As the sun dipped below the horizon on the final night of Burning Man—Saturday, August 30, 2025—James "JP" Patrick settled cross-legged on the Nevada desert floor, seeking a moment's peace amid the festival's cacophony. But in the blink of an eye, that peace was shattered. According to his wife, Jade Patrick, a Tesla Cybertruck—one of the festival's many so-called "art cars"—ran over JP as he meditated, crushing both his feet and exposing bone and tendon in a gruesome accident that left bystanders reeling.
"I've never seen inside someone's foot like that. It was just totally exposed, bone and tendon," Jade recounted to SFGATE. "That's when I was like, oh my god, this is f-king serious. Thank god I didn't actually witness it. Neither did my kids." The couple's 13-year-old twin sons were nearby, but, mercifully, did not see the immediate aftermath.
Burning Man, the nine-day gathering famed for its radical art, music, and self-expression, draws about 70,000 people annually to the remote Black Rock Desert in northern Nevada. With such a massive, temporary city springing up on the playa, incidents aren't unheard of. But this year, according to New York Daily News, the event was marred by a string of serious emergencies—including a possible electrocution, a fatal stabbing, and multiple arrests for sexual assault and drug possession. JP Patrick's ordeal, however, has captured national attention for its harrowing details and the community's overwhelming response.
After the accident, emergency medics rushed to the scene. The driver of the Cybertruck, described by Jade as fully cooperative, stopped immediately and assisted with getting help. "It was a genuine accident," she said, declining to elaborate on whether the family would pursue legal action. The incident's randomness—JP had been sitting in meditation, not in the path of any marked road—underscored the unpredictability of such large, freewheeling gatherings.
JP, a Minneapolis-based DJ and founder of a music production school, was airlifted by helicopter to Reno for emergency surgery. The helicopter ride alone, Jade estimates, will cost the family $50,000. "He's not going to be walking for months, but we're so lucky. Had they been six inches more to the left or whatever, they would have just completely crushed his chest and or head and he wouldn't have been with us," Jade told SFGATE in a moment of raw reflection.
After surgery in Reno, JP stabilized enough to return home to Minneapolis on Wednesday, September 3. But the road ahead is daunting. With both feet severely damaged, JP faces months of immobility and will likely need a stay in an in-patient rehabilitation center. The family, which includes four children, is bracing for a lengthy recovery—both physically and financially.
As is often the case with medical emergencies at Burning Man, the remote location complicates everything. The nearest trauma center is hours away by car, and air transport is both vital and staggeringly expensive. According to SFGATE, thousands of festivalgoers are injured each year, with many facing steep medical bills that can linger long after the dust settles on the playa.
In the wake of JP's accident, the family's friend Kara Lovemelt launched a GoFundMe campaign to help with the mounting expenses. The response was swift and generous: by Friday, September 5, the campaign had exceeded its $60,000 goal, providing a glimmer of hope amid the hardship. The outpouring of support reflects not only the tight-knit Burning Man community but also the broader willingness of strangers to help in moments of crisis.
Burning Man organizers did not immediately respond to requests for comment about the incident, according to New York Daily News. The festival, which ended Monday, September 1, has faced scrutiny in recent years over safety protocols, the challenges of emergency response in such a remote area, and the increasing complexity of the vehicles and installations that roam the playa.
This year’s event was particularly grim. Alongside JP's accident, a 37-year-old man named Vadim Kruglov of Washington State was found dead in a pool of blood, his death being investigated as a homicide. The Pershing County Sheriff's Department also arrested a California man for allegedly sexually assaulting a woman, as well as a convicted felon found with firearms and "large quantities of drugs." In another harrowing episode, a male attendee was reportedly electrocuted and airlifted to a trauma center, though his current condition is unknown, as reported by the Reno Gazette.
For the Patricks, the festival’s aftermath is a blur of gratitude and anxiety. Jade, a photographer and videographer, is now focused on helping her husband recover while caring for their children. She expects to shoulder the costs of JP’s rehab and ongoing care, even as the GoFundMe eases some immediate burdens. "We’re so lucky," she repeated, reflecting on the narrow margin that separated JP’s survival from a far worse outcome.
The accident has reignited conversations about safety at large-scale festivals, especially those set in isolated environments. While Burning Man is celebrated for its ethos of radical self-reliance and communal care, the reality is that emergency infrastructure can be stretched thin. Helicopter evacuations, like the one that saved JP, are a lifeline—but one with a price tag that can devastate families. As thousands flock to the desert each year, stories like JP's serve as a sobering reminder of the risks that come with the adventure.
Meanwhile, the Patrick family’s ordeal has prompted an outpouring of empathy and, perhaps, a bit of soul-searching among festivalgoers and organizers alike. As Jade put it, "Had they been six inches more to the left or whatever, they would have just completely crushed his chest and or head and he wouldn't have been with us." The fragility of those few inches—between survival and catastrophe—now hangs over the memories of Burning Man 2025.
In the end, while the desert dust will settle and the art installations will be packed away, the Patrick family’s journey is just beginning. Their experience—marked by trauma, resilience, and unexpected generosity—offers a poignant window into the highs and lows of one of America’s most storied festivals.
