Snakes. They don’t just slither on the ground, drop from trees on unsuspecting people, or sprout from Medusa’s head––they are also in the water! Snakes are attacking us from the ground, air, and sea!
Three brave Trailheads, Guy, Roy, and Patrick, met to hike at Sweetwater Creek Trail (read about our last visit here). In the parking lot, Guy distributed our Halloween costumes––fake mustaches. Roy wore one over his home-grown facial hair (or is that a disguise?) to amuse Trail Master, and we looked suitably silly before taking step one. Especially when Patrick's ‘stache slipped and turned into a toothless smile.
We began our hike and read a sign warning about two types of water snakes who haunt these waters: the venomous Cottonmouth and the non-venomous Banded Water Snake.
For the uninformed, “venomous” is not good, so if you’re given a choice, select the Banded Water Snake to bite you––but why you are selecting snakes to bite you is beyond us. Whatever. You do you. No judgments here. Neither of the vipers will probably bite you unless provoked. And who goes around provoking snakes? Certainly not us. We provoke snails (because we can usually outrun them).
Upon seeing the scary snake warning sign, Roy began trembling in fear.
“I don’t want to die,” he said, beginning to enter the water. “I’m too young to die.”
“Don’t worry,” Guy said. “Now, get out of the damn water, and I’ll hold your hand.”
“Thanks, Trail Master.”
“And stop crying before you start a flood.”
The two men walked safely down the trail as Patrick looked on and wondered why Roy had tempted danger in the water. Did he imagine himself Lloyd Bridges from "Sea Hunt”?
As he usually does, Patrick wears snakeskin hiking boots, so he fears nothing (he also keeps a bearskin rug in the car in case of emergencies). Snakes don't screw with Patrick, and bears cower in his presence lest they end up as floor covering. Raccoons whisper his name.
We saw the New Manchester Manufacturing Mills ruins, where the cloth for Confederate uniforms was made. Our account of a hike over two years ago (read it here) provides a historical deep dive into the area, a hotbed of Civil War activity. We quickly checked our attire to make sure we were not wearing gray.
A man was walking his large German Shepherd dog, and we let him pass. Guy tried to strike up a conversation, as he was wont to do, but the man only uttered guttural sounds, and his dog looked away, muttering something about not speaking the language. It was a conversational cul-de-sac. We continued.
Trail Master led us up the hill, which led to another hill. Suddenly, it was like we were getting legitimate exercise. Our hearts are not used to that; they sped up, telling the brain to cut it out. “I dannae is she can take any more, Captain,” they said.
It was a beautiful autumn day. The leaves lined the path like the red carpet to a movie premiere. Our sweat dripped on the leaves, which glistened in the dappled light. The colors and glimmering foliage appeared to be flashbacks to college days. We felt youthful and re-energized hiking the path with fresh vigor and no dates (just like college).
We saw a tree aroused by the sight of producing such beautiful colors. Trees can be naughty that way. We averted our eyes and moved along.
At the top of the hill, we found a restroom. Guy peeked in and announced it was “a two-holer,” so he, Fio, and Patrick went in to do their business. Fio was disappointed to discover there was no tree in the restroom for her relief station. Not realizing it, Fio had designated this as an all-gender restroom. She is a trailblazer.
A lovely woman with two children talked with Guy as he quizzed them about their Halloween costumes. He inquired if the child strapped to her was real or an animatronic. Roy and Patrick watched, pretending they didn't know him as they listened to their empty stomachs roaring.
We texted fellow Trailheads our lunch plans, and Brad said he would join us. Steve and George were radio silent. Perhaps they were at Bones enjoying lobster and porterhouse steaks. We hate them. They’ll find snakes in their Christmas stockings.
We headed into the city for Rodney Scott’s BBQ, a beautiful, spacious restaurant near Mercedes Benz Stadium. If you don’t know, Rodney Scott is the celebrated South Carolinian Pit Master who specializes in whole hog barbecue (read about our last visit here).
