STEPHEN COX: TRAPPED IN A BURNING RACE CAR, PART I!

It was the same sound you hear when you pour too much lighter fluid on the charcoal as you’re preparing a Fourth of July barbecue. A giant “whoosh” followed by a flash of flame. Except it was a thousand times louder. And it wasn’t charcoal that was on fire. It was me, blogs Stephen Cox. 

On February 13, 2016, I was driving an eight-hour sports car endurance race at the Circuit of the Americas near Austin, TX. I started inside row eight and quickly realized that our car was very fast. Within just a few laps we were in the top ten and I had high hopes of scoring my fourth straight endurance racing victory, a personal record.

On COTA’s massive back straightaway, the fastest point on the course, I smelled fuel and felt a cold spray over my right hand and leg. There was a sudden flash and my whole world turned a bright, terrifying orange. Everything was on fire. 

Flames poured through every crack in the firewall. My right hand was on fire. Splashed with fuel, my right leg was burning as well. Even the inside of the cockpit was ablaze as fuel vapor ignited and literally set the air on fire. I could see nothing. I could not steer the car off the track because I couldn’t see the track. I stomped the brake as hard as I could, but it takes a while to get a Porsche from 125 mph to a dead stop.

In a desperate effort to see, I foolishly raised the visor on my helmet as the car slowed down. It worked. A little. I found the fire extinguisher switch but by this time it was useless. The intensity of the heat was indescribable. I abandoned any thought of doing anything but getting out of the car as quickly as possible.

Only then did I regret not practicing my egress from the car. Yes, I’d gone through the protocols in my mind, but nothing replaces actually practicing a full egress. And I hadn’t. This was my first time driving this racecar and I had practiced nothing.

Now, as my leg, face and arm continued to burn, I had one dominant thought in my head… “I’ve got five more seconds. Maybe ten. If anything goes wrong with my egress, I’m going to die.”

I was gripped with an overwhelming urge to panic and slap out the flames on my arm and leg. But I knew that doing so would have been fatal. I had to ignore the pain and let them burn. Getting out of the car was primary and I had to focus on that job alone.

I blindly groped for the safety latch on my harness. I found it and my belts came loose instantly and cleanly. During this brief moment I distinctly recall watching my racing suit catch fire and burn over my right thigh. 

I looked for the “release” on the window net. It was painted bright red and easy to find. I grabbed the lever, pulled it back and threw the net out the window. The back of my right glove was now on fire as well. My safety gear held up and was doing its job amazingly well. 

I didn’t bother unplugging the radio cord from my helmet. With enough pressure it would break free on its own. I didn’t remove the steering wheel.

Still burning, I clambered out of the car and the upper half of my body fell free, while my feet were pinned under the steering wheel. Through the pain I remember yelling, “God, help me!” about twenty times in a row. I wasn’t cursing. I was praying. I actually needed His help. After a few seconds of wriggling I was completely clear of the racecar, which by this time was consumed in flames six feet high.

Instinctively, I began rolling on the pavement and in ten seconds or so had managed to extinguish the flames on my body. Then I got up, staggered off the track to the grass, and collapsed.

The EMT’s arrived in record time. They removed my helmet, then pulled my gloves off. Despite their best efforts, I watched in horror as the skin on the back of my right thumb dripped off my hand.

“We can’t move him,” one of them said. I was in shock, but I remember the other responding, “We have to. This car’s gonna blow any second.” With that, they grabbed me by the arms and dragged me like a sack of potatoes another thirty feet away from the racecar, which was entirely engulfed in flames and emitting a plume of black smoke high into the sky.

They gently put me into the ambulance and began cutting off my fire suit. The EMT’s were professional, compassionate and good at their jobs. I wondered how serious my injuries were. When I heard the engine of the lifeline helicopter warming up five minutes later, I knew. 

The medical personnel in the helicopter were equally professional. The EMT attending me during the flight, a red-headed woman in her thirties, was fiddling with a big syringe undoubtedly meant for me.  Barely able to speak through my burned throat, I grabbed her hand. She leaned over and asked me if I needed anything. “Yes,” I said. “I need you to look at me and tell me I’m going to be alright.”

She stopped her work long enough to look dead into my eyes and promise me that I was going to be fine. Then she told me that we were about to land, and picked up the syringe again.

The world went black and I remember nothing of the next 46 hours.

First, second and third degree burns covered 7% of my body. The worst injuries were to my face, my right arm and my right leg. I was transported to the Brooke Army Medical Center in San Antonio, where I spent the next three days in intensive care followed by six more in the burn recovery unit. My doctor later told me that the injuries were “considered very life threatening” for the first 24 hours, but a full recovery is expected now.

That’s my story. In my next blog, I’ll tell you what I learned from it and what I’ll do differently before I return to racing.

WRL Series officials would like to help Stephen through this difficult time, and have started this Relief Fund Project for Stephen and his family: https://www.gofundme.com/9tvup97k

Stephen Cox is a racer and co-host of TV coverage of Mecum Auctions (NBCSN), sponsored by: http://www.boschett-timepieces.com/  http://www.mcgunegillengines.com/

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