Doug Clark: Lead sled unsuccessful as a float

(Last in a two-part road trip odyssey.)

REPUBLIC, Wash. – The sun shone gloriously Saturday, turning this quaint and historic Ferry County mining town into a dazzling prelude of summer.

Or Hell’s Waiting Room – if you happened to be inside my cherry red 1967 Oldsmobile Vista Cruiser that was traveling slower than a constipated slug in the 53rd annual Prospectors’ Days parade.

“And why again doesn’t your air conditioner work?” groused Joe Brasch, my amigo. Brasch was behind the wheel so that I could wave like the pontiff out the window at the horde of parade watchers lining the sidewalks.

“I absolve you,” I said to the crowd. “Bless you…”

I pulled my head in to patiently explain to Brasch that I had my air conditioner disconnected several years ago when my gas mileage was threatening to slip into negative figures.

If you recall from Thursday’s column, I accepted an invitation from Republic’s Jim Milner to participate in the town’s yearly festival. Brasch, an ace guitarist and my bandmate, agreed to join me so that we could pick and grin some of our acoustic music in the park after the parade.

What I didn’t consider was that the Vista Guzzler would turn into a creeping convection oven.

At one point during the parade, I looked out Joe’s window to see that we were being passed, and rather easily, by a large woman walking with a limp.

But a brush with heat exhaustion was a small price to pay for all this fun.

The Prospectors’ Days parade included: people pushing lawn mowers, behemoth mining vehicles, squawking bagpipers, emergency vehicles, marching cheerleaders, tiny ballerinas…

A church van towed a flatbed trailer that carried a very vocal sheep that said “baaaa” every 20 seconds.

All I could think of was how great it would be to turn that annoying creature into succulent lamb chops.

Unfortunately, this is an election year. Which meant that the Prospectors’ Days parade was full of politicians trolling for votes.

If I’m ever put in charge of a parade I’ll have a separate route just for politicians. The route will end with the happy sight of all the pols careening off the edge of a very high cliff.

Not surprisingly, I didn’t win any of the trophies that were handed out to the top participants.

This may be because I entered my Vista Cruiser in the “best float” category.

“You think this is a float?” one of the parade officials asked in a tone that clearly questioned my sanity.

“Absolutely,” I explained. “This is my tribute to America’s fossil fuel consumption.”

Boy, Republic really pulled out all the stops for our visit.

Guess what the civic leaders named the main drag that runs through town?

Clark Avenue.

Sure, some will tell you that this was to honor Patsy Clark, the Spokane mining magnate who pulled acres of gold out of the ground up here eons ago.

Big deal. That old robber baron never drove a vintage Vista Guzzler in a parade.

Not everything worked out according to plan, alas.

Shortly after our arrival, we were informed that we were no longer booked (as promised) for a Friday night gig at the Sportsman Roost.

Not to worry, assured Milner. We were now booked into a club called Madonna’s.

So about an hour before showtime, Brasch and I moseyed on up to Madonna’s for a look-see.

I caught the attention of one of the barkeeps and cheerfully told her that the band had arrived.

“Oh, no,” she deadpanned. “We have karaoke tonight.”

I explained how we had been originally booked next door, but now we were here and blah-blah-blah…

“It’s karaoke night,” she repeated in the hushed tone that a priest might use for someone trying to cancel Holy Communion.

Brasch and I eventually went back to the motel and played to nobody for an hour in the parking lot.

But as much fun as we had in Republic, the high point of this adventure took place on the way up, a few minutes after cruising into Colville. We drove up East Hawthorne to pay a surprise visit to Erma Hellie, a faithful reader of my column.

I learned this thanks to an e-mail sent to me Thursday by her son, Lan.

“I’m sure you get a lot of ‘stop in sometime’ e-mails, but my Mom, 82, is a huge fan of yours,” he wrote. “Mom clips out your columns and sends them to my brother, Larry, in Vancouver. She would be very impressed to meet you.”

How can you turn down an opportunity like that?

And so we followed Lan’s directions and pulled into a driveway. Brasch waited in the Vista Cruiser while I went up to the door and met some strangers who probably thought I was pulling a home invasion.

“There’s no 82-year-old woman here,” said a middle-age man who didn’t seem amused.

Back to the wagon I went, stammering apologies all the way.

We quickly saw that we had misread Lan’s directions. Our second stop was a charm.

I gave Erma a hug and one of my books.

“You made her year,” said Lan.

Tell it to the Madonna’s bartender.