“Most people float, but I fly.” Tim Taylor, the pilot of the colorful hot air balloon my wife and I are in, shouts this at us as we ascend higher and higher, his words punctuated by bursts of burning propane propelling us skyward over the Nevada highlands. I find myself alternating between gazing at the balloons above and below us and taking in the breathtaking view of the Reno mountains and skyline on either side.
And just like that I’m back in Nevada, compelled to return after the magical adventure I had during the National Cowboy Poetry Gathering in Elko back in January. This time, I’m here with my family to witness the Great Reno Balloon Race that graces the skies above Reno every September. It’s one of those events that is visually incredible but surprisingly challenging to capture on film. Drifting in the intermittent silence high above the world allows you to truly grasp the enormity of the experience. The Great Reno Balloon Race is the world’s largest free hot air balloon event and attracts about 20,000 people each year with nearly 100 balloons taking to the sky each day.
The first morning of the event, my family is up at 4AM to make sure we get up close to see the “Glow Show.” This display is a crowd favorite in which the balloon teams flare their propane based on the Master of Ceremonies’ directions, taking turns illuminating the darkness in choreographed displays. Mayaan, my 5-year-old son, immediately connects the flames and balloons to the dragons he’s currently obsessed with. Friendly fire-breathing mythical beasts have a way of eliciting wows from little ones, and when you sprinkle in some dozens of them synchronizing their light displays with music it’s instant enchantment. My 2-year-old daughter’s eyes are ablaze with wonder as the towering balloons of all shape and form flicker like fireflies with different murmurations. Despite still wiping sleep from their eyes, the kids’ amazement certainly made this completely worth it.
Once the Glow Show ends, it’s time for Dalia and I to take flight for the Dawn Patrol with Pilot Shelena Shamo. Rising up in the air just before the sun does, I finally begin to feel like I’m getting close to capturing the expansive and ethereal essence of it all.
While the balloon show is a perfect family event, our very young children can’t join us for this part, so they stay on the ground with their grandmother. The experience seemed to transport Dalia back in time. “I remember this feeling from my dreams as a little girl, where I could fly.” While our children haven’t yet lost that sensation, we needed to ascend a few thousand feet to reconnect with that level of imagination.
On our way back from the Balloon Race that morning, we stumble upon an impressive gathering of lowriders at Idlewild Park near the Truckee River in downtown Reno. A lowrider is customized to sit lower to the ground often boasting hydraulic suspension systems to make the chassis pop up and down. These lowrider cars are cult favorites among collectors. They’re also all about style with eye-catching paint jobs and shiny wheels, so naturally Mayaan is drawn to the flashy collection of heavily customized whips. After all, his love for dragons is only rivaled by his obsession with cars, so at his insistence we follow.
There is a lot of pride from the owners. “For us, it’s all about family,” says Cesar, as we cruise Idlewild Drive in a purple converted Lincoln with leather bucket seats and tunes playing on the old school tape deck. “Lowrider culture originated in LA but found a natural home in Reno with its vibrant Latino community, where it merged seamlessly with the existing motorcycle culture,” he says as we roll slowly through the neighborhoods surrounding the park. “It’s generational, an expression of style, community, music, and the way we come together in our free time. And what most people don’t understand is how family-oriented this is; just look around,” he adds, pointing to the children playing, barbecues sizzling, and the generational community gathered around cars that have been elevated to works of art.
Mayaan wakes me up the next morning with a request “Daddy, can we go find some rocks?” It seems the draw toward finding adventure and treasure has suddenly grabbed a hold of my son. Clearly the desert landscape has piqued his interest so we decided to go rockhounding for Malachite on some of the vast expanses of public lands nearby. While Nevada has a rich mining history, particularly for silver and gold, I figured some more accessible and brightly colored rocks were the way to go for small kids. There are abundant spots on public lands to find all manner of beautiful stones. I had a good sense of where to look based on where old silver mines were, and a few inquiries at the nearby general store helped me narrow my search. Not a few hundred feet off the side of the road, my two kids eagerly join in the search for these blue-green stones amongst piles of old mine tailings. Malachite, formed over millennia through the intricate interplay of copper-rich minerals and weathering, appears as if nature herself has painted masterpieces on the rocks. The thrill of discovery lights up my children’s faces as they unearth pieces of this vibrant mineral. Their joy is infectious, and as they proudly present their treasures, I can’t help but marvel at what a wonderful entry point this little unplanned adventure is to time, geologic history, chemistry, and the history of the land itself.
After the excitement of the first few days, my family is ready to slow down and immerse ourselves in the abundant nature that surrounds Reno. Davis Creek Regional Park, just a few miles from our lodging, seems like the perfect escape from the bustling crowds that flock to the Biggest Little City in the final weeks of summer. This 200-acre park filled with pine trees and sage is south of Reno and can be easily under-appreciated relative to the nearby state parks. With abundant campsites and hiking trails for all levels, it’s an idyllic respite from some of the more crowded places. Setting up camp for a few nights allows us to experience a change of pace. “I think this is the biggest pinecone in the whole place,” Mayaan proudly declares, leveraging his influence over his younger sister, who readily agrees. “Well, let’s see if we can find an even bigger one,” Dalia suggests, employing her Jedi mind tricks to keep the kids motivated during our hike.
After lunch, we make our way to Washoe Lake to watch the various wind riders take advantage of the strong gusts sweeping across this lake fed by waters coming down from the Carson and Virginia City ranges. Kite surfers, windsurfers, sailboats, and wings glide in and out from the shore—driven by the “Washoe Zephyr,” a wind that sweeps down the Sierra Nevada and written about by Mark Twain. As I snap photos, Mayaan and Naela proudly approach me, each holding an apple. “Here, Daddy,” they say in unison, handing me one. “Where did you get these?” I ask, assuming they had once again convinced someone we didn’t know into giving them snacks. They both point triumphantly to an apple tree near the washrooms, its branches heavy with fruit. It was clear they won’t let us leave till we fill our T-shirts with some of the bounty that seems overlooked by everyone except my children.
It takes a promise of campfire marshmallows back at our campsite to pry them away from the allure of the apple tree. Fortunately, it’s just a short 10-minute drive to our campsite, and after indulging in the promised fire-roasted treats, we settle into our tent for a well-deserved rest, eager to embrace the adventures of the next day.
We decided to finish off our trip by learning about the history of this region, so we continued east to the Comstock Gold Mill in historic Virginia City, a town steeped in Wild West history. There we are greeted by Outlaw Dave, our charismatic guide, who seemed straight out of a Western movie. The still-functioning mill is a remarkable piece of history, a testament to the wealth that once flowed from the Comstock Lode, one of the richest silver and gold deposits in the world. Outlaw Dave regales us with tales of the miners who toiled tirelessly in this very mill, extracting precious metals that helped shape the nation’s destiny during the Gold Rush era. The clanking of machinery and the stories of hardship and fortune created a vivid picture of the past. It was a journey back in time, with Outlaw Dave as our sherpa, revealing the secrets of this once-thriving mining town, where legends were born and fortunes won and lost. Virginia City and the Comstock Gold Mill were living testaments to the indomitable spirit of the American West, and wandering in and out of the establishments that line the streets felt like a step back in time.
As we drive back to our lodging for the final evening, everyone is thoroughly exhausted but remarkably content. Some of us rediscovered how to fly, while others encountered real-life dragons. As for me, I had the privilege of bringing my family along for some of the adventures I typically experience alone. I find myself grateful for this place that seems to be the gift that keeps on giving, this time with family memories we will look back upon for years to come.