Twenty-five miles from the White House, as the crow flies. I’m going to get toasted.
Besides, even if one isn’t actually within the fireball, can you really believe that modern houses could stand up to a strong wind, much less the blow from a nuclear bomb?
If it looks like bad stuff is going to happen, I’m going to saddle up—literally, saddle the horses—and ride. I think we’ll get further that way than trying to escape on roads that are already a horrible snarl even during a normal rush hour. But the chances are that no one will have advance notice and any contingency plans will burn along with us.
Better to have a concrete basement safe room to survive a blast.