8th Street to 12th Street NE
Walking down H St. NE is an immersive sensory experience. As I hit the road from points farther south, the change is almost immediate. Quiet, quaint neighborhoods consisting mostly of single-family homes morph with a deceptive speed into the retail and service-oriented furor of H St. itself. A busy thoroughfare both in the past and present day, panel trucks, eighteen wheelers, and cars vie with roving bands of school kids by day and solitary walkers by night for supremacy of the street.

If you spend any amount of time on H Street itself, it becomes apparent that cars and trucks rule the road: vehicular traffic almost always far outweighs its pedestrian counterpart. Perhaps this is why the area has such a difficult time fitting in to the Adam’s Morgan or U Street model so often imposed on it: H Street is simply a different type of street oriented towards different types of service offerings, and has a long history as such.

While yet another truck roars past in first gear and an armada of city buses separates itself from the steady flow of traffic, I realize that I’ve made it down to the far end of H Street. Twelfth and Thirteenth Streets NE pass by, and I arrive outside the Rock and Roll Hotel, one of the boulevard’s new estabishments that has truly made a name for itself outside of the immediately surrounding Capitol Hill neighborhood. With artists like Baltimore club mainstay DJ Tittsworth and the en vogue Brazilian Girls passing through the nondescript venue’s doors, it’s easy to see why Rock and Roll Hotel is a destination for people from all over the District.

A cherry, early 80’s Chevrolet Caprice glides by with a four or five inch lift and sits on 26 inch rims that reflect the gun metal gray sky. Pounding bass sounds like a foot kicking the trunk door, and snaps me out of my reverie. My gaze, formerly fixed on a point past the sticker-laden windows of the H Street music venue, swivels along with every other pedestrian’s towards the rolling speakerbox. It is a bellwether of the young people who visually dominate the road’s real estate.

12th Street to 13th Street
Despite the lack of morning pedestrian traffic during the morning time, I always feel that I’m rejoining the circulatory system of the street when I come out of a coffee shop or store to continue on my way. Cracked sidewalks and street asphalt filigreed with temporary repairs tell the story of a boulevard that was once a main artery for industry and public transportation. Work is underway to reify the former aspect, as streetcars will again trundle down the center of H Street, and local entrepreneurs are responding. More unusual restaurants like Dr. Granville Moore’s continue to spring up, and walking by the eatery, I cannot help but stop in for the crisp assault of an unfamiliar Belgian beer and the richness of mussels and french fries, one of the country’s staples. One of the establishment’s “beer connoisseurs” can introduce you to brews with impossible to pronounce names and equally unusual and delicious rewards.

It’s exceedingly easy to accommodate a number of personas within the confines of Moore’s: anonymity is easily achieved at the bar or a corner, while it is apparent that meeting new people and reconnecting with old friends is a regular occurrence as well. My thirst and hunger sated, I duck out and decide to venture to the further western reaches of the street itself.

13th Street to 7th Street
I’ve got a bit of a hike ahead of me, so I settle into my jacket and start trudging. This is the end of the street where nightlife happens, as evidenced by the predominance of bars and eateries. Names like the Pug, Palace of Wonders, the Red and the Black, and H Street Martini Lounge materialize and fade away as my feet take me farther west. At around Seventh Street, I encounter a man singing on the sidewalk. He says his name is Phillip, and he can carry his chosen Ray Charles tune fairly well, so I stop for a few moments to listen. Apparently, this is an unusual occurrence because he stops immediately to come speak to me; after some conversation, it turns out that Phillip is a veteran and a father, and is positively itching for someone to talk to.

As I take my leave of him, Phillip starts singing again and more people walk by him without so much as a glance up from their text messages. This gives me pause, but coffee calls.

7th Street to 4th Street
While it is often written about and can now be considered a well-known establishment in the area, Sidamo Coffee at H and 4th Streets, NE is simply too good not to visit. Being more in love with bread and coffee than almost anyone else I know, I can truly appreciate the quality of the leavened layer that graces Sidamo’s paninis and the Ethiopian beans that are transmuted into some of the best java in Washington, DC. The back patio is perfect for writers seeking seclusion and free internet access, and I’m happy to take advantage of both. It’s a welcome respite from the bustling street that has passed under me all morning.