“Welcome to Trailheads Talk,” the radio host said. “The number one source for hiking and barbecue news. Let’s go to the phones. Hank from Lilburn, you’re on.”
“Hi, Stu. Long time listener, first time caller. Love your show. I’m a huge fan.”
“Uh-huh. Got a question, Lilburn?”
“Yeah. What’s up with the Trailheads? They don’t seem to hike anymore, and the barbecue industry’s cratered with them out of circulation.”
“True. They have missed a couple of weeks.”
“Did bears eat them? They fall off a cliff or something?”
“Both are definite possibilities with those clowns, but Trailheads are fine. One week, they played hooky and ate sushi— it wasn’t even raining. And the next week, Trail Master was away, so the mice all played. They were lazy slugs.”
“I’ll miss those jokers now that they’ve hung up their hiking boots and called it quits.”
Not so fast, sports fans––Trailheads were back on the path to truth and barbecue this week. Well, three Trailheads were: Trail Master Guy, Brad, and Patrick rallied. Where were the missing hikers? They were in Lame Excuse Land.
George couldn’t join us because one of his Olympics History websites had been infected with malware––and he suspects Russian hackers. George always thinks evil forces are shadowing him, and there are lots of bad actors on the internet. They’re messing with the wrong man.
Steve was getting a new door for his 10-year-old Lexus and scheduled the repair for Thursday, which has been the Trailheads’ official hiking day for almost three years. Didn’t he see the pattern in our schedule? He had the repair done at a body shop in Sugar Hill since his local Lexus dealership wanted $1,000 more to do the job. Had Russian hackers infiltrated the Lexus dealership? The car door is probably from the Lada in the movie "Funeral In Berlin."
And Roy Tumbles was nursing a pickleball injury. He has something hinky with a bone next to his clavicle that gives him intermittent pain, yet he played pickleball the day before for hours. Guess what? His arm had an “ouchie” on Thursday morning. So, for the record, Roy couldn’t hike because he was icing an arm injury. Many people are speculating there must be a Russian cyber connection with pickleball. Does Putin have a grand ‘dinking strategy?’ Why does Roy speak with a distinct Russian accent and keep referring to us as "comrades."
Trail Master Guy selected the Doll’s Head Trail in Conley for our weekly adventure. We’ve been there (read about it here). Before we hiked, we gathered for the gum ritual. Guy kindly provides his troops with chewing and bubble gum for our hikes.
Why? We suspect it’s because he believes some of us cannot walk and chew gum at the same time (looking at you, Roy Tumbles). Or maybe he’s in the pocket of big Wrigley. Then again, he may just be a generous soul. Yeah, let’s go with that––until he hits us.
We began down the concrete trail chewing gum under a tree canopy. After about ten minutes, Guy asked us if we remembered him locking his car. Patrick said he did, but Guy doesn’t trust anything that liar says, so he returned to the parking lot to double-check. Backtracking this early in the hike? We were not off to a good start. Since Brad often forgets to lock his car, he kept his trap shut.
Guy returned and reported his car had indeed been locked.
“I told you,” Patrick said. Guy hauled off and beat him to within an inch of his life.
“Don’t ever sass-talk me again, maggot,” Trail Master barked.
“Yes, sir,” Patrick whimpered, mopping blood from his nose. Maybe Guy wasn’t the gum-giving sweetheart we’d thought.
The three Trailheads and Fio and Elvis hiked on a beautiful boardwalk overlooking Constitution Lake. A photographer was glued to his camera eyepiece, capturing either candid wildlife shots or close-ups of his fingers. It was a clear and beautiful day, but it would soon get hot.
“We’re getting into the dog days of summer,” Elvis said. Fio agreed.
“Quit bragging,” we replied. “It’s hot for us humans.”
"Try doing the hike in a fur coat, Mr. ‘Look-at-me-I-can-walk-on-two-legs!’"
We came to a sign directing us to the Doll’s Head Trail, but our Trail Master said we should hike a loop first. He began trudging on what appeared to be a trail but soon turned into natural vegetation and those creeping vines that love to trip feet.
This seemed to be prime real estate for chiggers and ticks and Copperheads and rabid squirrels, but our leader didn’t care. We asked if he knew where he was going.
“Absolutely,” he said.
“Are you sure we’re not lost?” we whined.
“I’m never lost.” Guy continued leading us, and Brad gave him a hand signal of appreciation.
