99/10/26

202 Propane fire
 

Yesterday was pretty interesting.

Part of my job is to go to the public works garage to see to the maintenance and repair of our firetrucks. Yesterday I was over there talking to one of the mechanics; a good friend of mine named Randy.

Randy and I talked for a few minutes as I checked on the progress of one of our Pumpers. He mentioned that he was changing the propane tank on one of the municipal trucks and had taken the tank out to the back of the works yard to vent off the residual fuel. Blowing off propane is not a safe practice; it’s heavier than air so it hangs around invisibly until a breeze dissipates it.

After we had talked for a few minutes, I went back to my paperwork and Randy strolled off to finish the job with the propane tank. I mentioned to him as he left that he really shouldn’t be doing that, that he should have a flare to burn it off. He laughed and said, “Well, that’s why we got a fireman here”.

After I finished the forms I was filling out I walked out to my van, started it, and pulled out of my parking spot.

As I turned toward the exit I heard a “WHUMP!” and saw a ball of flame flare up behind a line of parked gravel trucks.

It’s funny what goes through your mind at a time like that. Usually I have a couple of minutes as I drive to a fire scene to get my mind wrapped around the problem. I didn’t have that luxury this time. I sat frozen in my van for a second and looked at the violent flare that can only come from pressurized gas burning and said to myself. “Jeezus, that’s all wrong”

Before I knew what I was doing my van was shooting across the tarmac toward the fire; I was taking stock in my head of what kind of situation I was facing, what tools I had to deal with it, and what my plan was. I knew Randy was possibly already dead, if not, he was horribly burned. If he was to be saved I was his only hope.

As my van tore across the yard I grabbed my radio and called dispatch, I needed units there and fast. Sometimes fate deals you shitty cards, my microphone wasn’t working properly, (strangely enough it was something Randy was supposed to have fixed) I got on my portable radio as I rounded the line trucks and called it in. The view that greeted me was about what I had expected. There was a forklift with a large propane tank on its forks; the whole thing was a mass of flames. Fortunately the forklift had an enclosed cab, not an open framework like most. Randy would be in there. Now there was some hope, he was probably inside and had a few seconds protection from the flames and heat. I didn’t have time to get my turnout gear on, but I had my gloves handy, I grabbed them and took off to try to pull him out.

I was scared as hell.
I had 100 yards to cover.
I was pulling on my gloves, sprinting and saying what I call the “Firefighter’s prayer”

“OOOOoooohhhhh Jeeeezus I hope it doesn’t hurt much!”

I had covered about 50 yards, had my gloves on, and was aimed at the door of the forklift when it burst open and Randy described a graceful swan dive through the air. It was a beautiful arc, worthy of an Olympic athlete.

He hit the muddy ground flat on his face, his legs were already pumping. I swear his feet became one of those blurred circles you see in comic books. He flashed toward me making noises that sounded like a locomotive, when he got close enough I could hear what he was saying…

“Holyfuckholyfuckholyfuckholyfuck!”

I had to grab him on the way by and say “ARE YOU HURT RANDY?!”

“Holyfuck!”

“ARE YOU HURT!?”

“Holyfuck!”

I looked him over, he wasn’t smoking or burning, I pointed at the big garage building and said “Run there”

He ran.

I trotted back to my van, lots of time now. I heard over my portable radio that the pumper was rolling. By the time my turnout gear was on the main fire had died down. There was only a small jet of flame coming from the tank.

I went over and started the forklift, set the tank down and backed it away. As I did that another fire officer who had just arrived gave the forklift tires that were burning a shot with an extinguisher.

Once the pumper rolled up they shut off the tank and cooled it with a hose.

Fire out… problem solved. Pretty anticlimactic really.

After getting the equipment back on the rig and my gear stowed I went into the building and found Randy.

He was sitting at a table shaking, his hair was singed, his eyebrows, eyelashes, and mustache too. He said “I’ve done that a million times and nothing, what the hell happened THIS time?”

“The forklift was parked in a depression, the propane is heavier than air, it pooled in underneath and a spark from the ignition ignited it, you were probably knee deep in the stuff as you walked up. The enclosed cab saved your life. You scared the shit out of me buddy.”

He jumped up and ran to the bathroom to puke. I managed to walk there before I did. It comes with experience.
 

That’s about as close as it gets.
 
 

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