2 Fifty

America's 250th Birthday Bash: Live from D.C.

The morning began with two hours of sleep. The tosses had turned, and eventually, I found myself pretending to be unconscious. Suddenly, I jolted at the sound of my three A.M. alarm clock wailing. I brushed my teeth and threw on some clothes, then out the door.

When I finally realized I’d done all of that half asleep, I was already driving. Seventy-five down the highway in pitch black darkness. Luckily, I promoted an energy drink to the passenger princess the day prior.

Upon parking and walking, I found myself being bombarded with radioactive particles, and my hands were in the air. No, this is just routine. Except for the strange “scary device” that TSA thought was in my backpack. It never fails, I always get the shake down. Perhaps the X-ray revealed something they’d hoped to get more familiar with.

Nevertheless, I made my way through to the gate and waited, waited, and waited some more. Then, as I was falling asleep sitting up with my sunglasses on in a dimly lit terminal, they announced the boarding call.

I gathered my things and made my way to the assigned seat, as I had gotten flight tickets for an absolute steal two months prior. Oof. Middle seat. To be fair, it wasn’t that bad anyway, and Southwest was one of the more peaceful airlines I’d ever encountered.

A few hours later, I arrived in the promised land: The District of Columbia.

The Arrival Day

Immediately, I was hit with what looked like the slum version of an airport terminal. Had I been dropped off in a third-world country? Nope, I made it to where I’m supposed to be…

In reality, it wasn’t that bad - just super busy, and the walls could use a coat of paint every decade or so. I walked outside into a blistering heat. The sun was still as merciless and cruel as I’d remembered. I arranged a ride to deliver me like chips & queso on gameday to my hotel.

I was in the lap of luxury.

Later that afternoon, I took a cab up to the National Portrait Gallery, where I saw beautiful recreations of past Presidents. Of course, George Washington was my favorite, but Obama also had a breathtaking (slightly cryptic) painting. Seeing all of these men, even in a preserved medium, I could only gather one synonymous thought - if I could zoom out enough to read the similarities between them.

They all possessed something that millions of men will chase their entire lives. It wasn’t esteem, nor was it the fact that they’d served in the highest position across the world. No, I saw them man to man - and the truth is that they were some of the greatest men to ever walk upright. Through and through.

George Bush Sr possessed a quality that was striking and intimidating. I’d remember seeing a frail man in a wheelchair many moons prior to this moment, in the Diamond Club at an Astros game. He was no longer the man who stood before me. This man, recreated within a golden backdrop, was one of a sharp edge, intelligent beyond anyone you and I have ever had the privilege to meet. Not specifically intelligent, like an astrophysicist or aerospace engineer, but a broad spectrum “the bigger pieces of the puzzle” type of brain.

I then slide over to his son, of course, with all due respect - he was not his father, but his tenure was during my childhood. I recall seeing him as the only person in America who wasn’t afraid. As my parents, friends, and everyone around me reeked of a hidden anxiety and fear after the planes hit the towers. I give him my respect, if but for that reason alone.

Then I found my way over to Gerald Ford. I was always skeptical of his inheriting the highest office in the land. In fact, I think we haven’t had legitimacy since his election, but I will digress on that suspicion for now. He was still quite intimidating and certainly worthy of respect for the raw power he wore like golden armor.

Abraham Lincoln’s portrait was one that I didn’t care for too much. I think his sculpture at the Memorial is much more indicative of the type of man I believe he was. Very careful, calm, patient, like a turtle.

After the Gallery, the day came to an end - and rightfully so because tomorrow was a VERY big day.

Day One

It was 0600 when the alarm threw its tantrum. Up and out in a matter of minutes. The first course of action was the Supreme Court. Those Halls of Justice, which I’d heard of all my life but could never attempt to dream about, as it wouldn’t do them justice.

By 0900, I was in the doors. The walls just kept crawling toward the heavens. Intricate patterns that made your neck bend at an angle it was never designed to be. I searched for the elevator and found a sneak peek into a spiraling staircase. I snapped a few photos before pressing the golden button on a vintage but refined elevator.

The doors opened into another hall. I slowly stepped, one foot in front of the other, before my soul found itself in one of the most important rooms on the face of the planet. It was simply astounding. Never have I ever seen something so monumental and as serious as what I was seeing with my own two eyes. And they’ve seen a lot, for that matter.

The clock on my phone tapped me on the leg and told me it was time to go. I slowly made my way out of the front of the building, captured in a web of marble columns that could imprison the world’s largest elephant. We are so ant-like in size, we often forget. This was my reminder.

I made my way over to the Library of Congress, where the line was an hour long - despite my timed ticket. So I prepared a mental game plan - get in & get out! Truthfully, it worked for a 30-minute hit and quit, but there is much more to be discovered there. The texture and colors are astounding, and unlike anywhere I’ve ever seen. Couldn’t find my way down into the actual library, but I did see it from an upper balcony.

