#Man on fire skin
#Man on fire full

When a deep, full-thickness burn encircles a limb, damaged skin loses elasticity, stiffening like a rigid cast. Once stabilized, he was transferred to the burn center’s intensive care unit for cleaning and debridement-the painstaking removal of debris and dead tissue-and a closer assessment of his wounds. Richardson was intubated, given IV fluids, and eased into a medically induced coma to manage his pain. When he couldn’t flex his fingers, Hodge grew even more concerned. From Richardson’s left bicep to his fingertips, Hodge could see damage into the muscle, his flesh pearly, tight and hard-literally cooked. Typically, the deeper the burn, the drier a wound appears. In fact, an astonishing amount of his skin was simply gone.Įmory physicians Walter Ingram and Juvonda Hodge treat thousands of patients each year at the Grady Burn Center, where they help teach the next generation of healers.īut it was his left arm that quickly commanded Hodge’s attention. Strangely, he felt almost no pain-many of the superficial nerve endings that laced his dermis had been incinerated. Softened by industrial-strength heat, the top of his motorcycle helmet was melting, collapsing like a soufflé. The flames had seared his gasoline-soaked left arm so quickly, so deeply, the blood supply to his muscles was already restricted, leaving his fingers numb and tingling. Hearing low, guttural groans-like an old man trying to get out of bed, he thought-Richardson slowly realized the sounds were coming from him.Īgainst the protests of bystanders Richardson tried rising to his hands and knees, unable to comprehend how badly he was hurt. Within moments, Richardson was the epicenter of a sudden clamor, as panicky motorists doused him with bottles of water and Big Gulps, tossing a blanket over his smoldering riding gear. There was no awareness of being engulfed by fire, only the roar of a hard, driving wind. Somewhere within the inferno was Richardson.īlown from his bike, he felt himself fall hard against the pavement. A witness captured this cell phone image. Hearing a boom, riders looked back to witness a fiery explosion somewhere deep within the inferno was Richardson. Hearing a boom, his friends turned back to gasp at the resulting explosion-a flaming mushroom cloud that grazed traffic signs 20 feet above the highway. He didn’t know his gas tank was punctured or notice the long, oily streak of fuel smeared behind him, a dark, combustible stain on the pavement.

#Man on fire full

Driven by a monster surge of adrenaline, he fought to free the left side of his body, now pinned under the full weight of his bike. Body and bike skidded down the highway in a fiery shower of sparks.įor Richardson, a Georgia Army National Guardsman in top physical condition, the moment played out simultaneously at high-speed and in slow-motion.

Hitting the asphalt hard, his right hand reflexively squeezed the throttle, sending the engine screaming and wheels spinning even faster.

The shuddering impact was abrupt and violent, instantly toppling the heavy Suzuki and Richardson with it. Traffic was slowing near the Wesley Chapel Road exit when the Kawasaki suddenly darted behind Richardson, striking his back tire. No one knows where the Kawasaki EX-250 came from-an outsider, wedging his way into the pack. Richardson found his place between the two groups, his friends pulling ahead, the others trailing just behind. More than a dozen bikes strong, the riders merged onto Highway I-20 heading west. As they fueled up that evening, a larger pack of bikers rumbled into the gas station, opting to tag along with Richardson’s crew. It had taken time to find his riding group, a handful of guys in their 20s who cruised around metro Atlanta together two, three times a week. Richardson enjoyed meeting up with his riding group - a handful friends who cruised around Atlanta several times a week.