Cousin Eddie Goes to Clemson
If you’re like me, you associate a given make and model of car with certain types of people. For instance, the Porsche 924 makes me think of the doofus in my freshman dorm who used to nonchalantly park his red 924 in the lot with a mix of entitlement and obliviousness. (He ended up pledging some fraternity a couple months later—good riddance). The same for the BMW 325, which was the frat-boy car of choice in the late 1980s. We all form these opinions, even though we know individual experience isn’t representative of the world at large. As you go through life and are exposed to more people and experiences, you periodically have to adjust your preconceptions. For example, I now realize that not all BMW drivers are entitled pricks.
When I see an RV, I immediately think of my grandparents, who bought one in their 70s and enjoyed driving around Iowa and meeting up with members of the Good Sam RV club to camp. As a kid, I thought taking that vehicle on the road seemed like the best idea in the world. The fact that my grandparents had a fully stocked kitchen in an RV in their driveway about 75 feet from their actual kitchen seemed like a stroke of genius rather than a burden. You can have a driveway lunch if the mood strikes! From time to time, they were probably that RV on the two-lane highway going 45 miles an hour as a phalanx of frustrated motorists trailed them through the bluffs of northeastern Iowa. All part of the deal!
I also recall watching the RVs roll into town on football Saturdays, where they would park in reserved spots outside Kinnick Stadium in anticipation for an epic tailgate, if not a victory. I slowly realized that RVs weren’t just for the elderly. They were in fact the perfect party vehicle. You didn’t really even need to drive around in one. When parked, they became a hub for drinking, grilling, and consorting with old and new friends alike. Sure, they handled like shit on the road, and you were probably going to crease a telephone pole in the first six months of ownership, but the payoff was clear.
For many others, an RV conjures up Cousin Eddie from Christmas Vacation. His vehicle was an indication that any promise in life has been snuffed out. There’s more than a bit of classism there, but his blissful ignorance made it cartoonish rather than sad.
Improbably, this episode combines a number of these elements—an RV, camping, college football, and Cousin Eddie. It’s a testament for what can happen when careful planning runs headlong into serendipity. It’s one for the ages—hope you enjoy it.
