Soaring in the Goodyear Blimp: Unexpectedly Similar to a Boat

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      “It’s the same old tale. Boy meets girl, boy loses girl, girl meets boy, boy forgets girl, boy recalls girl, girl meets a tragic end in a blimp accident over the Orange Bowl on New Year’s Day.”

      “Goodyear?”

      “No. The worst.”

      I travel often—it's part of the job. As a naturally curious individual, my interest has led me to explore aviation accidents extensively, often the night before or day of a flight. I can’t explain why, but reading about inevitable demise doesn’t induce the same anxiety in me as it does in others. Perhaps it stems from my childhood of watching educational disaster documentaries, but if there’s a way for a plane to fall from the sky, I’ve likely read the NTSB report that details it. What can I say? I find closure fulfilling.

      As a millennial raised during the height of the CD-ROM era, I have a peculiar relationship with blimps. What could connect the two? If you also experienced the 1990s, you might remember Microsoft’s Encarta. Taking advantage of the CD-ROM's multimedia capabilities, some entries included (gasp!) video clips. Among those was footage of the Hindenburg disaster. I cannot count how many times I replayed that clip as a child. I’m undoubtedly part of the zeitgeist that propelled the phrase “Oh, the huge manatee!” to its internet fame.

      But as I prepare to board Goodyear's “Wingfoot Two,” I’m not thinking about that flaming zeppelin. Instead, that ridiculous line from The Naked Gun pops into my head, and I chuckle because I’m genuinely excited about the chance to ride in an airship.

      Contrary to what you may have heard, I usually find myself in economy class while flying. The Wingfoot Two has seven seats, and there’s no bad spot.

      The “ship” aspect of an airship is significant. When you think about it, a blimp is essentially a submarine flipped upside down. Its envelope holds helium inside rather than keeping water out (though it technically does that too), but the fundamental principles of buoyancy still apply. Studying the wind is akin to exploring fluid dynamics.

      Since it operates like a boat, it’s treated as such. Boarding the Wingfoot Two resembles getting on a ferry that’s already in motion. The boarding ladder has wheels to move with the blimp as it swings around its mooring cable. The blimp might be swaying from a gentle drift to a brisk jog, and that speed can change suddenly. Falling in front of the ladder could mean getting run over by a 20,000-pound airborne decoration.

      Moreover, because the Wingfoot Two is merely a massive gas bag with propellers, its natural tendency is to ascend. Since the Goodyear team is trying to follow a packed schedule of passenger flights, they seldom “land” the blimp between rides. Passengers serve as ballast, and new riders board before the previous group disembarks, ensuring it remains heavy. Throughout this, the pilots are essentially guiding the ship downward to prevent it from drifting away.

      Once the last of the prior passengers disembark and the boarding hatch is secured (with windows open for comfort, as there’s no air conditioning), a brief safety briefing occurs, and we’re cleared for takeoff. The ground crew releases us, and the ship ascends immediately as the pilot adjusts the props for vertical lift.

      An airplane glides. A helicopter pushes air downward. A blimp… floats. It’s an uncanny sensation; every thermal and gust is felt. The entire structure can whimsically drift sideways. However, it's gentle—softened by the immense size of the helium-filled envelope supporting us. We’re permitted to move around the cabin at our “cruising altitude” of 1,000 feet, but we're advised to hold onto various rails until we acclimate.

      Since the Wingfoot Two’s propellers are for thrust rather than lift, they aren’t particularly loud. One crew member faces us throughout the flight, delivering the standard “tour” without needing to raise his voice, even with the windows open for airflow. It isn’t silent, but it’s also not overwhelming.

      It’s not hard to visualize how this used to represent grand luxury travel. The journey is smooth, and the views are breathtaking. Yet, even a minor gust serves as a reminder of our reliance on the weather. While the effects may be muted, the reality of physics is undeniable. The Wingfoot Two may resemble a torpedo, but in terms of aerodynamics, it’s about as efficient as any design from over a century ago—which is to say, not very much at all.

      The low altitude and surface street speed make the large airship quite noticeable. During both takeoff and