A Valentine's Day tragedy.

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As I was tooling along H-3 highway in my '68 VW "bug" one fine, Hawaiian, Tuesday morning, a pair of motorcycles zoomed past me. I was doing a cool 65 mph, and, since they had passed me like I was standing still, I estimated they must have been going 100 mph.

A few miles down the road, the freeway ended at the base gate, and, sure enough, those two bikes were about 20 cars ahead of me, in line to get in the gate. I thought about getting out of line so I could talk to the riders but decided against it.

When I got to the squadron parking lot, I saw what looked like one of the bikes again--let's just say it was a very unusual road bike. I found out who owned the bike but chose not to confront the person. I justified my actions (or, more precisely, a lack of them) with, "Hey, it could have been a bike that looked similar." I even brought up the incident with another officer over lunch, saying, "I may have failed leadership test, but, being a new guy in the squadron, I didn't want to make waves."

Now, let's fast-forward to the weekend. I was returning from a Saturday morning reenlistment on base--it was a beautiful, sunny, Valentine's Day. A big motorcycle event was going on in town, complete with the Discovery Channel there to film it, so a lot of bikes were on the road. While coming down the freeway a few miles from a major interchange onto an intersecting freeway, I saw a bike in my rearview mirror. It probably was doing 80 or 85 mph when it passed me, and I remember thinking, "That wasn't nearly as fast as the dudes passed me Tuesday, but it still was moving pretty good." Then, I again looked into my rearview mirror to see another bike swerving through the cars. It quickly passed me, too, clearly trying to catch up with the girl on the first bike. Both bikes were Honda CBRs. The second one was heavily modified and painted yellow and white.

About three miles down the road, I downshifted onto the interchange ramp and came upon a scene I'll never forget. A twisted, yellow-and-black bike was smashed against the outboard side of the offramp, and on the opposite side, about 10 yards farther, lay a limp human form on the grass. A young woman was looking at him, and another car already had stopped.

The car's driver was talking into a cellphone (thank God we have those things) as I pulled over, inventoried what I had in my car to help, and stepped out, still in uniform from the reenlistment. I was the third person on the scene. The accident had occurred less than a minute before my arrival.

My Red Cross first-aid- and CPR-training card still was in effect, but I hadn't done much besides the refresher CPR stuff since having taken the full classes nearly three years earlier. My first thought was "airway, breathing, circulation." The guy was on his back, with his torso twisted slightly.

When I bent down to check for breathing, the victim's mouth was bloody, and the visible teeth were broken. I also heard a horrific rattling sound, followed by silence. I watched his chest for a moment and saw no movement, so I told the lady we needed to start CPR. I gathered up a motorcycle jacket on the ground and used it to support his head, as we turned him slightly to the full prone position. During this process, he gasped and started breathing on his own. I then checked for a pulse on his carotid and found a weak one.

With the victim breathing on his own and displaying a pulse, I began inspecting him for major bleeding. He had a hole in the back of his head, but the bleeding almost had stopped. He was bleeding from somewhere on his lower back, but it wasn't bad enough to risk rolling him over. He also had road rash on his legs--the jeans he was wearing nearly had melted away--but none of those injuries were life-threatening. The lady who was helping me found the victim's wallet in his jacket (he luckily was wearing one of those expensive, leather, racer jackets, with some kind of hard plates in the arms for extra protection). He was a Marine corporal.

It seemed like hours had passed, but an ambulance still wasn't in sight. We called and recalled to ensure one was on its way. The corporal had been unresponsive but suddenly started trying to move. We did our best to keep him stabilized. Finally, we heard the ambulance coming. By this time, a few other cars had stopped to help. One person was directing traffic on the onramp. A doctor who had stopped had told us not to do anything as long as the victim was breathing and had a pulse.

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With the paramedics present, we gave them a 10-second turnover as they put on a neck brace. They unceremoniously cut off his jacket, backpack and gloves, then loaded him onto a gurney. We helped clean up the area and carried the corporal's personal gear to the ambulance. As the ambulance sped off, everyone who had stopped left quickly, too. In what seemed like seconds, I found myself alone with the young lady who had been the first person on the scene.

