Pop-Tart

Back in the day at the Texas A&M Fire School, we would light the whole world on fire and tell the students to put it out.  We would apply as much fuel as possible and have humongous fires, sometimes coming close to burning the whole fire prop down (one time we actually did, but that’s a story for another day).  Some would say “The temperature just went up 30 degrees in the whole state of Texas”.  Way, way back in the day, when I was a student (> 21 years ago), the instructors would light it and all they would say is “Put The Wet Stuff on The Red Stuff” which is how I got the name for my blog.

Instructor registrations are on Saturday mornings before the school and on occasion we would need to conduct a practice burn on our prop to see how it burns in preparation for students and classes on Monday.  We would especially do this if changes had been made to the prop from the previous year.

So, about 10 years ago, we encountered one of those Saturdays we needed to practice.

It was an extremely hot day if you are from the North, but if you are from Texas (or Georgia) it was average.  At 10am, the temperature had already reached a balmy 100 degrees F.  We bunkered up, made us an attack plan, and lit the prop.  Now this prop is 3 stories high with stairs and has a contained pit of burning fuel on the ground floor.  Of course, you put foam on the fuel fire below and then start upstairs to capture, control, and close supply valves to extinguish the LPG pressure fires.

On this day we had about 8 instructors to practice on our prop, so we split up into pairs and made our attack.  My fellow instructor (I won’t tell his name, but you may know it) and I were to go to the second deck, fight our way to a leaking LPG flange and close the valve.  I was the nozzle man and he was my backup. He was to make the valve closure as I kept the fire captured.

Now, before I continue, let me say that the instructor I was paired with is a great instructor and a great friend.  So don’t get me wrong here, I trust him with my life to this day.  Well, maybe not this particular day. 

We drag our charged fire hose to the top of the stairs at the second deck and the pressure fire is blowing directly at us.  The fire is loud and threatening.  As flames surround us, we use a power-cone of water to push our way to the valve for closure.  I get my nozzle pattern set on the flange, holding back the high pressure flames with every precious drop of water.  The grating around us is warping and deforming from the intense heat.  Steam is rising from every place water contacts. I holler at my partner to close the valve.  I was set, I was steady, and the water pattern allowed him access to the valve, without being in the line of fire. I waited... and I waited.  I hollered again louder and asked for valve closure.  I waited.  Finally, I looked back to see what was the hold up, and there standing by the handrail about 25 feet away, was my partner. 

To him, time stood still.  Birds chirped, children played, bees buzzed, clouds floated, and no one had a care.  Somewhere a flower bloomed.  He was in full bunker gear and in his own perfect world, leaning on the handrail with both arms, looking out over oblivion, just admiring all the grandeur that God had created - the fire field, the grass, the trees, and the big blue Texas sky. 

Back to reality, I shouted again and asked if he was ok and what was he doing?  Did he forget where we were?  Did he not see the flames melting my boots to the grating?  Did he see Elvis?  

I held the hose with one hand and reached over to close the valve.  I’m no superman, but somehow I managed without getting burned.  With the fire out and the hose shut down, I rushed to the handrail to see what was so pretty that you chose to ignore a raging fire.  Had someone gone streaking across the fire field?  Did aliens land?  Certainly whatever he was looking at would be a world changing event.

Shouting his name as I neared the handrail, I looked over to see what was so amazing. I looked for naked Elvis, streaking across the field, and running from aliens.  I saw nothing.  I shouted his name again.  No response.  Then…as I looked into his eyes, I saw it.  That blank stare that tells you the lights are on but nobody's home.

He had “bonked”.  For those of you who are runners or cyclists you know this term.  It is an exercise induced low blood sugar that has dropped to such a point that you are pretty much semi-conscious on your feet. It usually happens when you exert a lot of energy and you haven’t eaten enough.  I’ve had it happen to me before while cycling and it is a strange feeling.  Your limbs go numb. You see little dots or stars or fireworks.  Your vision closes in from the sides.  You feel weak, uncoordinated, dizzy, and just plain out of it.

So, I grabbed him and helped him down the stairs.  I waved for help and we got him to the project shelter and started to cool him down.  We got him some water and looked for something for him to eat to get his sugar levels back up.  Another instructor had a pop-tart in his bag.  He ate that, drank plenty of water and started to feel better.  He said he really didn’t know what happened to him up there and really didn’t remember it. Luckily, he was ok.

Now, you will hear embellishments of this story around the fire field, and I will neither confirm nor deny some of their validity.  You will hear that I held a 2 ½” fire hose with one hand, closed the valve with the other, threw the instructor over my shoulder, carried him, the hose, and a 30 lb extinguisher to safety, all while rescuing a baby and wearing shorts and flip-flops.

Somewhere in there is the truth.

Thus the nickname of Pop-Tart was born.  To this day, many still call him that, and we never let him forget it. We all keep pop-tarts on hand just in case he needs one.

Here’s to you Pop-Tart,

Yes I agree, sometimes you just have to stop and stare at the beautiful Texas sky.