By day 3 of our excursion to Omak, we were all feeling the emotional and physical exhaustion of the trip. Jake and I were eager to get back home to our own friends and interests and Dad was ready to be back in an environment in which he felt more comfortable and secure. I had noticed the day before that being around the large crowds at the Stampede had really taken its toll on his energy level; it was very difficult for him to process all of the activity taking place and his physical limitations made it hard for him to move in and out of the large groups of people. However, we still had another full day in Omak and an evening of rodeo, so we had no other choice but to make the best of it.
We left the hotel around 10:30 AM once again and headed down to the Stampede grounds to check out the Indian Encampment's "Stick Game." My dad had mentioned several times that the Native Americans in the Encampment play a "complicated" gambling game and this was it. The Stick Game is a two team game. You choose a side and then find someone on the other team to match whatever monetary bet you are willing to make. One side then begins playing a rhythmic, repetitive anthem while two of their players hide similar-sized dowel-looking pieces of wood in their hands. Both of these players have two "dowels;" one of these has some paintings on it, while the other does not. The players on the other team must guess which hands are holding the unpainted "dowels." For each incorrect guess, they must give a certain number of their "sticks" to their opponents and the "dowels" are hid once again. When they guess correctly, the "dowels" are surrendered to them. When both unpainted dowels have been located, the teams switch roles and the process is repeated. As far as I could tell, the game ends when one side has collected all of the "sticks." All the players on that team then win the bets they made prior to the beginning of the game.
Despite its repetitive nature, I found the Stick Game fascinating and was almost tempted to start making bets myself (which I wisely talked myself out of). Jake and Dad were much less interested, so we headed off to grab some lunch after watching the game for about one half of an hour. An additional interesting note: the stick game was being played under this enormous canopy tent in the Indian Encampment. In the morning, there were approximately 40 Native Americans seated under the tent and engaged in the game. Later in the day, at approximately 5:00, I walked by the tent again and there were more than 100 people under the tent playing the game; and I swear some of the same people had been their all day.
For lunch, we stopped at a local pizza joint next to the Omak bowling alley (which, much to Jake's dismay, was closed). This meal included a little more excitement than we had planned because the waitress accidentally dumped my personal pizza into my lap while she was serving us. I was fine and the pizza was still edible, but the waitress insisted on making me another one. So, I ate the "dumped" pizza for lunch, took the other back to the hotel to save for later, and only had to pay for one pizza; it was a pretty awesome deal.
After lunch, we headed back to the hotel for another afternoon rest and then made our way down to the Stampede grounds at approximately 4:00 PM. We were three hours early for the rodeo, but Dad had wanted to ensure that we got a good parking spot in the handicap zone. Jake and I set Dad up at a picnic table in the "food court" area and then both of us took some personal time to explore the rest of the Stampede grounds independently. While we looked around, Dad had the opportunity to converse with three or four different "shifts" of people that shared the picnic table with him (he was there for about two hours). Again, I believe it gave him great joy to have the opportunity to speak with some people that were not his children about subjects other than medicine, doctor's appointments, or the fact that he is not allowed to drive. He loves to share his personal stories with anyone that will listen and I am sure that all of his "table mates" heard all of his favorites to tell.
In my own explorations, I found that several of the food vendors near the Indian Encampment were selling something called an "Indian Taco." Intrigued, I approached the booth with the shortest line and the cheapest price to purchase one. Much to my dismay, this turned out to be the only stand selling Indian Tacos that was run by Caucasians, but I bought one anyways. An Indian Taco is more or less like a Mexican Taco Salad, but rather than a taco shell, the salad is placed on a piece of flat bread. It was tasty, though the bread was a little bland and thick for me and there was twice as much taco as I could eat.
At 7:00 PM, the rodeo started and we enjoyed another entertaining night of bronco and bull riding, roping, barrel racing, and rodeo clown antics. Prior to the running of the Suicide Race, Jake and I left the stadium and walked down to the river to attain a better view. We were not disappointed as we had front row seats to the treacherous race down the hill and the dangerous plunge into the river. When the race finished, we had to take some time to find Dad in the large mass of people leaving the rodeo stadium and then headed back to our hotel to once again collapse into our beds after another great day in Omak.
Day 4 of our trip consisted of our return home. We checked out of our hotel at approximately 11:00 AM and, with Jake driving, headed straight for home, stopping only to fill up the gas tank and eat lunch at one of the burger stands that my dad admires so much; we also got stuck in the Sunday traffic on I-90 outside of Cle Elum, which was absolutely miserable.
As I reflect on the trip, I hope that as time passes I can focus on the positives rather than the negatives. I want my memories to be of quality time with my dad and my brother in a beautiful part of Eastern Washington at a world famous rodeo event rather than of a weekend of arguing and criticism that served to further wear my patience and reveal the devastating toll cancer is having on my father's quality of life. Each day is difficult for my family right now and trips such as this one that are intended to be fun and to bring the family closer together often have the opposite effect. My dad thanked Jake and I for a great weekend once we had returned home and for the bit of happiness that the trip gave him, it was all worth it; hopefully, that is what I remember.
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