THE PLEASURES OF BALLOONING
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mounting, and this is so much true that the spherical balloonist as he rises has no sense of movement, but gains the impression on which I have insisted, that the earth is descending below him. With respect to combinations of vertical and horizontal movement man is quite without experience. Indeed, I cannot describe the delight, the wonder and intoxication of that free diagonal movement onward and upward, or onward and downward, combined at will with changes of direction horizontally when the airship answers to the touch of the rudder! The birds have this sensation when they spread their wings and go toboganning in curves and spirals through the sky.
Of course, when I look back, it is not always easy for me to separate the pleasures of successful effort, the satisfactions of amour propre, and the anticipations of triumphs to come from the natural and innate pleasures of dirigible ballooning. The time, nevertheless, came when I tired of the former and leaned toward the latter, and I made this comparison: Once I was enamoured of high power petroleum automobiles—they can go at wonderful speed to any part of Europe, finding their fuel in any village. But when I discovered that I did not want to go to Moskow or to Lisbon, the small and handy electric runabout in which I do my errands about Paris proved more satisfactory.
From the standpoint of my pleasure and convenience as a Parisian, my experience has been similar. Because, you understand, I do this for my pleasure; I have no mission to labor and risk my life merely to demonstrate things to the public. So I built my little “ No. 9 runabout,” the smallest of possible dirigibles, which I am, in one sense, copying again on a larger scale this summer. Indeed, it was so small that its original motor was a 3 horse-power Clement, weighing 26 pounds, while its ballast capacity was only 66 pounds. Yet with it I went careering over the Bois at as much as 15 miles per hour, notwithstanding its egg-shaped form, which was seemingly little calculated for cutting the air. The balloon of my airship for this summer will be much more cigar-shaped, slender and pointed, because I have hit on a new stiffening device and no longer fear doubling up like a jack-knife.
How practical this little “ runabout ” proved itself was shown when I landed with it the first time in the grounds of the Aero Club at Saint-Cloud, in the midst of nine fully inflated spherical balloons, there held ready to be let off on a ladies’ race. After a short call, I prepared to start away again to my own balloon house at Neuilly, Saint-James.
“Can we give you some gas?” politely asked my fellow clubmen.
“You saw me coming all the way from Neuilly,” I replied; “ did I appear to be throwing any ballast?”
“You threw no ballast,” they admitted, and it was obvious I could only have started with some 66 pounds of it.
“Then why should I be in need of gas?” I asked. As a matter of curiosity I may relate that I did not lose or sacrifice a cubic foot of gas or a single kilogramme of ballast that whole afternoon.
After leaving my friends at Saint-Cloud I made a typically peaceful “ Parisian ” air trip—because you must not imagine that the pleasures of dirigible ballooning have all to do with fierce and palpitating effort in blue solitudes. No, there is also the aerial park saunter, absolutely devoid of risk and danger.
To go from Neuilly, Saint-James, to the Aero Club's park I had already passed the Seine. Now, crossing it again I made for the café restaurant of the “ Cascade,” where I descended for refreshment and a chat. It was 5 p.m. Not yet wishing to quit the amusing little voyage, I left the sylvan café, crossed the river for a third time, and went straight as close to Mont Valérien as delicacy permitted. (It is an important fort, defending Paris and guarding its own secrets jealously.) Then returning I crossed the river for a last time and came to earth in my own grounds at Neuilly. During my whole trip my highest altitude was 346 feet. Taking into consideration that my guide rope hangs 130 feet below me and that the tops of the Bois trees extend up some 70 feet from the ground, I had enjoyed but 140 feet of clear space for vertical maneuvering.
It was enough, and the proof is that I have amused myself guide roping
