Being a firefighter can sometimes be horrible and sometimes hilarious.

There are a hundred funny stories that pass through our lives in the FD, they happen to all of us from time to time. Because we find ourselves thrust into people's lives when they least expect it we find them with their pants down.. sometimes literally.. sometimes figuratively. Sometimes because people rely on us to help them with any problem they're surprised when we know as little or less about the given subject than they do. Sometimes because we're naturally drawn to people in trouble we get ourselves into hilarious situations just by trying to be helpful.

Yesterday was a case in point. My Chief was driving his van through our zone and saw a couple of motorhomes parked on the side of the road. Outside these motorhomes stood eight people all puzzling over a roadmap. Seeing the looks on their faces as he passed he knew right away that they were lost. Being the good and helpful guy that he is, he turned his van around and headed back, knowing that he'd have them on their way in ten minutes with smiles all around. When he walked up to the smiling tourists he was greeted with eight different voices all speaking at once...in German.

Okay.. my Chief is a hell of a good guy, pretty smart and resourceful as well. He doesn't deal well, however, with people who can't speak English. But after close to thirty minutes of loud, clearly enunciated speech and much armwaving, finger pointing and charades, he finally managed to decipher that they were going to Chilliwack, and heading in the wrong direction. No problem...He drew their course on the map and managed to communicate to them that they should follow him to the right road.

Off they went, two huge motorhomes following a big red FD van. No problem, soon they would be headed in the right direction and seeking new adventures. They headed down a long, steep hill. At the bottom the Chief made a right hand turn, and was followed by the first motorhome, mysteriously the second motorhome stopped and remained at the corner. The Chief and the first motorhome waited then drove back to the second motorhome. What they found shocked them.

When the second motorhome made its turn the driver didn't see the bicyclist that was rocketing along beside it. He was a racing cyclist and was at a pretty high speed when the RV turned. He hit it hard, and now there he was sitting on the side of the road bleeding from a number of cuts and abrasions and what appeared to be a pretty badly broken finger.

The cyclist was a very responsible guy and didn't want the cops to attend, he realized that the accident was his fault and not the tourist's. The tourists, however were in a flap. There was a great deal more armwaving and fingerpointing, shouts of "Ach du Lieber!"and "Mein Gott!"  were repeated. The guy was sore and embarrassed, he didn't want to go to the hospital or anything, he just wanted to go home. Being the helpful soul he is, my Chief put his twisted wreck of a bicycle in the back of the van, put the scraped up guy in the front seat and off the convoy went again. Two RVs full of lost Germans, and s fire van with a sore, bleeding bicyclist and my Chief, wondering just what the hell could happen next.

The bicyclist's finger was swelling markedly, and the Chief was passing a local restaurant so they made a quick stop for some ice. The Chief figured it would be a quick trip in and out, but it was not to be. As soon as he stopped and went inside both RVs stopped behind him and disgorged their loads. There he was, my poor Chief standing inside the restaurant with eight Germans and a bleeding bicyclist all trying to explain to the restarateur that they needed ice. This was not as simple as it sounds because she only spoke Korean. Fortunately in the midst of the rising cacophony of discordant languages an East Indian gentleman emerged who knew enough Korean to get it across to the restaurant owner, ice was obtained and the convoy moved off once again.

Everything would have been fine if it ended there, but a firecall can come in at any time, and usually does at the wrong time. Our tones went off calling us to a kitchen fire. Being the focused, dedicated Chief that he is everything else left his mind as he answered the radio, noted the adress, flipped on his emergency lights and siren while accellerating through traffic. He arrived in front of the house. Smoke was issuing from the front door, people were standing on the front lawn coughing, traumatized, confused. The appearance of the Chief in front of their home helped them to understand that help had arrived. They didn't know WHAT the hell was going on however, when two RVs pulled up with screeching brakes, and eight Germans leapt out and began waving their arms and pointing their fingers.

That was what I found when my pumper rolled up. There sat my chief, still in his van with a bleeding bicyclist beside him. eight gesticulating germans scattered over the fireground. Confused and shocked homeowners trying to make sense of the appearance of two giant motorhomes, a fire van and a pumper within a minute and a half of each other. The fire turned out to be pretty minor in scale, but I suspect the story will only grow as the years go on.

I guess no good deed ever goes unpunished.
 

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