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My first helicopter ride!
I printed a map off Yahoo and drove to the St. Paul Terminal. I found the directions a tad bit bewildering, but fortunately a sign appeared at the side of the road with "Helicopter Rides This Way" to help the directionally challenged like me. I went into the building, and bought my ticket from a young woman with beautifully manicured nails and sat down in the rather featureless lobby. The air smelled strongly of Pine Sol. Three others were waiting for their ride: two women in perhaps their fifties who chatted to each other in both French and English. They were accompanied by a young boy who somehow reminded me strongly of Neville Longbottom--a resemblance eventually lessened somewhat by his Minnesota Wild jersey and his spirited performance on air guitar: ("I'm gonna LOVE ya, till the STARS fall down from the SKY . . . for you and I! Deh wah wah wah, deh wah wah wah, dadadada DA!"), much to the amusement of the ladies accompanying him.
Eventually, they called the four of us out to the back entrance to the airfield and we walked out to the helicopter. The rotor was turning, and the noise was truly deafening. I hopped in first and quickly snabbled the seat with the largest, clearest window. There was assorted shifting around as the ground crewman helped us find and fasten our seatbelts. The door was closed and the rhythm of the rotor quickened to a fast roar. And up we went.
"Whoa!" exclaimed the boy.
I had been clenching my hands on my purse in my lap rather tightly, trying to forestall my nervousness by telling myself, now, you know, it'll feel different than anything you've ever felt before. Don't let that rattle you. It was only after the ride was over that I realized I had felt something like it before: amusement park rides. It felt very much like going up (with a little extra vibration) in a Ferris wheel, even to the identical sway, like when a Ferris wheel basket teeters from side to side. Only I'd never gone up in such a tall Ferris wheel before, of course.
The ride was short, only about eight minutes long. We went up quite fast as we left the airport and then approached the ice palace. Although I hadn't thought of it beforehand, I realized with delight that I'd picked the right time for my reservation because the every-half-hour light show was going on. I could see the strobe lights, and the play of spot lights within the towers. The lights in the outer perimter, walls and towers, were synchronized with the lights in the towers.
All too soon the pilot completed the circle, and we headed back to the airfield. I looked back over my shoulder just in time to see the last extra large gout of flame from the fountain of fire that ended the light show. It was truly striking seen from the air.
One of the women had taken pictures, but seeing the flash light up the window frame, I knew it was impossible. All she would get would be blurs, and perhaps a closeup of part of the window frame, or a back wash from the flash against the plastic of the windows. You would need to have a steadycam, and high speed film. Taking pictures wasn't the point. I had known that when I'd gone up.
I didn't learn anything new about the palace, really. But that was all right, because I knew that what I went up there for was perspective. The palace looked fragile, sharp-edged, playful, even, with all those brilliantly colored lights playing around.
The coptor landed and we fumbled for the catches of our seatbelts and released them. "Il était trop vite," one of the women sighed.
Indeed. It was much too fast.. I got out and looked back at the helicopter, watching the strobing of the rotor blades, and then looked up at the stars and laughed.
It's interesting what researching books will make you go out and do.
Eventually, they called the four of us out to the back entrance to the airfield and we walked out to the helicopter. The rotor was turning, and the noise was truly deafening. I hopped in first and quickly snabbled the seat with the largest, clearest window. There was assorted shifting around as the ground crewman helped us find and fasten our seatbelts. The door was closed and the rhythm of the rotor quickened to a fast roar. And up we went.
"Whoa!" exclaimed the boy.
I had been clenching my hands on my purse in my lap rather tightly, trying to forestall my nervousness by telling myself, now, you know, it'll feel different than anything you've ever felt before. Don't let that rattle you. It was only after the ride was over that I realized I had felt something like it before: amusement park rides. It felt very much like going up (with a little extra vibration) in a Ferris wheel, even to the identical sway, like when a Ferris wheel basket teeters from side to side. Only I'd never gone up in such a tall Ferris wheel before, of course.
The ride was short, only about eight minutes long. We went up quite fast as we left the airport and then approached the ice palace. Although I hadn't thought of it beforehand, I realized with delight that I'd picked the right time for my reservation because the every-half-hour light show was going on. I could see the strobe lights, and the play of spot lights within the towers. The lights in the outer perimter, walls and towers, were synchronized with the lights in the towers.
All too soon the pilot completed the circle, and we headed back to the airfield. I looked back over my shoulder just in time to see the last extra large gout of flame from the fountain of fire that ended the light show. It was truly striking seen from the air.
One of the women had taken pictures, but seeing the flash light up the window frame, I knew it was impossible. All she would get would be blurs, and perhaps a closeup of part of the window frame, or a back wash from the flash against the plastic of the windows. You would need to have a steadycam, and high speed film. Taking pictures wasn't the point. I had known that when I'd gone up.
I didn't learn anything new about the palace, really. But that was all right, because I knew that what I went up there for was perspective. The palace looked fragile, sharp-edged, playful, even, with all those brilliantly colored lights playing around.
The coptor landed and we fumbled for the catches of our seatbelts and released them. "Il était trop vite," one of the women sighed.
Indeed. It was much too fast.. I got out and looked back at the helicopter, watching the strobing of the rotor blades, and then looked up at the stars and laughed.
It's interesting what researching books will make you go out and do.