158: THE CURSE OF COUSIN EDDIE

My companions woke up in Lusk, Wyoming on Monday October 11, 2021 when Tom’s alarm rang at precisely 6:00am. My photographer and his wife had their gear packed and we were headed out of town less than two hours later. While Vicki had a rough time getting started that morning, my photographer chomped at the bit to hit the road. That was because he knew we had over 350 miles of mundane highway ahead of us. Tom had planned a three-hour visit for us at the top of Pike’s Peak before our busy day would end in Pueblo, Colorado.

As we travelled south for nearly 140 miles along the CanAm Highway in eastern Wyoming, we drove through only four towns on our journey to Cheyenne. The largest of the towns was Torrington, which actually had restaurants that were open. For the remainder of that morning’s trip, I looked out through an opening in the camera case and saw endless miles of grassy plains. No houses, very few trees, and there were hardly any other vehicles on the road. As a matter of fact, we saw more grazing mule deer along the way than anything else. The highlight of the ride for my photographer’s wife came when she spotted a “real cowboy” riding his horse on his ranchland. When she spotted the mounted rancher, I thought to myself: “They call this the Cowboy State and that’s the first cowboy we’ve seen since we’ve crossed the state line. Perhaps it should be called the Bison State; but I hadn’t seen any of those either.”

With my photographer’s wife behind the wheel, Vicki drove the ‘Family Truckster’ into downtown Cheyenne, Wyoming at roughly 9:45am. Both of my companions seemed surprised at the lack of tall buildings in the capital city. Traffic was nearly nonexistent around the State Capitol Building as well, which made it easy to find parking. As a matter of fact, Vicki found a shaded spot along the street that was less than a hundred yards from the building’s front entrance.

After Tom photographed me at several locations around the exterior of the building, we went inside the Wyoming Capitol for a few minutes. The first thing I noticed, and this seemed “out of the norm”, was there were no security measures at the entrance. None. There were no metal detectors; no security officers; no X-ray machines; and it seemed good. I heard my photographer mention to his wife that it felt like times prior to 9/11. While the Wyoming Capitol Building wasn’t one of the more elaborate buildings I had ever visited, it did offer something that no other Capitol could boast: A House Chamber where the first law was passed in any territory or state that allowed women the right to vote. That’s right; on December 10, 1869, which was nearly 11 years before the Wyoming Territory was granted statehood, some women were granted suffrage. While it was a shame that not ALL women were given that right at the time, it was a start in the right direction. One thing I knew for sure: It was a proud moment for me to pose for a photo in that Historic Territorial House Chamber.

Exactly 100 miles separated the capitol buildings of Wyoming and Colorado, which was how far we needed to drive to get to our day’s next destination. In a little less than two hours, we rolled into the city of Denver where we experienced a completely different atmosphere than we did in Cheyenne. In the “Mile High City”, we ran into heavy traffic; we saw a lot of less fortunate people asking for handouts; and road construction made navigation through downtown Denver a challenge for my photographer’s wife.

It was roughly 12:30pm when Tom carried me to the front of Colorado’s State Capitol Building. Once I was pulled from the camera case and held aloft for our first images of the building’s exterior, I was once again underwhelmed; even though I thought the architecture was better than the building in Cheyenne. The Denver Capitol reminded me of our Capitol in Michigan, only this one had gold leaf that covered most of the 272-foot-tall dome. But there was one unique aspect that set this building apart from any other capitol in the country – the Colorado State Capitol Building was exactly one mile above sea level.