After that, I made my way to the office of the state congressman. It was pleasant to see and even better to get a bottle of water. Parched would have been an understatement. I strolled around his office, exactly how I’d imagine it would look. Humble and honest. Then it was time to enter the tunnels beneath the surface and walk over to the United States Capitol Building.

The people scattering and scurrying portrayed the importance of this building. Not merely for entertainment value, either, but because it genuinely is where we have and will continue to preserve a nation. Before that thought left my mind, I had made my way to the Rotunda. How immaculate. In fact, while I haven’t been to Vatican City YET, this seemed to have an aura of history unlike anything I’ve ever felt in my bones. Dozens of tour groups hugged the walls, all staring highly into the inner tops of the distinctive domed peak of a man-made mountain.

Beneath the surface is an element of thought that I hadn’t expected to encounter. The entire building above me rests on X amount of columns and, at the center, the stone atop the location where George Washington was supposed to be buried, and on which the streets above extend outward from. I took a photo, but some kid’s shoe was in the mix; I suppose it does help give a round-about idea of the stone’s size.

Into the old Supreme Court chambers, into the chambers of the old Senate, into the active house chambers on Capitol Hill. One can’t truly describe the feeling without the threat of being called a liar. It was a once-in-a-lifetime experience. I can’t, shouldn’t, and don’t imagine what it would be like to serve my country through debate and critical thought. I do, however, imagine that those who do live that life are constantly reminded of just how important their position is.

Afterward, and a quick break for lunch, I made my way to the United States Botanical Gardens. “Wow,” is about all I have to speak for. It was like walking into a Mars installation of every plant known to man under one glasshouse. From jungle to desert, and everywhere between. Truly remarkable.

Yet, all of this wasn’t even the magnum opus. No, a few days prior, there was a miracle. I somehow managed to get tickets to the newly revealed Lincoln Memorial Undercroft. And before I knew it, the Uber was taking me there until I found myself immersed in a world unknown before this moment.

Revealed to me were great grey concrete columns, their wooden fingerprints etched into their skin. It wasn’t very large underneath; it seems bigger on the top side of the memorial. However, there was a large gift shop that emptied at least 0.1% of my bank account. I am a penny fiend, after all.

Day Two

In my frequently avoided but never escaped ignorance, I’d completely forgotten about the fact that visitors can climb inside the Washington Monument. So that is how this day began, waiting for two hours in front of the Lodge in the morning sun. Eventually, everyone lined up, and the lady in front of me got up to the counter, and the attendant declared that there were no more tickets. This was unprecedented; of course, it was simply so hot during America’s 250th Birthday Bash that they closed tours early. While I was bummed for about an hour, the balancing of rental bikes took my mind off of it. I rode up to the White House, parked long enough to go inside the People’s House, and back on the shutdown streets before pausing for lunch.

After the delicacies danced with my taste buds, I was back on two wheels and over to the National Museum of the American Indian. I found two little pins that were made out of beads that resembled TURTLES. This stop was very brief but worthy of a second visit, if I ever get the urge for Deja Vu.

The entire reason I even went to the Native American Museum was due to the timed ticket I had for the National Air and Space Museum. And after realizing that the entrance door is on the opposite side of the building, I made my way inside. First impression? “Holy Sh**!” My passion for aviation is unfounded, and this is where I felt most at home, if there was one along this trip. Need I say it was packed with visitors, but the screaming children helped concentrate them in areas out of the way. Most of it is a blur now; there was simply so much to see. However, my only gripe is that there is no SR-71, as it is my all-time favorite. Nor did I have enough time to visit the Steven F. Udvar-Hazy Center (which I should have planned for, but…).

Day Three

Amtrak was scheduled to take me up to Baltimore bright and early. I arrived at Penn Station around 0900 and made my way over to Fort McHenry promptly. It was hallowed ground for those who know the true story of the Star Spangled Banner. In fact, there is a unique presentation in the museum that explains why this Fort is so important to U.S. History. The best part is at the end (I won’t spoil it, if you ever go).

After, I walked up to the Fort itself and snapped a bunch of pictures. This is around the time I felt most ill along the trip = dehydration.

After a few hours, I made my way back to D.C. and stopped at the Postal Museum right outside. That is an awesome place, as I am somewhat fond of letters and writing. The coolest part, to me, was the payphone downstairs near the elevator. I imagine many a secret agent task force having waited in line to use the only payphone still in existence. I then basically raided the gift shop and also grabbed a giant bag of global stamps for my ever-growing collection.

Later that night, I made my way through security for the Great American State Fair. A few days prior, I attempted to do so, but they turned me around because of my backpack. Can’t take any large bags inside, or they have to be clear to see through. Nor did anywhere have clear bags for sale. Had I known, I could’ve stood outside and made some serious coin, coupled with a storage locker for prohibited items.

