I have an irrational fear of heights. Perhaps it comes from being 5’2″ and therefore never being too far from the ground, so anytime I find myself on anything much higher than a stepstool, my heart starts pounding and I work myself into a panic. Seriously, I get a little nervous wearing high heels. Given this, it makes absolutely no sense that I ended up in a hot air balloon last weekend — by choice.

Despite my acrophobia, for some reason, taking a hot air balloon ride has been on my ‘bucket list’ for years. I really have no idea how it got there or what the motivation was when I decided that was something I wanted to do before I die. But there it was. And when I heard the Autumn Aloft hot air balloon festival was coming back to Park City after a 20-year hiatus, it practically jumped off my list. “Pick me! Pick me! I’m next!” this bucket list item practically screamed at me.

To be fair, the other remaining items on the list are a bit cost-and-reality prohibitive at this time. (Design and build my own house, volunteer for an elephant sanctuary, travel to Antarctica, work in the Peace Corps, discover a cure for malaria, etc.). So considering what is left on the list, a hot air balloon ride was the most practical immediate choice.

As I headed over the North 40 fields bright and early last Friday morning I kept telling myself, “If anything happens, at least it’s media day, so my final moments will be well-documented.”

I called my parents on my way over, hoping they might calm me down. But my dad, whom I apparently inherited my fear of heights from, just sighed and said: “It’s floating wicker, propelled by fire, thousands of feet off the ground. What can possibly go wrong?” I guess I also inherited the sarcasm gene from him.

We hung up and moments later, there I was on a soccer field filled with a dozen or so balloons and excited pilots. The balloonmeister (this is his real title) gave everyone an updated weather report, spoke in lingo I didn’t understand, released a “pibal” balloon, which all the pilots watched with great interest, and then, the balloonmeister gave the OK to “go vertical.” Which actually takes quite a while.

First, several people have to pull the balloons out of their giant vinyl bags. Then there were a whole bunch of cables and carabiners to untangle and make sure they got hooked up to the right places. A fan that probably could have blown me away had I not eaten so much for breakfast was fired up and began to slowly inflate the balloon. Several minutes later, just the right amount of propane was used to help get the massive thing vertical. And then, finally, it was time to actually go vertical.

I expected a detailed safety presentation, but we were just told to hop in the basket and enjoy the view.

“Isn’t there something I should know in case of an emergency?” I asked my pilot. She looked at my quizzically and said, “Yeah, don’t jump out at any time during the ride.”

With that, she gave the balloon a little gas and we were off the ground. I thought I’d be terrified, but it took about four seconds for me to relax. It was such a gentle, peaceful ride, I imagine, if cloud travel was a real thing, this is how it would feel. Like you’re just floating on air.

And frankly, a whole bunch easier than moving to Africa to work with rescued elephants.

Amy Roberts is a longtime Park City resident, freelance writer and the proud owner of two ill-behaved rescue dogs, Boston and Stanley.