With me in his hand, Tom carried me up the west steps of the Capitol where we saw an inscription engraved on the face of the 15th step that read: ‘ONE MILE ABOVE SEA LEVEL’. However, in 1969, a bunch of intelligent college students from Colorado State University resurveyed the elevation and discovered the initial inscription was incorrect. The students calculated the 5,280-foot mark was actually on the 18th step; three steps higher than the original mark. When my photographer and his wife visited the Colorado Capitol Building in 1982, Tom was photographed standing on the 18th step – and that’s where he wanted me to stand as well. But that was 39 years ago and technology had changed a lot in nearly four decades. Unbeknownst to my photographer and me, a more precise measurement was made in 2003 with modern equipment, and it was discovered the 13th step was exactly one mile above sea level. A new brass marker was imbedded into the face of that 13th step; but unfortunately, Tom didn’t notice it. I was so close, yet so far away – only because I stood at 5,282 feet above sea level; two feet too high. In my mind, and I’m not a math wizard, the step where I had posed was 1.0003787 miles above sea level. Since I strive for accuracy, that meant someday I would need to return to Denver! But who knows? By then, another calculation might put the mile-marker back on the original step.

It was roughly 1:15pm when we replicated Bob Seger’s 1974 lyrics and got out of Denver. When I heard that song, however, I knew the old “Ramblin’ Gamblin’ Man” couldn’t have written his lyrics about me because I don’t “look like a commie” and I’m not a member – even though I was made in China. In my mind, I’m still the same flag-waving, America-lovin’ bobble head who’s proud to be a travelin’ man going against the wind down Main Street.

Our next stop had promised to take the three of us to new heights and I was anxious to see how long Vicki’s newborn non-fear of heights would last. We made good time on I-25, which was good because Pikes Peak was over 80 miles south of Denver and our internal clock ticked louder and louder to make the 3pm deadline to get onto the mountain. Then it happened, somewhere near Castle Rock, Colorado, a loaded semi-truck kicked-up a stone in a construction zone and once again the windshield of our new Jeep was the projectile’s target. That was the second time in only two days of travel that our windshield was damaged. The first stone chip, which occurred on Saturday in South Dakota, was in the direct line-of-sight for the driver. The second stone hit on the passenger’s side of the windshield; and even though that chip was slightly larger than the first, it was off to the side and not too noticeable. Although my companions were once again angry, Tom did his best to lighten the situation when he said out loud in his ‘Clark W. Griswold’ voice: “The Truckster’s windshield needed to be replaced after the first chip anyway, Ellen. Look at the bright side, the worst is over. It’ll be smooth sailing all the way to Walley World – and getting there is half the fun!”

Our travel time was jeopardized several times due to construction zone traffic on I-25. At roughly 20 miles north of Colorado Springs, Tom set his GPS coordinates for Pikes Peak; which was the moment he saw the bad news on his phone: “Arrival time 3:10pm”. Ten minutes too late to enter the park; and there was no guarantee we wouldn’t get bogged-down with more slow traffic along the way. We were forced to abort our visit to Pikes Peak, which I knew in my mind didn’t bother Vicki much. My cameraman’s wife wasn’t worried about her fear of heights as much as she was concerned about ruining the Jeep’s brakes on the way down from the summit.

My photographer scratched Pikes Peak off his itinerary and set his sights on the next destination on his well-choreographed list – the Coronado Motel in Pueblo. When I heard him mention that motel, I immediately wondered which President had spent the night or perhaps gave a speech there. I discovered there were none – and probably for good reason. It turned out the Coronado Motel was the backdrop for a short scene in the 1983 movie ‘National Lampoon’s Vacation’. In that 30-second snippet in the film, Clark and Ellen Griswold had emerged from their motel room after they discovered they lost some of their luggage during their travels. As the couple headed towards their Wagon Queen Family Truckster, Ellen suggested they go back to search for their luggage because her credit cards were in her missing vanity case. Clark assured her that he had his credit cards and they had plenty of cash, which Ellen replied: “No we don’t. You gave Eddie $500 and everything on this safari has cost twice as much as you figured out.”

Once we arrived, my photographer’s wife stayed inside our ‘Family Truckster’ as Tom carried me around the Coronado Motel’s property in search of the areas used in the movie. While the trim had been painted a different color over the years, the motel looked nearly the same as it had in 1983. As I posed for a couple of images at the same spots where the legendary Clark Griswold once walked, I thought I heard him say: “Don’t you trust me, honey?” That was followed by Ellen’s reply: “As long as you don’t tie me to the rear bumper.”