We placed our orders and secured a table in the covered patio area, and Brad and Elvis joined us for the festivities. They have the Trailheads eating spirit.
A petite woman exited the restaurant wearing a Rodney Scott tee shirt and cap. We, of course, spoke to her and realized we had met her before. She was the pit master. Her name is Miss Angie, and she’s been a smoking wiz since 2012, having worked at DAS BBQ and other barbecue restaurants. She heard the renowned Rodney was opening a joint in Atlanta, applied, and was hired. Smart move, Rodney.
Guy asked her what it takes to be a great pit master, and Miss Angie said perhaps the most profound thing any of us had heard that wasn’t in a fortune cookie: “You got to love your meat like you love your man.” She learned this wisdom from her grandfather, who smoked, and said, “You got to love your meat like you love your woman.” Whatever your gender, it’s all about love, baby.
She had to get back to smokin’, and we had to get down to eatin’.
“Rod’s Original Whole Hog Pulled Pork Plate” is a generous helping of pork with your choice of two sides and cornbread. It’s an excellent value for a hearty feed.
The succulent pork has a peppery punch and is delicious. But don’t cheat yourself. Dress that meat with one of the unique sauces: Rodney’s Sauce has a nice vinegar tang with pepper and lemon, Kathy’s Sauce has tomato and brown sugar with a sweet kiss, and “Other” Sauce is a vinegar-base with tomato and spices. There are no wrong choices. Experiment and delight your tastebuds.
The spareribs are fantastic. They are big, lean, and meaty, glazed with sauce and glimmering like gold. Go to town. The serving is so abundant you can spare a rib to share. As they say on the menu board, "These ain't no baby backs." Trailheads also love baby backs and are open to all rib types. Bring ‘em.
The smoked beef brisket is also tasty. It may not be the whole hog because that would be the whole steer, but you’ll go the whole hog on it.
Elvis and Fio looked at our plates of food and hoped they’d get some. We treated them to some scraps. They were in dog heaven.
Rodney’s baked beans are legit. Every forkful is satisfying.
The slaw is creamy, sweet cabbage goodness.
The collard greens are authentic. If that’s your jam, here’s your garden. Dig ‘em deep. They're loaded with flavor.
Mac & Cheese is gooey goodness with a satisfying crunchy crust. It’ll make you say, “Um, um, Aunt Bea!” until you realize you’re not in an episode of “The Andy Griffith Show.” Too bad. You could get a trim at Floyd’s Barber Shop.
And the hush puppies, OMG, the hush puppies–– crispy, large fried balls of goodness that have got to be good for you, right? Don’t answer that.
Finally, there’s the cornbread—little loaves of lovin’ comfort food. The outside has a crispy snap, and the inside is moist and corny. Be still our hearts––this meal may do just that.
We talked and swapped tales, patting our satisfied bellies and preparing to hurry home before the trick-or-treaters assaulted our houses.
Trailheads had learned a valuable life lesson from Miss Angie, our treat to finish an incredible day.
She definitely loves her meat. And so do we. Snakes, not so much.
Rating: Four Ribs*
Rodney Scott's Whole Hog BBQ
668 Metropolitan Pkwy SW, Atlanta, GA 30310
*About Our Barbecue Rating System
Trailheads do not claim to be food experts, epicureans, or sophisticated palates. We are hungry hikers who attack a selected barbecue venue and ravage our way through whatever smoked fare and fixings they're dishing out.
Our reviews feature what we believe are the highlights of the menu we sampled. So our intent is not to trash talk the saintly folks who tend to smoldering smokers on hot, humid summer days. They are sacrificing themselves in the noble art of smoking meats and feeding the drooling masses. Many are independent entrepreneurs who are the backbone of this humming American economy.
Now that you know our standards, you may wonder why every barbecue place gets a four-ribs rating. The answer is easy: our group has acclaimed designers, and they think the ribs graphic looks cool.
Who are we to argue? Enjoy.
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