.

Donner was able to establish a certain amount of control over our horizontal movement by going up and down. The wind was blowing in slightly different directions depending on the altitude. To go westerly Donner went up, to go to the south he took us lower. In that way he was able to select an easily accessible landing site that did not intrude on private property or risk his chase crew's health in attempting to retrieve us.

That is also how Donner and the rest of the more than 40 balloon pilots will be competing this weekend. The balloon race is actually a contest of precision flying. A target is laid down at a random area, and the pilots will meander their way as close as they can to it and drop a marker as close to the center of the target as possible.

Finally our flight came to an end with an abrupt bounce off the ground. It wasn't a jarring landing; in fact, it was a lot like being startled awake from a pleasant dream by a ringing alarm clock.

And at that hour of the morning, it would be hard for me to say for certain that it wasn't, in fact, all a dream.