When my photographer and I returned to the Jeep, I heard Tom mention to his wife that the Coronado Motel would be a cool place for the three of us to spend the night – just like the Griswold’s. Then I ducked my head deeper into the camera case when Vicki replied: “Are you out of your freakin’ mind? I’m not staying in a skanky place like that. It looks old, dirty, and who knows what goes on inside those rooms!” I laughed to myself when my camera guy quickly shut his mouth after he read some of the motel’s reviews. A handful of former guests of the motel hinted that regular “customers” frequented the Coronado and people were coming and going all night long. Needless to say, we stayed elsewhere.

As we prepared to leave the Coronado parking lot at roughly 3:15pm, Tom decided to deviate from the agenda; after all, we were a couple of hours ahead of schedule with the cancellation of our Pike’s Peak visit. When my photographer entered the coordinates to the next site into the GPS, I heard him sarcastically say to Vicki: “Ellen, we’re headed to your Cousin Eddie’s house and it’s only 25 miles from here! We were scheduled to see it in the morning, but we have time today – unless you’d rather see the second largest ball of twine on the face of the earth, which is only four shortt hours away.” In the movie, “Cousin Eddie’s” house was located in Coolidge, Kansas; however, the small farmhouse used as a movie set was actually located along a dirt road just outside of Boone, Colorado.

It seemed to take forever to make the 25-mile trek from the Coronado Motel out to Boone; plus the trip was made longer because “Clark” had written down the wrong address on his agenda. When we finally found Eddie’s house on a different section of Apple Road, I heard Tom say out loud: “So, this is the ol’ homestead, huh?” “Yeah, I don’t know for how long, though. Bank’s been after me like flies on a rib roast.” In my mind, I envisioned Tom setting me on the porch for a few images; or perhaps having me pose in the yard on the spot where Clark said: “Real tomato ketchup, Eddie?” But none of that was going to happen. Just as my photographer’s wife drove to the front of the house, we saw two signs posted in the yard. The top sign stated: “No trespassing – this property is protected by video surveillance – trespassers will be prosecuted” and the bottom sign read: “No photography”. I knew Tom wouldn’t venture onto the property with the warning signs in place; but I also knew that a sign wasn’t going to keep him from taking photos from the road – at least from inside our vehicle. I knew my photographer was concerned about getting out of the Jeep to take some pictures; mainly because we were “out in the middle of nowhere” and Tom said he didn’t want to get shot. I laughed to myself when he said that; no one was going to shoot us for snapping pictured of Cousin Eddie’s house. In my opinion, as a resin-filled bobble head, if people don’t want tourists to capture images of their house, they shouldn’t buy a place to live that was used as a set in a very popular movie. As we drove slowly past Cousin Eddie’s house the first time, I thought to myself: “If Bob Moldenhauer was with us instead of Vicki, the three of us would be standing in front of that house right now. Tom and Bob would be taking all the pictures they wanted and if anyone tried to stop them, they’d have to deal with Mongo.”

Tom wanted to make sure he had captured some good images of Cousin Eddie’s house from our ‘Truckster’, which meant we had to make two drive-bys. After the second trip past the famous ‘Vacation’ movie set, Vicki parked the Jeep along the dirt road about 500 feet west of the house. A minute or two after my photographer’s wife began searching her phone for a reasonably priced motel in Pueblo that was not named Coronado, a loud alarm sounded from the Jeep’s dashboard. I was stunned when I heard Vicki yell: “Oh no, we have a flat tire!” Sure enough; as I glanced towards the steering wheel from my place just behind the front seats, I could see the air pressure on three of the tires was 42 psi while the rear driver’s side tire was at 24 psi – and falling fast. When Tom got out of the vehicle to make a visual check, I heard him tell his wife the tire was noticeably low. I became concerned because we were out in the middle of nowhere; the only place in sight was Cousin Eddie’s house and we couldn’t trespass there.