I ducked and weaved into a few state shops before walking around the perimeter at various exhibits. The coolest thing I saw was the robotic dog and the Uber flying taxi exhibit. Beyond that, it was not at the top of my priority list, and I’m glad I didn’t dedicate an entire day to it in the end.

Day Four - July 4th, 2026

What was supposed to be an easy commute over to the Museum of American History became a two-hour hassle. I should have known better than to assume I could take a bicycle through the fair. Or the subway. So I eventually had to ride all the way around from the Smithsonian Castle, towards the Capitol, and over to the museum. It was hot, and I was getting my ass kicked quite thoroughly. Luckily, the line wasn’t very long when I arrived. I assume everyone was doing the same thing.

The objective was two things: The Fort McHenry flag that inspired the Star Spangled Banner and the Vault door. About an hour and a half later, I checked off those boxes and departed toward the main event - The National Archives.

It occurred to me, many weeks prior, that this one moment would be more significant than any of the others I’ve mentioned thus far. That is:

Seeing the Declaration of Independence, in person, 250 years later, to the day.

The line stretched around the front of the building and slightly down the side. Luckily, I had timed tickets to enter, yet that separate line was just as long. So I had arrived an hour early just to be safe. It worked out perfectly because that’s around the time many military aircraft began performing flyovers over the National Mall. Minutes turned to hours, and eventually I made my way inside.

Only to be met with more lines.

Still, even though it had been a long week already, this was the moment I’d been waiting for and nearly missed before I ever even boarded the plane here.

The line attendant shouted something, and a small sea of people charged into the resting place of our founding documents. There was a kind of sort-of line beginning on the left, but I think no one cared about any of that. They were there for the same reason as I. So we all bum rushed the centerpiece, with heads and hands, phones and cameras all pointed in the same direction. It was even more tame than some Mardi Gras parades I’ve been to, so I was certainly in my element.

After a few minutes, I backed off to give others a chance to see over my shoulders and emerged with all of my property where I’d left it. I waited in line, as a good citizen should do, until the Declaration literally caused it to come to a screeching halt. Just at that moment, a security guard was shouting to “make way” for a woman in a motorized scooter. I chuckled and leaned over to my mom and whispered.

My next move wasn’t planned, but as an opportunist, I struck a chord with a perfect note. I simply… followed behind the motorized woman and her family like the true ambulance chaser that I am.

And not only did I get better photos, but I had a moment with these documents all to myself, while everyone else was two or more feet away.

I stopped at the Declaration once more. I don’t care if the guards recognized that I was breaking the unwritten rules of societal expectation. In fact, I think I taught people observing my actions a few things that day.

If you want something, go get it.

And use your brain for a change.

Shortly afterward, I again bombarded another gift shop. I knew it would probably be my last stand. So I stumbled upon an Indian Head Penny from 1864 that was encased in a plexiglass mount, coupled with red tape = which I didn’t know, the term cutting through red tape is coined from the use of the red tape that used to bind official documents together. I couldn’t resist. I didn’t care about the cost, I knew I had to have this very special (to me) coin from the National Archives on the day that had been prayed for 250 years prior.

After that, I slid out the doors and past growingly pessimistic visitors still waiting in line. Moments later, a roaring sound that I’d never heard before.

I looked up and, to my surprise, the only other thing I’d prayed to witness on this trip.

The Northrop B-2 Spirit

In all its glory, but only a few hundred feet over my head.

I think, at this point in the trip, I could have gone to the airport and gotten on a plane home and been completely satisfied.

Yet, the best was still yet to come. And so I waited for it.

In fact, I waited all day, it seemed, and into the early morning hours.

Surrounded by an actual sea of people. All of us were waiting for the biggest firework show we’d ever seen. It was past midnight when the first bombs went bursting into the air.

An absolute onslaught went uninterrupted for nearly an hour. I took this opportunity to make my great escape, riding along the shut-down streets on a bicycle, hearing the explosions from a distance and echoing off the city walls. The bright white Capitol behind me. Streaming red, white, and blues in front of me. Cops to the left, a million citizens to the right.

The world and its trouble disappeared. My own trials and tribulations back home ceased to exist in that moment.

It was one of the happiest moments of my life.

That we, as a collective body of people, are a part of the greatest experiment ever conducted and far surpass any that have ever been attempted.

To be a true-blood American patriot. Standing on those streets. Everything I’d encountered in the past few days and months to get here. Actually, every moment that led me to this exact spot where my two feet paused for what felt like an eternity.

And the unknown future, attempting to cast doubt on the efficacy of our God-given rights and privileges endowed by something none of us can fathom.

Yes, that moment was mine.

And it will always be mine.

Not simply because I declared it, but because I will fight for it.

Until my death.

“For history does not long entrust the care of freedom to the weak or the timid.” - President John F. Kennedy