Last night, I called my mom around 8pm. I do this every Sunday, but this Sunday was different. I had NEWS. BIG NEWS. I had to get Babs on the phone and tell her how much dang fun I had at our scavenger hunt/city tour/extravaganza, 3 Stars 2 Bars.
We started in on this idea about three months ago with one thing, a name. I had woken up from a fever dream (this usually happens on Tuesday nights around 2AM because I’m so dang excited about Lincoln) and texted Steve and Jake: “3 Stars 2 Bars. I don’t know what it can be yet, but the name is tight.” Or something to that effect.
Subtract the holidays and life being crazy and fast forward to Sunday, January 28, 2:30pm. There’s a crowd of roughly 50 eager beavers outside of Big Chief in Ivy City. Teams had been formed, free agents showed up in search of a squad — and I paced up and down the street trying to figure out where I should hide the first clue. Bar #1, down.
Steve clandestinely exited Big Chief to make his way to his “star,” the first of three that would be found throughout the afternoon.
We released the hounds — I wish I could replay the scene — watching everyone scramble around the bar looking for that first clue. People running up stairs, nearly flipping over tables, Hirsh running into the freezer. It was a doozy. Eventually someone stumbled upon my super secret hiding place — the bathroom — and the mad dash began. Some teams took off on foot, others hauled their bikes — hurtling at breakneck speeds towards Union Market (get it? it’s hip + MARKET research, gosh we’re so clever).
Upon arrival, spice was performed, and clue #2 was given out. Crispus Attucks Park. If you knew to look at the convergence of North Capitol, U Street, V Street and 1st Street, you were golden. Riding my bike to my “star” location, I couldn’t help but smile from ear to ear seeing multiple teams chugging along through the streets of DC. Jake presented teams with the third clue and at this point people start texting me frantically. “Are you on a campus?!” “George Washington didn’t even have wooden teeth!”
Part of the reason yesterday was so much fun for me was the fact that I got to see so many people feeling so many things. Beginning of the day? Lots of enthusiasm, lots of hype, tons of energy. By stop number 3, some teams were still enjoying themselves, having fun. Others were FIRED UP for the last clue. Others were beaten down, humbled –or straight up PISSED. Watching that bevy of emotions unfold was sort of awesome. It’s an arc we don’t get to see in the natural course of a 35/40 minute workout. I LOVED seeing people who had never met 2 hours earlier leap-frogging over their new buddies by the time they reached me. I REALLY LOVED watching teams huddle together and attempt to figure out the last clue that would lead them to the final destination.
Eventually everyone made their way to bar number 2, Bar Roubaix (pronounced roo-bae). A largely soaking-wet, exhausted, and intellectually spent crew graced the barstools of Roubaix. I went around culling feedback from those who weren’t too busy slamming Belgian brews or scarfing down doner kebabs (can attest, both are delicious). The spin bikes in the back of the bar served as the final test for two teams that had tied for third place to hold a positively epic sprint-off.
What struck me about the overwhelmingly fun, spirited, vibe at Roubaix was the hardcore goodness of it all. The mantra ‘this shit is good’ doesn’t encapsulate the feeling invading the bar. A bunch of people — lots of them strangers at the beginning of the afternoon — willingly submitted themselves to physical (and mental) anguish in the name of November Project. To be fair, there were also really sweet prizes on the line (thanks, The North Face and Cava!)
WHAT.
WHY.
Why, why, why, in this day and age, would anyone willingly choose to leave their house. It’s too cold. It’s rainy. It’s too late in the afternoon. I want to watch the Pro Bowl. I’m hungover. YOU CAN GET SOMEONE TO DELIVER YOU CHIK-FIL-A. Have you been outside recently? It’s kinda garbage.
Screw that. BS. All of it.
Yesterday was a testament to the spontaneous — a middle-of-the-night text, a little bit of elbow grease (writing clues is hard, yo!), and to the good tremendous people in this movement. You didn’t have to come out. But you did. And that makes me really fucking happy. I hope it made you happy too.
Much love, DC.
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