Day: May 11, 2009

Phantom Canyon & The Tunnel

Summer 1970

A good practical joke takes precise planning and a perfect execution.  You must be willing to prepare for the event and then wait weeks or even months for the perfect opportunity to present itself.  My father was willing to go to any length to have fun and make sure that those around him were having as much, if not more fun than him.  One example of this took place on a weekend trip my family went on with a few of our friends.

Over the years my family had numerous campers and RVs.  At the time of this prank we had a 4-door Dodge Power Wagon pick-up with a “slide-in” camper.  We headed out of town to go to some of the old mining towns of Colorado.  Included in our plans was Cripple Creek and Victor.  We also hoped to drive down the old railroad grade out of Victor toward Pueblo.  The tracks had been removed during the Second World War for the needed metal but the steel trestle and tunnels remained.   The trestle had wood decking installed so vehicles could pass safely over it.

On this particular trip the six of us rode in our camper.  Our friends, the Stratfords, trailed behind in their classic Pontiac convertible, the Guys in their big International Travel All as well as Don and Robin Rayburn.  Occasionally, we would all stop to visit or discuss the historic features of our journey.  We took the time to look around in both mining camps and even rode the historic narrow gauge train in Cripple Creek.  As we left Victor  we headed down Phantom Canyon Road.  This was one of three ways to get to or from Cripple Creek to the south.  Phantom Canyon was originally used by the Florence & Cripple Creek Railroad until the early 1900’s when a series of events spelled the end of the line.

Like a spider in a web, my father led the small caravan into one of the many tunnels only to come to a stop near the middle.  Without any notice or noise the truck began to billow smoke, filling the tunnel.  Without hesitation, Steve (Stratford) came running to our aide with a fire extinguisher in hand only to find my father sitting in the driver’s seat sipping on a beer grinning like a Cheshire cat.  Steve knew he had been had and still had to drive through the smoke filled tunnel to the other end with his convertible top stored nicely in its boot in the “down” position.

Later that day, after all the laughter and fun, my father revealed the source of the smoke and the nature of this prank.  My father had run a line from the windshield washer tank, filled with diesel fuel, through a valve on the truck’s floor and out to the “hot” exhaust manifold.  With a turn of the valve, diesel fuel poured onto the hot manifold and the thick white smoke was the result.  

If I know my father, this prank was probably planned weeks or even months in advance.  He calmly waited for the perfect opportunity to strike.

For Every Action there is an Equal and Opposite…

The Gift

My father has a gift when it comes to practical jokes and a really good sense of humor.  He sees the world as an opportunity to poke some fun at himself or his close friends and family members.  Over the years he has told me of many successful practical jokes played on others and even some very good ones played on him.  Although he has shared many of them with me, I am sure that there are many more “under the hood” still needing to be told.  I often tell my friends once I have pulled a successful prank on them, that “Although I may be good at this kind of humor, compared to my father I am nothing…”  His ability to make people laugh is nothing short of a “Gift.”

Action

It is the early 1950’s, our family grocery store had recently acquired a new delivery truck and Henry; my father’s dad, decided to take the truck to Glenwood for a dip in the Hot Springs Pool.  With the truck safely parked in a nearby lot, Henry and his companion headed off to the pool.

Not far behind, my father arrived to exact his next bit of mischievousness on his unsuspecting father.  Dad jacked the truck just enough to put some blocks under the rear tires.  They were only high enough to take the weight off the tires but still appeared to be sitting on the ground.  Backing off to a safe distance to see the “fruits of his labor” he waited.

Later that evening Henry and his companion returned to the truck for the 41 mile drive home. Upon starting it and putting it in gear, nothing but a dust cloud.  The truck was going nowhere real fast.  With a successful prank and a good laugh, my dad headed home.

Reaction…

At the time my father had a small convertible MG which he was quite proud of.  The following morning after his trip to Glenwood, my father headed out to go to work only to find his car half filled with water and a sprinkler sitting on the seat, turned on of course.  The car was not water tight and it was draining like a sieve.

A Short Commute Home

Winter of 1969

8:30pm and practice had gone well.  The team was ready for the big game.  Our competition was driving in from the Broadmoor in Colorado Springs.  They were considered the best team in the state at all levels but we knew we could beat them.  Our best center lived in Glenwood and rarely made the 42 mile drive up for practice but always made the games.  He was good and we knew we could count on him. 

It was cold outside with a fresh blanket of snow on the ground.  Even though I only lived three blocks away the thought of carrying my gear home after a long practice was the last thing I wanted to do.  One option that existed only after a good snow was to actually skate home.  I checked outside and the roads were perfect.  That was it, I would skate home.  I had skied home numerous times even though according to local statutes, it was against the law to do so.  But this was skating.  Were the laws specific enough to include that?  Who in their right mind would skate on the roads?  Me!  

I headed out the door with my gear over my shoulder and headed east on Hyman Avenue.  At the other end of the block I rounded the corner onto 1st Street and like Christmas, the red and blue lights lit up the trees and houses on both sides of the street.  Had he been waiting for me or was it a case of really bad luck?

I sheepishly skated towards the officer to see what I could do to get out of this one.  As he pulled up next to me in his Ford Torino I realized I was probably doomed.    I do not remember which officer it was but I do remember him being a bit “harsh.”  I was instructed to remove my skates immediately or that he would take me to City Hall which was where the jail was at the time.  Even at the age of eight I remember thinking that it was a bit over the top to take me in for skating home; and besides, what was he doing behind the Aspen Ice Gardens at that hour of the day?

As directed, I removed my skates and walked the remaining block and a half home, all the while he drove slowly behind me until reaching my front porch.  If anyone else had followed me in that manner I would have called the police but since he was the police, well…

I remember skating and skiing home many more times until we moved our house to the “West End.”  I always kept a watchful eye out for police hiding in the shadows or dark alleys.