This occurred nearly 123 years ago at the Paris 1900 Games, the second of the modern era.

And having digested the not far off 200 pages of the Official Report that are devoted to so-called "aerostation" events, I have concluded that this was one of the most remarkable sporting endeavours not only of this - often derided - first Olympics in the French capital, but of any Olympics.

The start of the 20th century was a ferment of innovation, nowhere more so than in the field of transport, whether by land, air or sea.

This is the essential context in which that staggeringly ambitious, nearly four-month-long competition series needs to be seen.

Part of the conclusion of this section of the Report captures the mood perfectly:

"The efforts of many eminent men are directed towards the conquest of the air," the document reads.

It continues: "The 1900 aerostation competition has given a fresh impetus to this general movement.

"It has familiarised the crowds with these fascinating questions.

"It has contributed significantly to knowledge of the medium which we must now definitively conquer."

The zeitgeist, in short, had more than a little in common with the billionaires’ space race involving the likes of Elon Musk, Jeff Bezos and Richard Branson that we see today.

In Paris, those striving to win races and advance the frontiers of human knowledge and endurance were not business high-flyers, but French gentlemen such as Comte Henry de La Vaulx and Georges de Castillon de Saint-Victor.

De La Vaulx was already known for a year-long journey to remote Patagonia, which he described in a book, Voyage en Patagonie.

But the perils faced by competitors in these races were scarcely less tangible or varied than the dangers you might find lurking in the wilds of South America in the dying days of the 19th century.

This section of the Official Report reads at times like the sort of adventure story that might have been penned by Jules Verne, a fellow founder, along with de La Vaulx, of the Aéro-Club de France.

In one race, the balloon helmed by a Monsieur Leloup came to earth in a stubble-field not far from Paris, whereupon the landowner is said to have ordered a guard to trample it with his big iron shoes.

Further afield, in rural Ain, west of Geneva, another competitor, on touching down was "taken for an English spy".

Such incidents were symptomatic of both the inefficiency of the communications systems of the day and the changeability of the Ile-de-France winds, which must have made forward-planning a nightmare.

Another contest was hit by a fierce nocturnal storm.

The Report includes an extract from the log-book kept aboard de La Vaulx’s balloon.

"We covered the 30-35 km separating Ėtables from our landing-point in 15 minutes," it reads.

"We were travelling therefore at more than 100 km per hour.

"I think it was a miracle that we escaped death."

All those in this race who put down in darkness had to contend with torrential rain.

And once back on terra firma, they were faced with having to wait out the rest of the night in their baskets, since either they found themselves in the middle of nowhere or frightened locals understandably would not open up.

There were three broad classes of ballooning competitions at Paris 1900, focusing respectively on distance or length of time airborne, accuracy of steering and altitude.

In one of the altitude classes, the winner - Monsieur Balsan - attained well over 8,000 metres.

His log-book speaks of frozen moustaches and, at one point, no longer having the strength to put his oxygen tube to his lips.

The most extraordinary exploits were reserved for the last race, in which contestants set off on October 9, with a full moon beckoning.

The two leading contenders - de La Vaulx and Balsan - spent the next day within sight of each other as they traversed Germany.

At 6pm, with night falling, Balsan crossed into Russia and was close enough to the ground to ask for directions.

According to the Report, the response took the form of rifle shots: "the aeronauts hear the bullets whistle".

Even so, it was not until 8.20pm that they finally touched down at Opoczno, a town today located in south-central Poland; they had travelled 1,345 km from the French capital.

De La Vaulx, who had de Castillon de Saint-Victor on board with him, kept going even longer, all the way until five o’clock the next morning.

He finally touched down not far from Kyiv, the small matter of 1,925 km from Paris - a world record.

Wouldn't it be something, given the desperate existential struggle into which Ukraine has been pitched, if that very noteworthy feat could somehow be marked at Paris 2024?