WASHINGTON _ When we left the Metro station, the wind was howling down the National Mall, blowing a few crazy tourists toward the Capitol.

``Unbelievable!’’ said Uncle Chet, holding his Jets cap low on his forehead.

``Where do you want to go?’’ Hon hollered to me.

``Inside, anywhere!’’ I said.

``Let’s go back to the train,’’ said Buddy, pulling me in that direction.

``It took seven hours to get here; we’ve got to see something,’’ Uncle Chet declared.

``Put your hood up,’’ I told our eighth-grader, who in the last year has become oblivious to weather.

``Where are the stores?’’ she said, pirouetting in the wind.

``Put your hood up,’’ I yelled. ``You’ve been coughing for a week.’’

``It’s not that kind of mall,’’ said Hon.

``I mean for souvenirs,’’ said the girl, who scowled at me but covered up.

``You buy them inside,’’ said Hon, and to me, ``Do you want to go to the Air and Space Museum?’’

``Sure. Where is it?’’

``Down there,’’ she pointed into the distance and we fell in step, moving with the tempest.

``I thought we were going up the Washington Monument,’’ said Buddy.

``They closed it because the wind is too strong,’’ said Hon.

``We’ll go to the Capitol, instead,’’ said Uncle Chet, who’d grabbed the kindergartner’s other hand.

``What’s the Capitol?’’

``That’s where Congress spends our money,’’ said Uncle Chet as we staggered down the Mall like tumbleweeds.

``Which one is Air and Space?’’ I asked Hon.

``I think it’s the one after the next one,’’ she said, trying to consult a subway map.

``Why don’t we try this one?’’ I nodded toward the impressive building to our right.

``Arts and Industries?’’

``The kids will probably like Air and Space better,’’ said Uncle Chet.

``All right.’’ I shrugged and on we went under leaden skies until we came to steps, guards and metal detectors.

"Shoot; I’ve got a jackknife in my pocket,’’ I said to Hon as we queued up.

``You could throw it in the garbage can,’’ she suggested.

``Let’s see what happens,’’ I said, and we sailed through security without a beep.

Once inside the warm building, historic missiles and rockets before us, the Spirit of St. Louis suspended overhead, Buddy said, ``It’s hot. Will you take my coat, Dad?’’

``Mine, too, and my umbrella,’’ said the little miscreant.

``What am I, a pack horse?’’ I said.

``Look at that plane up there, kids.’’ Uncle Chet pointed as I loaded up. ``Charles Lindberg flew that across the Atlantic Ocean.’’

They focused on it for about a second, then the little miscreant asked, ``Are there any restaurants in here?’’

"Let’s go up there.’’ Buddy pointed at the mezzanine, then led us to the stairs, moving past a giant rocket as if it were a pine tree.

On the second floor, we saw space capsules, instrument panels, a moon lander. We walked through a flight simulator, saw Amelia Earhart’s red Lockheed 5B Vega monoplane, and at each stop, the adults wanted to linger but the children plunged forward.

``You’ve heard of Amelia Earhart?’’ Uncle Chet arrested them.

``Yes,’’ said the little miscreant.

``Well, this is the plane she flew across the Atlantic Ocean. She was the first woman to do that,’’ he related.

``That’s nice,’’ said the little miscreant with so little enthusiasm that she cut him short. Soon after that, we made our way to the McDonald’s downstairs and, for about $50, took the edge off our hunger.

Bellies half full, moods improved, we exited Air and Space in early afternoon.

``Off to the Capitol; you’re going to really like this,’’ said Uncle Chet, who led the way into the chilly wind tunnel.

The reflecting pool was choppy and full of litter, though a bundled janitor was vainly trying to clean it with a net. We sidled past him, started up the steps of the deserted Capitol.

``Looks closed,’’ I said.

``They can’t close the Capitol on a Monday,’’ Uncle Chet asserted, but halfway up the steps, we were stopped by a soldier with a submachine gun. He pointed us to a ticket booth down by the road, but when we got there, no one was inside.

``I want to go back to the train,’’ Buddy sighed his familiar refrain.

This time, no one disagreed, and minutes later we were riding away from the nation’s capital, vowing not to return until there was a change in the weather, and the regime.

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Cooperstown News Bureau Reporter Tom Grace is traveling with his Uncle Chet, who he says is imaginary. Grace’s column appears twice monthly.