A full moon is rising from across the windswept waters of the Potomac as we taxi out onto Runway 1 at Washington National. The moon, huge and waxy-orange in color, slides between broken layers of clouds, reflecting on the metal roofed buildings of Bolling Air Force Base just across the river. It’s been a dramatic day for weather and now, on our fourth and final leg of the evening, we are being treated to an impressive moonrise out one window and the full illuminated sweep of the Washington Mall, from the Capitol Dome to the Washington Monument out the other window.

The American Airlines 737 that just landed clears the runway downfield and we are given the ok to go. I flip on our nose landing light and strobe lights and as it’s my leg to fly quickly re brief the departure more for my own sanity than anything else. “Runway 1. Up the river. Five thousand. Wind is from the left. Here we go.” I push up the thrust levers, snugging the engine fan speed indicator into the takeoff carrots on the main display screen. There is a slight lag as the engine spool up and then we start moving forward.

Passing through 80 knots the FO crosschecks our airspeeds and I make a mental note that it’s going to take a pretty big problem to keep us from flying now. Problems like engine failures or loss of direction control. Problems I really don’t even want to think about as we now hurtle down the dark pavement at 100 knots. 120 knots comes and goes as does 130 knots. We pass through the intersection of Runway 33-15 and I notice the blur of the runway centerline lights has turned from white to red meaning we are coming up on the last 3000 feet of runway. After what seems like an eternity the FO calls out “Vee One” and after another slight pause “rotate”. The plane has been ready to fly for a while now and all it takes is a slight amount of pull on the yoke and we are airborne.

3 miles away and approaching at 180 feet per second is Prohibited Area 56, also known as the White House, perhaps the most restricted piece of airspace in the United States. Departures off of Runway 1 require a low level turn to the northwest, following the course of the Potomac River, to avoid P56. Every once in a while somebody doesn’t turn fast enough and they clip the edge, both putting their certificate in jeopardy and potentially disproving the myth that there are itchy trigger fingered Secret Service hanging out with Stinger missiles on the roof of the White House. Even if it is a myth (and for all I know it may not be) I have no desire to be heading in that direction so as we pass through 100 feet I roll the plane sharply to the left.

The 5 sided mass of the Pentagon, illuminated in sodium vapor lighting, momentarily fills the windshield, as I lower the nose to keep accelerating up the river. As the speed increases it slides quickly out of view. Amidst the confusion of ground lighting I get a quick glimpse of the Air Force Memorial’s three arching columns reaching skyward before it too fades into the clutter and disappears. I roll the wings back to level and as we pass through 1000 feet I can clearly see the dark waters of the Potomac stretching northward as they cut a path between the masses of city lighting.

30 minutes later we are bumping are way westward into the darkness. We are leveled off at 24,000 feet and I am happily enjoying the now cold french fries that came with my dinner. Air Traffic Control clears us directly to Akron and I use my pinky, the only finger not covered in seasoning from the fries, to punch the information into the flight computer. My FO agrees with my input and on his OK I confirm the entry. The computer chews over the data for a second and then generates a new course line. The autopilot notes the change and gently banks the plane to the right, following the white line into the darkness ahead.