Hoover Dam and Hot Air Balloon Ride - 2014

That year time was more limited and I did not get to do a long day trip to a part of the Grand Canyon: instead, I chose to join a group for a tour of the great Hoover Dam on a moring, and a balloon ride over the desert on the following moring, before packing and heading back to the airport… 

The Hoover Dam was more of a historic and slightly technical tour, with two highlights: one of the massive generator rooms and a boat ride near the base of the dam.

It’s all about perspective, and it's only once you step inside the dam that you begin to grasp the staggering scale of this monumental engineering feat. Completed in 1936 during the Great Depression, the dam was a symbol of American ingenuity and ambition. Thousands of workers toiled under extreme desert conditions to tame the mighty Colorado River, pouring over 3.25 million cubic yards of concrete—enough to pave a road from San Francisco to New York.

The guided tour brings these numbers to life. From the sheer volume of water held back by the curved wall to the colossal forces absorbed by the dam’s base—where the pressure can reach 45,000 pounds per square foot—it’s awe-inspiring. And then there’s the raw power: 17 turbines housed deep within the structure generate electricity for over a million people across Nevada, Arizona, and California. The hum in the generator room is almost hypnotic—a deep, mechanical heartbeat of the desert.

But the real thrill came from the short boat ride. Gliding close to the dam's base and looking straight up at the 726-foot concrete wall (a backdrop for many Hollywood thrillers) was nothing short of surreal. The scale is overwhelming, especially with the gaping spillway mouths—like giant portals carved into the rock—on either side. Nature meets human engineering here, and the result is both humbling and extraordinary.

Satisfied with following up on my knowledge of the area, I was really looking forward to the next morning's balloon ride! 

I was up by 5 a.m., groggy but buzzing with anticipation. The hotel pickup was smooth and well-organized, getting us to the launch site just in time to catch the desert’s most magical moment: sunrise. After a quick safety briefing and signing the usual paperwork, we headed out to a stretch of open desert, just beyond the city’s edge. There, two massive, brilliantly colored balloons were already coming to life, slowly inflating as burners roared with jets of hot air.

The desert morning was cool and crisp, the kind of air that feels new, clean, still untouched by the day’s heat. As the balloons rose higher, silhouetted against the first golden streaks of light spilling over the distant ridgelines of the Spring Mountains, a quiet thrill settled over the group. Then came the call to board the nacelles. It was quick, a bit hectic even, as the rising envelope tugged us forward with urgency. And then, with one final hiss of flame and a soft jolt upward, we were flying. 

A hushed awe took over as the world below slipped away. The noise and pace of Las Vegas vanished, replaced by a serene silence broken only by the occasional whoosh of the burner. The early sun bathed everything in warm, shifting tones—burnt orange, dusty rose, and deep ochre painted across the canyons, washes, and low-lying creosote bushes. Above us, the sky opened into an endless cobalt dome.

Flying in tandem with another balloon added something special, like a mirror to our experience. 

Watching the other craft drift beside us gave a true sense of scale and distance as the desert rolled beneath like an ancient, weathered skin. We floated above forgotten arroyos and sun-baked rock outcrops, past clusters of cactus casting long shadows, and the occasional rusting skeleton of a car—a joyride gone wrong, or maybe something stranger. Faint scars of old mining activity marked the landscape, too, like whispers from Nevada’s silver boom days. Some of those shafts are still rumored to hold treasure, or at least hopes of one.

The air stayed cool and still as we glided over soft ridges and dry washes. Every breath felt fresh, the kind of air that sharpens the senses and slows time. But eventually, our landing site came into view. The descent was subtle at first, barely noticeable, until the pilot gave the order to brace, just in case we met the earth with a bit more enthusiasm than planned.

A few bounces, a slight skid across the sandy terrain—and then we stopped. Just like that, flight turned back to gravity. The crew moved in fast, and within minutes, the balloon was deflated, folded, and packed away like a magician’s trick.

We celebrated the traditional way: with champagne and snacks under the rising sun, laughing and sharing photos while still floating a little in our minds. There was something timeless about it—like we’d briefly stepped out of our regular lives and into a quieter, more elemental space.

Then it was time to head back, back to the neon glow and hum of Las Vegas. But that felt alright too. After all, the evening still held the promise of a good meal and a Cirque du Soleil performance—just another kind of wonder, this time under the stage lights instead of the desert sky.