THE RELUCTANT NOVICE: BALLOONING : A Real Downer : Sure, the view is nice, but there are better things to do so early in the morning, like sleep.

You’ve spent you’re whole life around things full of hot air--well people mostly--and you figure you’re a natural to ride in a balloon. Of course, you wonder if that on-again, off-again fear of heights is on or off today. And there’s the whole problem of ballooning at 6 a.m., since all previous early morning feats of daring have been performed in your dreams.

So you hop, or rather stumble, out of bed at 4:45 on a Saturday morning, quickly shower, throw on some warm clothes and head for Moorpark--all the while wishing you had passed on those three beers last night.

Fighting the early morning fog up the Conejo grade you wonder how a balloon pilot is going to navigate the skies when you can’t see the road. It is clearer in Moorpark, but the pilots are considering canceling the flights due to the thick sky. Your spirits secretly soar at the prospect that the balloon won’t.

If you fly, it will be with the High Times Balloon Co. But there are others who have gathered for rides with other balloon companies. You all meet at 5:35 a.m. under the overpass off the Tierra Rejada exit on California 23. From here you will caravan to the launch site.

Your pilot, Bob Baker, arrives shortly after you do. He is not the regular pilot, but a qualified replacement, an eight-year veteran of the Air Force and a 10-year veteran of ballooning. The usual guy is recovering from shoulder surgery. You ask the obvious question. “No, he wasn’t injured in a balloon ride,” Baker answers. You’re relieved but, of course, sorry for the pilot.

Baker seems preoccupied. He’s worried about the fog and about the direction it is blowing. “If for some reason the fog moves in fast and comes underneath you, you can’t tell where you’re landing,” he tells you. “There could be power lines or horses.”

“We should definitely wait till the fog clears up” you think to yourself. “If we wait too long for the fog to clear off,” Baker says, as though reading your mind, “the ground heats up and the wind picks up. We have to be out of the sky by 9:30.”

A couple of groups drive up to the launch area. Baker decides that you and the six other people in his group should go too. On the short drive there you see a sign for pony rides. You’re wondering how angry your editor would be if you switched to a gentler excursion.

The launch area is on a ranch belonging to the Anacapa View Nursery and Koi Farm. The 20-odd grazing cattle don’t seem to mind your presence. “The cows are quite friendly,” says Baker. That is unless you land on them.

After half an hour of deliberating, and after two other balloons take off, Baker and his crew--wife Alice, son Ray and daughter-in-law Ann--decide it’s safe to go.

You and the six other passengers walk across the field to start the 10-15 minute process of inflating the balloon. It will grow to be about the size of an eight-story building. It must be the chill in the air freezing your brain cells, but you volunteer to help inflate.

The balloon is inflated by a fan that blows air into it. Your job is to help hold one end of the balloon open so the air can get in. Once it has enough cold air in it, they shoot a little hot air to the top. At that point Baker cautions you, “If it gets too hairy let go. Don’t get burned.” You make sure you don’t.

Finally it’s time to fly. Your group will split into two. While one group is in the air, the other will help “chase,” or follow the balloon to its landing spot, which could be anywhere since the pilot has no control over direction, just height.

You, a woman and her little boy and girl are on the first flight. It’s an odd sensation when you get off the ground. The balloon is still and sturdy, and if you don’t look down you almost forget you’re in the air. It’s as though you are hanging from something, which, in fact, you are.

You’re balloon goes up to about 1,400 feet. The only problem is that it goes basically straight up. Not much movement. After about half an hour you’ve moved only half a mile. The two kids are on the floor of the basket, fighting to stay awake. The scenery is lovely, but it is fairly static. For the most part you float over California 23. You’re convinced you’re going to land on a car. You pray for a Maserati, so that when you get out of the hospital you can brag to your friends.

Eventually, you land safely and it’s time for the next group to fly. Your turn to chase. You spend more than an hour sitting in a truck, chasing a balloon that has suddenly found wind. Sleep has claimed the kids. You’re jealous of the second group even though they land on the side of a hill, off the highway. You help rescue them despite your envy.

“They say your first flight costs $150,” Baker tells you, “and your second flight costs $15,000 (the cost of a balloon).”

Maybe for some people, but you decide the next balloon you come in contact with will cost less than a dollar. And you’ll buy it at the store and blow it up by mouth. But only after sleeping until noon.

* THE PREMISE: There are plenty of things you have never tried. Fun things, dangerous things, character building things. The Reluctant Novice tries them for you and reports the results. After all, the Novice gets paid to do them--and has no choice in the matter. This week’s Reluctant Novice is Leo Smith.