I told her she had done a good job. She visibly was shaken and said she felt like she was at fault--I understood what she meant. She grabbed her helmet, put on her jacket (which we had used to cushion the corporal's head), and headed for her bike. She was riding the other bike that the corporal had been racing. They never had met before that afternoon on the road, and he evidently was trying to impress her with his skills. She mentioned that he didn't have his helmet on and asked how she could find out his condition. I told her his name and the name of the hospital I thought the ambulance would take him to before she drove away from the scene.

I can't say if the corporal was wearing a helmet when he passed me on the highway. However, he didn't have it on when I got to the crash site. It was on the road, with the chinstrap fastened, which probably meant he had left the base wearing the helmet but had stopped and removed it once outside the gate. Hawaii's helmet law requires only those operators and riders under the age of 18 to wear securely fastened helmets, and you see more riders without them than with them. If, in fact, he was helmetless, I thought he had gotten off easy because he only had suffered a head wound, which accounted for the blood on my hands and uniform.

I called the Marine MPs and reported what had happened, then went back to my car and drove home. All that day, I was thinking about the accident and wanted to go see the guy and find out how he was doing. I also wanted to convince him to come to my command's next safety stand-down and talk about the dangers of street racing and the importance of wearing protective gear. Another part of me wanted to give him a piece of my mind for driving dangerously on the same roads I share with my family and others families, as well as to point out the problems he had caused his unit--he'd surely have some SIQ time.

After mulling over these thoughts all day, I got a call from the base MPs. They wanted some more info about the accident. I told them what I knew and asked about the corporal's condition. I wasn't prepared for the answer I got: "He was dead on arrival, sir."

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I was affected deeply by this turn of events. Here was a beautiful, sunny Valentine's Day, and this guy never would get a chance to give his girlfriend roses. He'd never know the joy of earning his sergeant's stripes or of swapping sea stories with the old guys in the NCO Club. He'd never again call his folks from ports he didn't know even existed before he became a Marine. He'd never have a chance to warn friends, shipmates or kids about the stupidity of street racing.

After I calmed down, I came up with a few lessons learned for myself. I'd like to share them with you:

* Check out your car's first-aid kit (mine was a joke). Aspirin and band-aids are useless at a wreck scene. Update your car's stock with some of those big bandages, disposable diapers, maxi-pads, or anything clean and useful for stopping major blood flow.

* Get some fire extinguishers. I have a small one mounted on my door pillar, and I even get flack from the gang at work about that. I was glad I had it that day, though. This guy's bike still was running when I arrived (even though it was totaled), and, if the lady with the other bike hadn't shut it down, a fire could have started.

* As in the tactical world, communications are key. I now have the base MPs on my speed dial--(you also could put 911 on speed dial). Be prepared to describe exactly where you are, especially with a cellphone. Stay on the line as long as possible, preferably until the rescue guys arrive.

* Keep your first-aid and CPR skills current. Most commands offer regularly scheduled courses, and the Red Cross always has them available. A few hours on the weekend or a weeknight, twice a year, is all it takes to stay proficient.

The most important lesson I learned was about leadership. If you see shipmates engaged in any type of risky activity and have an opportunity to talk to them, do not let that opportunity pass. I remember when I was the corporal's age (23)--I felt I was bulletproof, and the world revolved around me.

As we get older, we see things differently, especially once kids enter the picture. What if the corporal had lost control of his bike while passing a minivan crammed with soccer kids? Most of us didn't think like that when we were young. Get the word out--talk to your shipmates with fast cars and motorcycles. Make sure they know the life they endanger isn't only their own.

The author was assigned to HSL-37 when he wrote this story.

Resources:

* Motorcycle Safety Resources, http://safetycenter.navy.mil/toolbox/ traffic/motorcycles/default.htm

* First Aid at a Motorcycle Crash Site, http://www.2wheeltouring.net/stories/firstaid.htm

* Motorcycle Riding Emergency Tips--First Aid, http://www.motorcyclistonline.com/ features/122_0008_motorcycle_riding _emergency_preparedness_tips/index.html

By LCdr. Charles Loiselle,

Fleet Command Center, Pearl Harbor