When Batman got a call from Gotham City Mayor Hamilton Hill, he obeyed it. When Trailheads got a call from Atlanta Mayor Andre Dickens, they ignored it.
Hizzoner Dickens left us voicemails warning us that the air quality on Thursday morning would be harmful because of the BioLabs fire. The wind would take the fumes from Conyers to the big city. Our friend Bert even took a photo of the incoming cloud of doom. Yikes.
The mayor's voicemail, clearly a sign of his concern for Trailheads’ well-being (we all voted for him, after all), stated that the EPA and Georgia Department of Public Health had warned that the air would be filled with chlorine fumes, which could irritate the eyes and pose a potential danger to those with respiratory issues and heart conditions.
It was as if he were daring us, saying, "Men of a certain age with hyper-sensitive dogs, beware!!! You’re way too fragile.”
Trail Master Guy advised his troops that he would give the Atlanta air a sniffer test in the morning and decide whether we should hike (as if there was ever any doubt–– he’d take us out after a nuclear mushroom cloud). He woke, stuffed cotton balls in his nose, and performed his scientific sniff test. Nothing! The hike was on Thursday morning at Whittier Mill Park Trail. We last hiked here in December 2022 (read about that adventure here and learn its fascinating history).
We were down two hikers. Globetrottin’ George is off to his Bend, OR, estate to enjoy his family and try tracking down Monique Redmon, the founder of Hikerbabes. We recently met some Atlanta Chapter members (read about it here). And Steve blew off hiking because he had a medical appointment when he could have been challenging his health with us.
Guy drove Patrick to Whittier Park and waited for Roy and Brad. Around the corner, Roy and Brad sat wondering what was taking Guy and Patrick so long. Eventually, they realized everyone was in the neighborhood. Typical Trailheads: we were lost before we started.
The hike began. We walked across the field, which we learned had been underwater post-Helene. Trailheads send our best wishes to all those whose lives were disrupted and destroyed by this awful hurricane, and we ask Mother Nature for mercy. Please!
The flooded grounds were firm but slippery. We ascended the path to the train tracks and reminded ourselves that three-quarters of this crew were descendants of hard-working, dedicated railroad men.
Roy’s namesakes – grandpappy Roy Lewis and Great Uncle Roy Hodges worked for L&N Railroad in Alabama. Patrick’s grandfather was a railroad engineer in western Pennsylvania, and across the Keystone State, Brad’s grandfather, disabled from WWI, also worked for the railroad.
Unfortunately, he died when shrapnel from a war wound traveled the rails of his circulatory system and killed him––a sad tale.
Naturally, we took to the rails like fish to tartar sauce. We told one another that we could probably work on the railroad all the live long day, just to pass the time away (and for the pay––what are we, chumps?!)
No one had any change, so we couldn't put a coin on the rail to flatten it like we did when we were kids. There are federal laws against that, but hey, we were ignoring the mayor's orders as it was. We’re bad boys. Desperadoes.
Of course, we’d be shocked to learn that while we were working on the railroad, Dinah was in the kitchen with someone strumming on the old banjo. Isn’t that just like her? That one might be a little obscure for anyone born after 1960, but that's what they invented the Google for.
We descended the trail into the woods. The Chattahoochee River had flooded this area after overdrawing its banks. The leaves were muddy, and the trail slippery. We saw some woodland creatures had left a scat trail along the path. Why can’t woodland animals be more civilized?
Based on our extensive knowledge of wild animal scat and a quick online search, we determined that it must have been a herd of deer wandering along the trail. On this day, they were hiding—no doubt from their shame of not being housebroken.
Soon, we were walking alongside the mighty Hooch. Some of us wore our exclusive Hike The Hooch gear (you can order yours here). ALL profits from sales benefit Chattahoochee National Park Conservancy to help support the Chattahoochee River National Recreation Area. You’ll look good while supporting a great cause. Please help us maintain nature’s beauty.
Elvis saw the Hooch below and charged downhill for a refreshing dip as Brad screamed, “No, Elvis, NO!!!” Elvis swam carefree as we looked on. The currents were moving fast, and Elvis hung close to the bank. Brad shouted for his dog, and Elvis scampered from the river, scrambling uphill and sliding back down. He tried repeatedly with no luck. Elvis was stranded on the beach.
Trail Master entered full MacGyver mode and quickly fashioned an attack plan to rescue Elvis.
“We’ll use our leashes,” Guy said. “Brad, you hold on to my short leash. Patrick will anchor me by holding my belt. Loop your long leash to my short one and go down the hill. Hook your leash onto Elvis’ collar and help him up. Then we’ll pull you up. Bing, bang, boom.”
“What will Roy do?” Patrick asked.
“Take pictures,” Guy replied. “And check his social media.”
“Why do I have to do everything?” Roy whined.
We had a brilliant plan, but could we execute it? This was like the Ocean’s Eleven movies… without the star power or excitement, but we pulled off the caper.
Brad descended. He had to enter the water and gain footing in the muck to help his 110 lb. baby boy up out of the Hooch and onto firm ground to run up the hill as Brad dragged his sorry wet ass upward, thanks to the ingenious leash system and Guy and Patrick’s herculean strength. They are men’s men, macho as can be.