I could tell Tom’s wife had begun to panic, mainly because of where we were at. But my cool, calm, and collected photographer jumped into action to ease Vicki’s angst. Tom reverted to his training from work to avoid making a mistake while under time pressure; he used his phone’s internet (I was surprised he had a signal) to locate the nearest Discount Tire store. Seconds after he typed the address into the GPS, I heard him say: “Hey, good news – I found a store; it’s a little over 20 miles away and it’s open until 6pm. Bad news is it’s already 4:20pm and it’ll take us about 30 minutes to get there. Let’s hope they’re not too busy and they can get the Jeep in for service before they close.”

As Vicki put the Jeep into gear for the 20-mile drive to the tire store, the air pressure on the damaged tire had already dropped to 22 psi in just a few minutes. From my position, I heard Tom count down the mileage to the store; I also heard his periodic verbal updates on the air pressure. I was on the edge of my seat – that 20-mile drive seemed to take forever. When we finally arrived at Discount Tire, which was located along US-50 on the north side of Pueblo, the clock read 4:55pm and the tire pressure was at 17 psi. The salesperson checked the tire in the parking lot; he recorded the necessary vital information; and lastly, he told my companions the tire would be fixed by 6:30pm – but they had to stay on sight. With no place to go and with still no place to stay, waiting on sight wasn’t a problem whatsoever.

During our wait, which ended up to be about two hours, Vicki found a good deal on a La Quinta Inn that was located very close to the tire store. My companions also engaged in a long conversation with a young guy named Cameron who had graduated from Texas A&M but moved to Pueblo to work as a manager at a cannabis processing and distribution center. Cameron was having work done on his vehicle’s tires as well; which prompted him to mention that he never had a flat tire until he came to Colorado.

Once our vehicle was taken into one of the bays at roughly 6:20pm, it was serviced by a very engaged and friendly guy named Jessie who assured my companions the tire would be as good as new when he was through fixing it. When Jessie was finished with the repair and our vehicle was ready to roll, the serviceman produced what appeared to be a one-inch-long copper slug that he pulled out of the tire. In my eyes, it looked like a smashed bullet. In fact, it reminded me of the famous “magic bullet” from the JFK assassination. Was our Truckster’s tire shot during our visit to Cousin Eddie’s house? Did someone in that house fire a rifle at us while Vicki drove past or when we were parked down the road? After I saw what Jessie had pulled out of that tire, I thought my theory was entirely plausible. Then it happened; right when Jessie handed Tom his keys; we had another Griswold moment. My photographer asked Jessie how much the tire repair would cost; I waited for the serviceman to respond: “How much you got?” I nearly fell out of my camera case when Jessie said there was no charge at all – it was free! Unfortunately, that also meant I wouldn’t hear Clark say: “What does your sheriff think of your business practice?”

My travel mates bid farewell to Cameron and Jessie before they headed out to find dinner. It was 6:40pm and I knew my photographer must’ve been operating on stomach fumes. Tom and Vic picked up a pizza from Papa Johns before they registered at the La Quinta. By the time they had their gear lugged up to the room, it was 7:30pm – just in time for Tom and I to watch the rest of the Monday Night Football game between the Indianapolis Colts and Baltimore Ravens. I stood next to the TV set in the room when the lights were extinguished at 10:15pm. The last thing I heard out of my photographer’s mouth was when he complained that he lost his fantasy football game to Tom “Mr. Plumber” Currier by less than one point.

Throughout the night, I couldn’t help but wonder what disaster was next for our vehicle or for us. Tom and Vic’s brand-new Jeep’s windshield was chipped twice, and we’ve had a flat tire; and we were only on Day Four of a 23-day trip. In my mind, this cross-country adventure had turned into a real-life Griswold Family Vacation, and I was concerned. So concerned, in fact, that I began to wonder if “my Clark” would drive our Truckster 50 yards off an unfinished, closed highway in Monument Valley.

I wouldn’t have very long to wait, either. On Tuesday, we were scheduled to visit a handful of ‘Vacation’ film locations that were on our route across southern Colorado. By day’s end, we were slated to stay in a motel near Monument Valley. I couldn’t help but laugh when I thought to myself: “With every new day there’s fresh hope!”