Omak

Due to a back injury I was not able to go the stampede. But on Thursday the boys packed up the jeep and headed east. I asked that they document the trip and keep me updated. This is Cody's first e-mail:

Our trip began on a dreary, overcast Thursday morning in August.  I have felt that there has existed a lot of tension between my father and myself in the past few months and this rift was already rearing its ugly teeth as we set off.  I had wanted to leave at 9 AM and had reminded both my father and my younger brother several times the night before that that was our slated departure time.  However, because of his current physical and mental limitations, Dad was slow to pack his things and needed extra help to make sure that he had all of the necessary clothing, medication, and hotel/ticket paperwork.  Though I know these limitations are not his fault, I felt agitated at the time because I knew he would be upset if I had held up a departure time that he had set.  To further add to my frustration, once I had gotten Jake and he loaded in the car and was finally able to pull out of the driveway, he informed me that we needed to stop by the bank because he needed to get cash for the trip.  With clenched teeth, I drove to the bank, grumbling about how this was something that should have been taken care of earlier in the week.  Luckily, the women that work at the bank are genuinely warm human beings and my mood was greatly improved after visiting with them.  With a slightly better disposition, I was finally able to get us on the road by 10:30 AM.

As we drove, the sun broke through the morning clouds and by the time we had crossed Snoqualmie Pass, a beautiful summer day was greeting us in Eastern Washington.  It had been quite some time since I had driven through that section of I-90 with such great weather conditions and I was struck by how beautiful the mountains and valleys appeared in the morning sunlight.  I would often glance over at my father to see how he was enjoying the ride and each time I found him facing forward, one eye closed so that he could focus better on the road and make sure that I had not taken any wrong turns.  And each time I was reminded of how painful it has been to watch my father's mental and physical health decline as it has.  I remember taking similar types of trips with my family back in the "good ol' days."  Dad was the driver, piloting his manly Ford truck with a large trailer in tow; he never seemed to get sleepy at the wheel (as so often happens with me) and he never had to rely on Mapquest or Google directions to tell him where to go.  Now he is forced to be a passenger both in the car and in life, reliant on others (doctors and family) to dictate the direction of his life.

We made our only stop of the trip in Cle Elum in order to gas up and grab some lunch.  It took three Fouts men to put gas in the Jeep as I provided the Safeway Club Card, Dad provided the credit card, and Jake had to listen to each of us tell him how to properly fill up the tank.  We ate lunch at the Cottage Cafe, which is a restaurant my dad insists on stopping at each time we pass through the city.  There is nothing particularly striking about the place, but it is a popular spot for other travelers passing through town as well as for people living in and around Cle Elum (a group that I believe truly encompass all that is "Eastern Washington country living").  In the times I have been to the restaurant as an adult, it has become one of my favorite spots to people watch.

From Cle Elum, we made a grueling 3-hour drive north on Highway 97 through Wenatchee and several other smaller towns to Omak.  Though we did pass through some pretty country, I describe the drive as "grueling" because there was an inordinate number of vehicles on the two-lane highway and we hit a couple of traffic delays in our travels.  When he was not trying to tell me how and when to turn, my dad would relate some tidbit he knew or experience he had had in each little town we passed through or point out a fabulous burger joint we were passing.  Jake stretched out in the back and tried to find a comfortable position in which to sleep; every once in while he would roll down his window and stick his head out like a dog to test the outside temperature (which was in the nineties almost the entire trip).

We finally arrived in Omak around 4 PM.  As we followed the highway into town, one of the first landmarks we passed were the grounds on which the Omak Stampede is held.  I was amazed by the vastness of the facility and the number of campers, trailers, motor homes, and tents that were already staked out around the grandstands.  We checked into our hotel, took a short rest, and then headed down to the Stampede grounds to check out the opening ceremony for the Stampede's Indian Encampment.  I was prepared for a riveting cultural experience that would include tribal dancing, music, and traditional dress.  Though we did have the opportunity to hear some traditional Native American prayer, the "opening ceremony" was actually a dedication of a new pow-wow facility that was built for this year's Stampede and the festivities appeared to primarily be a celebration of the completion of the construction by the local tribe.

Disappointed, we left the pow-wow in search of sustenance.  We found food at a restaurant near our hotel called the Koala Street Grill, which advertises itself as an Australian-themed bar and grill.  We quickly discovered that the only things that were Australian in this place were the fake decorations and cheesy names they gave to the items on their menus; however, we decided to make the best of it.  Because I had become a little agitated with Jake and he as we were leaving the Stampede grounds, Dad pointed and me and told the waitress "He needs a beer" when she asked for our drink orders...and then I had two.  After we had ordered, Dad realized that he had been to this particular restaurant during a past hunting trip and related to us the circumstances surrounding his previous visit.  The food we were served was awful.  Jake and Dad ordered crab cakes, which were served as bite-sized nuggets that looked like they had come out of the frozen food aisle at Costco; my shrimp platter was not much better.  For $60 for three people, the meal was a ripoff.

Tomorrow, I hope to approach the day with a better attitude.  This may be one of the last opportunities I have to spend quality time on a vacation with my brother and father and I hope to make the best of it; I do not want to regret missing the opportunity to form a deeper bond with each of them.