Roy was off to the side, complaining about his weak cell signal.
“Why does everything bad happen to me?” he bellyached. “It’s like I’m cursed.”
Elvis was immediately put on a short leash by drenched Brad in muddy boots. We continued down the trail and encountered another dilemma––a large fallen tree.
Patrick suggested we call for a chopper to airlift us out. Roy agreed.
“What else can we do?” he said with a shrug.
Trail Master shook his head in disgust, fell on his hands and knees to the muddy ground, and crawled under the trunk. He stared like he expected us to follow his lead.
Roy Tumbles went over the trunk as Patrick went under. Brad and Elvis got even muddier going under. At that point, what did it matter?
We hiked to the train trestle spanning the Hooch, grabbed a selfie, and complained (for the fifteenth time) that we were hungry. Since Brad was covered in mud and probably some toxic waste from the floods, Trail Master devised the shortest way back to our cars. There was no telling when he and Elvis might turn into flesh-eating zombies. And with the knowledge of impending barbecue feasts, we all moved quickly before they began feasting on us.
Our barbecue destination was virgin territory: Owens & Hull at Grand Champion. We were excited for our inaugural visit.
This joint is located on the ground floor of the Eddy Riverview Landing Apartments on the Hooch in Mableton/Smyrna, sharing space with Reformation Brewery.
We saw a man taking a couple of logs from a stack of wood (Georgia oak) and feeding them into a 500-gallon offset smoker made by Primitive Pits, a Georgia-based company. We chatted with him.
It was pitmaster Bryan Hull, a man trained in the smoking arts in Fort Worth, TX. Talk about having street cred. Hull moved to Atlanta and opened his pop-up place, Secret Pint, in 2021. He immediately made a name for himself.
Pitmaster Robert Owens began talking with Hull about joining forces. Owens learned his smoking craft at Sam & Dave’s BBQ in Marietta and opened Grand Champion BBQ in 2011.
The two men were intrigued by the combination of Georgia-style and Texas-style barbecue and decided to combine forces. Owens & Hull at Grand Champion was born. And boy, howdy, did the world take notice.
Texas Monthly sampled 149 Texas-style barbecue joints in 37 states and selected Owens & Hull GC as Georgia’s best barbecue, ranking it third in the nation (outside of Texas). Zagat’s, Southern Living, Atlanta, and New York Times Style magazines have praised the restaurant. With praise like that, we had high expectations. They were fulfilled and exceeded.
Owens & Hull GC offers a limited menu on Thursdays and Sundays and a whole assortment of pork and beef favorites on Fridays and Saturdays. They only smoke premium-grade beef and pork from Creekstone Farms. Animals are humanely raised with no antibiotics, added hormones, growth stimulants, or artificial ingredients. They are never kept in cages, and fed vegetarian diets.
We asked pitmaster Bryan what he recommended, and he said the brisket burger or smoked turkey. Sam, a delightful woman working the counter, agreed those were the pick hits. Bryan is mentoring her to become a pitmaster. We love knowledge-sharing and wish someone would do that with us. We need it.
Roy, Guy, and Brad ordered the smoked burgers, and Patrick went for the pulled pork. He believes one should sample the most basic barbecue fare as a gauge on the first visit. Patrick is a silly man but a purist.
We sat in the hallway that separates the restaurant from Reformation Brewery next door, and being good guests, we decided to sample the brews. We enjoyed the Mexican beer and West Coast-style IPA. A Reformation beer pairs nicely with barbecue, Milk Duds, or Jujubes, for that matter.
The smoked burgers were a huge hit. Trailheads gushed about the two ground brisket burger patties cooked with a generous helping of black pepper and dressed with two slices of melted American cheese served on Martin’s bun (the good stuff) and dressed to the nines with a special sauce, and smoked onion jam.
“Amazing flavors,” muddy Brad said, with his mouth full.
Patrick was impressed with his pulled pork sandwich. The moist, tender meat was mixed with a nice peppery bark and served on Martin’s bun. He topped the generous savory meat mound with the house barbecue sauce, a sweet and tangy blend that ups the game of any smoked meat.
All the sauces are excellent.
For the sides, we sampled the coleslaw.
“This is incredible,” Guy said. “Reminds me of the slaw I had as a kid.” Imagine that: time machine slaw. Our slaw expert Roy agreed this was a first-rate version of the cabbage-carrot-Bermuda onion concoction.
Patrick had Pepper Jack Cheese Grits. They rocked. It’s a beautiful, gritty medley of Pepper Jack cheese, roasted poblanos, and cream cheese.
And Brad was goo-goo-eyed for his Collards Greens with bacon, garlic, and a bite that doesn’t leave a mark.
We sat back and enjoyed talking with Sam––“Sam, I am,” she said. She brought us a sample slice of the smoked turkey. We each had a bite and agreed it was a mighty fine gobbler. It would make any day one for Thanksgiving.
As Trailheads left Owens & Hull Grand Champion, we vowed we’d be back––and maybe bring Mayor Andre with us.
Rating: Four Ribs*
Owens and Hull at Grand Champion
6255 Riverview Rd SE
Building 4000 STE 100
Mableton, GA 30126
*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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