Fifteen minutes later, we came upon the trail again, proving that if you keep going, you’ll eventually get somewhere, and sometimes it might be where you intended.
The Doll’s Head Trail was created by volunteers who rehabbed this space, once a garbage dump, into a found-art installation. It was the burial ground for many dolls, now resurrected and glorified in various settings.
There are also inspiring messages and smart-aleck wisdom of the ages.
The Thoreau quote is curious.
It refers to the incident when the famous nature lover went into the woods, chopped down rare trees, made a pair of stilts, and exited the forest, bragging about his height. The naturalist crowd was not amused with Henry David.
This singular trail surprises and rewards hikers with clever artwork and provocative juxtapositions. You will enjoy it, or you’ll be disappointed. Welcome to life.
Throughout our hike, we heard gunfire in the distance. We wondered if it was Russians. Then we remembered that this area is close to Cop City. Someone was having shooting practice. We hoped we would not be moving targets. We hurried along.
Trailheads explored the train trestle bridge and took our obligatory selfie.
The dogs excitedly ran to the creek and went for a cool dip. We decided on our lunch spot and phoned our missing compatriots, who, although they could not bother to hike, were excited to join us and eat. We would have a full quorum for barbecue.
We began hiking back to the parking lot, walking on slender wooden planks probably cut by Henry David Thoreau. Why was he so angry at trees?!
Driving to our lunch spot, we zipped past the Atlanta Federal Penitentiary and made plans for how we might escape that joint. Our best idea was to construct a helicopter from matchsticks, gum, and propeller blades. First, we would all have to go on diets.
Our lunch location was Wood's Chapel BBQ in the Summerhill area of downtown Atlanta. We’d been before (read about it here). This is a beautiful restaurant near the old Ted Stadium that Georgia State University now owns.
There’s lots of indoor seating and a large outdoor patio. The six Trailheads rallied and made our way through the ordering line.
We coerced one of the friendly Wood’s Chapel BBQ associates to take a picture of us. The non-hikers splashed water on their tee shirts to make it look like they had hiked (the lazy lollygaggers). We gabbed and gossiped and dug into our plates of food.
Guy and Brad ordered the two meat platters with St. Louis-style ribs and beef brisket. They raved about the brisket: “This is fantastic,” Brad said. Guy dug into a rib and said it was terrific. They were happy carnivores.
Steve and Patrick opted for pulled pork sandwiches, and Roy went for a chopped brisket sandwich. The tasty buns are toasted and loaded with succulent, smokey pork or beef. We dressed our sandwiches with hog mop sauce, barbecue sauce, or the tangy Carolina mustard liquid gold and dug in. All the sauces are flavorful but made for some messy-looking sandwiches. They were perfection in a bun.
George ordered a rack of ribs. He thought he ordered a half rack, but since Patrick offered to pay for his lunch, he possibly said a rack of ribs when he ordered. He couldn't remember, and it didn’t matter since Patrick paid with his library card.
We’re not sure what George’s smile looks like anymore since we only see his teeth when he’s biting into a rib. The ribs satiated his anger after the Russian malware incident.
Now for the sides. The baked beans were incredible. Authentic and delicious. Keep your Boston Baked Beans in Boston.
The creamed corn is gussied up with chili mayo, cotija, and lime, and its unique, delectable taste makes it a winner. Well done, chef, keep playing with your food. We love the results.
The white bean turkey chili is a bowl of hearty goodness. Grab a spoon and get digging.
Roy, our resident slaw expert, enjoys Wood’s Chapel BBQ’s unique beet & jalapeno coleslaw. It tastes like regular slaw but with a funkier color. He double-dipped using the slaw to top his sandwich also.
The braised greens were the real deal, studded with tender smoked pork for body, flavor, and street cred.
Patrick proclaimed his tater tots some of the best he’s ever popped into his piehole. Others had to sample them and make sure he wasn’t babbling like a madman (which he tends to do). The samplers agreed. The tots were cooked crispy and spiced perfectly. The humble tot was invented in 1953 by F. Nephi Grigg of Ore-Ida, and we think even he would be impressed with these babies.
We sat around the table, loosened our belts, let the blubber flow like lava, talked, and laughed. It had been a grand day. But we were on high alert––who knew what Russian cyber chicanery would appear next? If you have any theories, call Trailheads Talk and discuss.
Rating: Four Ribs*
Wood's Chapel BBQ
85 Georgia Ave SE
Atlanta GA 30312
404.522.3000
*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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