Day Twenty-Five and Twenty-Six : Lexington, VA - Washington, District of Columbia

Make love not war......

Another one of my goals (which only came about as a matter of coincidence) was to reach Washington, D.C. for July 4th (things roughly seemed like I was going end up in DC for July 4th so I decided to time it so). The Nations Capital! I gladly leave Lexingon, VA and it's mostly interstate to DC. I'm really excited about the day. I guess it is contagious excitement. There are American flags everywhere. In every little village you drive through, nearly every building has a flag. In hindsight, I think I build myself up a little but to much for the day that was in it but it was relatively enjoyable all the same.

On the way to DC, I stop in a 7/11 for a lunchtime hotdog, because it's American. I take Interstate 66 into the city (this is not to be mistaken for Route 66 but it is still cool). I leave the bike somewhere under the noses of the many police and I walk the whole 'mall' as I learn it is called. The mall is a huge area and is the site of Capitol Building, Martin Luther King Memorial, Washington monument, Lincoln memorial and memorials the Korean war and Vietnamese vets.


More photos of Brodericks mango and papaya bar were a must beside the Washington monument, by the White House and Lincolm Memorial Reflecting Pool. The main reason I spent two days here in DC was purely because the volume of people made it difficult to do anything worthwhile in the city. Everywhere was choc-a-bloc. The crowds were a bit of a nightmare but the atmosphere was really great. I wore a stupid cowboy hat, my American dickie-bow and my favourite 'Miquel Jacksano' t-shirt. I would have sacrificed a night here for an extra night in New York as you will see I only get to spend one night there.

There's a free bbq on the roof of the hostel I'm staying at so I tag along, actually I end up buying ingredients for the hosts (staff) despite them being really rude to me. Fun but not amazing. I meet an Irish lady called Mary, she's in her 60's and has spent the last 6+ months travelling around the world, I feel her pain as I near the end of my trip, she too only has a number of days left before she has to go home to live off her pension. She had no plan whatsoever for when she got home. I am sad I never got her details now I only left her my details and details for Nyaminyami Art, a project I have with two friends with whom we import stone sculptures from Zimbabwe for exhibition and sale in Ireland. She was quite interested in the company but I'm yet to hear from her. The actual night of July 4th I saw the fireworks rise up behind the Washington Monument, it was really momentous but quite difficult to photograph. I was hanging out with a crazy Australian, two Germans and a French dude, I didn't know any of their names and although many photos were taken I still don't know who they were. We all end up going out to Adams Morgan which is an area for clubs and pubs (picture Camden Street area).

Lunch with the Obamas

We take the underground metro there, where I convince a huge number of locals in my subway car that I had lunch with the Obama family earlier that day. I did not think this would go down as smoothly as planned but within a minute or two, most people at my end of the car were listening to my bullshit. I am a little drunk, wearing a silly t-shirt, a flashing American dickybow, a straw cowboy hat and still sporting all my keys and bandannas hanging from my caribiners. I have a poor quality image of myself photo-shopped into an image behind the Obama family. I had previously asked Kate who is a photography genius (I mean a professional photographer) to prepare a good image for me with the President. She said it wasn't easy so she made this ridiculous looking one. It is with this I convince the locals of Washington that I truly have met the president on this great day July 4th. 

I nonchalantly tell them that the two 'kids' were cool; 'Yea the daughters were there, nice kids, Sasha and Dasha, ate all their vegetables'I said,  as one subway rider angrily tells me that Sasha and Dasha are not the names of the Obama daughters; "They sound more like raindeer" another responds. I was told by the well informed locals that Barack's (or Barry as I was calling him) daughter's were called Malia and Sasha. I referenced the President in a speech he made on Dame Street in Ireland last year and I insisted to these commuters that President Obama's heritage is mostly Irish and that his family name originally would have been O'Bama. As they had questioned how I had pulled this off I explained it was through a 'friend-of-a-friend' who managed to get me in for lunch with the President in the White House. They are amazed by the awful photo. Naturally I didn't hand my phone over to anyone and just let them see the image briefly. They are amazed as I am as care-free as possible being completely blase about the whole ordeal. One guy asked, 'Do you KNOW how much of a PRIVILEGE it is to have lunch with the President of America on JULY 4TH!!??' to which I responded, 'Yea, cool guy, sound'. The other subway riders seemed 40% angry, 60% jealous. Hilarious.

We hit some stylish bars in Adam's Morgan area and I'm chatting up some beautiful women, I'm just on the ball (in good form), possibly have that perfect balance of intoxication. We get an Uber taxi back to the hostel, an Escalade! The next day I moved to a different hostel in the city (HI Hostel, Washington) where people (staff) were much much nicer. I won't go into the details of Capito View Hostel and the staff there but I just wouldn't recommend it. I thought about writing a bad review for the hostel, I was at a moral crossroads. I don't want to harm a business, especially a hostel, but I also don't want people feeling like shit when they arrive there, so I brought my issues up with a member of staff.

I ride to Arlington Cemetery while I wait for my room to be made available in the HI Hostel. Arlington Cemetery will be the last place I am truly stricken with tear-jerking emotion whilst on this trip. I saw J.F.K's grave site which is surrounded by thousands more graves from all the wars in which America had partook. I was surrounded by the resting place of 400,000 people, most of whom had died by war, by the hand of man. It was tragic. The words, 'This is war' repeated themselves in my head over and over and over again. Everywhere I looked I saw little white gravestone with numbers and crucifixes etched into them. The place is very well maintained, grass is immaculate, the gardens are clean, paths clear and a convenient but overpriced carpark. I attended changing of the guards at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, an honorable sentiment. I didn't really have much reason to cry. I have as much reason to turn on the news everyday and cry, current warfare is difficult to avoid if you own a tv or have access to the internet but this doesn't upset me so much on a daily occurrence. I don't know why Arlington and historic wars had me so upset. Was it that we don't learn from our mistakes? Was it the vast amount of remains that lay near and around me? Was it just my own thoughts on death? If warfare was a book, then Arlington cemetery would be the final chapter. I rode passed hundreds of veteran cemeteries between California and DC, as in, every little town pretty much had a vet cemetery. This is always the end result. I could go on, but this is war. I think of that common oxymoron most are familiar with, 'fighting for peace'. 

On returning to the city, I got my photo taken at a fake presidential podium and a makeshift Oval office. I went to another microbrewery on my own that evening, followed by the Hamilton hotel in the city center. Before going, I sat discussing the city with a guy at the bar beside me. I'm googling the area and I just want a bit of music. They had music in 'The Loft' of the Hamilton where I treated myself to some nice Trappist beer in that traditional stemmed beer glass. I sat at a table on my own just off-'stage'. This kick-ass band featured a female lead vocalist and the rest of the band were all killing it. The bassist was captivating. I sat for a few hours jamming away to myself in my own world enjoying my beer followed by a huge balloni sandwich. Again, I had my bike jeans on with caribiners, with keys attached to one, and 2 bandannas attached to the other, I was wearing a risque t-shirt and I was also sporting my new mohawk, courtesy of Killian and Kate. I was possibly under-dressed for the other clientele but I was just chilling nicely by myself as I saw the eyes of misjudgment. Not to blow my own trumpet but the band summoned me over as was leaving and the bassist said he 'liked my style'. All I did was drink beer and eat a sandwich and enjoyed the music with some mild head swaying and toe tapping.

Lessons:
War is completely fucked up, the only result of war is pain, suffering and death. 
There are people in America wearing 'ALL TIME WORLD WAR CHAMPIONS' merchandise! I'm sorry, but fuck these people too.

Like a boss.....