I've seen balloon races before, years ago, so the canceling of Sunday's race wasn't a great disappointment (especially since we still got funnel cakes). But I'd never been to a Balloon Glo before.

We headed out for the city park across town, late as usual. And joined the crush of vehicles all headed the same way. The crowds were worse than the morning, as was parking. Closest we could get was five blocks away, in a medical building's parking lot. Wife wondered why there were so many more people coming to a 'Glo' rather than the real races.

That was an easy one to answer.

You don't have to get up before sunrise for a 'Glo'. It doesn't start 'til 20:00.

It was already getting dark as we entered the park, and the first vendor I see is exactly the one I want to see. The guy selling the glow-in-the-dark gadgets. Just a guy with a portable stand, filled with the lighted deely-boppers and devil's horns. And the glow necklaces.

I have to wait while four or five different young women buy the lighted red devil's horns.

What is it with women and devil's horns? Yes, it makes them sexy as hell. But do they know that?

When the guy has a break, I buy a handful of the glow rings. One for everybody, and an extra for me. Theoretically to make us easier to find in the crowd, but sons are both too cool to wear theirs. My brother hooks his on his belt loop. (Only to have some kid in a wheelchair try to steal it a few minutes later. Really!) But the wife and I wear ours, and it makes a difference. And we weren't the only ones.

And then we wander in to the giant forest of mystical mushrooms:

The British-made dairy cow was the only non-typical balloon there, which was actually to the best, I think. But it wasn't always this well lit in there. If they keep the balloons glowing, they will try to take off. So most of the time, you're wandering around in the dark. Terribly crowded, bumping into strangers, but no one seems to mind.

Occassionally they flare the propane torch in the middle, lighting the air giants from the outside.

But every minute or two, the announcer starts counting down from five (sometimes in Spanish), and then all the balloons glow for a few seconds.

And then it is dark again. This keeps up for an hour, offering plenty of opportunity to wander in close, to feel the heated air, touch the giants, and feel like you're in a magical kingdom.

Or to wander to the edge, only to have a mystical vehicle suddenly appear out of the darkness in front of you.

Near the end they tried to get fancy, having the ballons light up in sequence. Guess it worked, but we were in the middle at the time, so couldn't really tell. They also went for a flicker glow, with all the propane tanks repeatedly turned quickly on and off. Now that was a neat effect, especially when you're close enough to feel the roar.

And then it is over. The torches are quiet, and the giants come tumbling down, one by one. Soon the glaring park lights are on, and the magical forest is gone. Just a park full of happy people, dodging the pickups coming out to retrieve the nylon skins and baskets.

When you have this many people gathered together in a big city, there is always someone besides the vendors who sees an opportunity. The corner intersection by the park was lined, at three or four meter intervals, with little lawn campaign signs. And as the mass of people congealed at the intersection, awaiting permission from this guy

to go across the streets, a young woman picked up a megaphone, positioned herself on the low hill behind us, and began to tell us all how she had been "saved."

Like anyone leaving such a celebration would be seeking guidance in their life at that moment. But her words were lost in the crowd, and I suspect most, like me, were happily watching the cop perform his dance routine in the intersection.

Now, I don't know what other people do with their glow necklaces when they get home, but ours were handed down.

To the heelers.

They were less than thrilled.