"They're getting married at a winery in Napa. Everybody's invited."

We'd been living our coworker's long-distance romance for the last four years, so it was great to be part of the happy ending: a beautiful, romantic spot with old stone buildings and a flower-filled garden, on a Sunday in the fall. The trees should be glorious shades of orange and yellow.

"I found a great hotel deal online; I'll send you the link."

The nearest hotel had a big discount for a two-night stay, but what would we do on Saturday, the day before the wedding? I had driven through wine country several times. My friend who asked to come along was a teetotaler, so wine tasting was out.

The internet promoted hot-air balloon tours as a once-in-a-lifetime experience. One promo showed balloons in bright primary colors floating over rolling green hills, knotty vineyards, farms with cows and sheep, and the Napa River. Plus, it included a historical commentary.

My mind filled with fourth grade California history visions of native peoples, the arrival of the Spanish and Russians, the California Republic, the Gold Rush, and the blossoming of the wine region. All that, followed by a gourmet picnic lunch of tasty salads, fresh fruit, stuffed mushrooms, a bit of wine, and calorie-laden chocolate desserts. I was sold on the idea.

We left for Napa after work on Friday, so it was already nighttime. We had to be up early to meet the tour van. We were out front by five, and it was still dark — and foggy! We could barely see the driveway outside the front door. When would we get a chance to see Napa? The van picked us up, and then drove on and on through the dark.

"Where are we going?" my friend asked.

"Somewhere we can see the view," I replied. "Seems like we're driving really far from the hotel."

We stopped at a sunny spot. Baskets and flabby balloons sat the on ground. Burners were fired up to inflate the balloons. Despite their size, it was hard to believe that eight passengers and a pilot could fit into each basket. Luckily for us, only one honeymooning couple showed up for our group.

We climbed in and were up and away. We floated toward the clouds, a quick smooth ride that brought smiles to our faces. I peeked over the side, fascinated to see the ground far below. There were many tiny cars on a roadway, and I realized that I was seeing the I-5 freeway and the U.C. Davis orchards — not the rolling hills of the Napa Valley. We had driven many miles to the east in search of clear skies — practically into our own backyards. Since we were not over Napa, there was no commentary, other than our own.

Our landing was considered okay because nobody got hurt, other than bruises. We descended slowly into a harvested field. The basket landed bottom down, but quickly tipped over. Wind caught the deflated balloon, and we bounced over the ground while holding on tight. We toppled out, brushed ourselves off, and piled into a waiting van for the drive to our gourmet lunch.

We were dropped off by the picnic tables at a public park, where a large group of strangers in t-shirts and shorts greeted us warmly. They handed us paper plates and served us hot dogs, baked beans, potato salad, and chips. We sat down at a plastic checkered tablecloth and grabbed drinks from an ice chest of canned sodas.

In retrospect, I'm pretty sure we crashed a family reunion.

~ Marcia Ehinger