The next stop was only about thirty miles away from Manassas, in Washington, DC. It was an eerie Sunday morning as fog shrouded clear views of all the debris that used to house some of the nation's most powerful people. The Capitol Building was all but destroyed, as was most of the surrounding government and lobbyists' offices. It was indicative of what kind of havoc O.U.T.R.A.G.E. had wreaked on the country's capital city. Massive mountains of stone, cement, brick and steel were all that was left of many of the former federal government's monuments to its bureaucrats and officials. The restaurants that once served as "wheeling-and-dealing" venues for depraved, faltigious politicans - who long ago forgot they were supposed to be public servants - now stood as silent monuments to all that turpitude and improbity. The drive into D.C. was just as depressing as O.U.T.R.A.G.E. volunteers observed what remained of palatial politicians' homes in McLean, Fairfax and Falls Church. The destruction was devastating, and even now - one day shy of exactly ten months from when the O.U.T.R.A.G.E. bombings took place - clean-up still continued. Crusing around the beltway, the AROB group noticed relatively few cars and saw little outside activity. "The wreckage prevents a lot of people from going outside," Baker explained. "Just after the bombs hit, the hurricane struck. D.C. hardly exists anymore. Most people have moved away, inland. It's pretty much a ghost town."
Still, Jil wanted to hold a one-day 'victory tour' occasion in what had been the most politically powerful city in the world. She had contacted a tiny Marine Corps League in northwest D.C. that somehow managed to survive the bombs and the storms.
As busses crawled through the run-down streets, their bright lime-green paint jobs seemed to add a veneer of sparkle to an otherwise gray and decaying landscape.
The tour was greeted by a small retinue of former Marines. An impromptu band had been assembled and managed to play a medley of patriotic music while homecoming soldiers, just back from Iraq, were paraded onto a makeshift stage and given appropriate recognition for their valor. To Oetting and Baker's delight, the Marine Corps League had arranged for a reception in the old USA Today twin towers on the Potomac River in Arlington. The buildings had sustained only minor damage as a result of the bombs and the hurricane, and dinner was being served - buffet style - in a restaurant that Oetting and Baker both fondly remembered as "New York New York". It had been a popular 'watering hole' in the 1980's when Oetting worked at USA Today and Baker worked for IBM. As they got off the escalator, the two groggy party-goers perked up and smiled at each other. "It's sort of a reunion," said Baker. "It sort of is," Oetting agreed, "this calls for a drink!' Jil and Bob looked at each other, rolled their eyes, knowing that this was about to turn into an 'all-nighter', DC-style! Never bashful when it came to ordering a beer, Bob said smartly, "I'll have a pitcher!" The bartender poured part of the pitcher into a tall, graceful glass as Bob's eyes glazed over. A smile came to his face, and his "whistle" was "whetted". Jil ordered a beer. The party was just getting started as the small parade of followers from the Marine Corps League started trickling in; suddenly, Oetting asked the bartender if she knew of a place in Northwest DC that served "white pizza". She did...and a car and driver was sent to pick up a couple of dozen pies. By midnight Sunday, November 16, 2008, most of the O.U.T.R.A.G.E. convoy had settled into their bus seats, camping gear, sleeping bags, or tents, shutting down for the night and getting ready for the next leg of the tour.
Jil consulted Mapquest, and told an O.U.T.R.A.G.E. volunteer that he would be driving her bus Monday morning because she would be "having a hangover".