Steve was sick, and Roy was at the doctor’s office. Olympics Expert George, fresh back from the fabulous Paris Games, was hit by what he called “La vengeance de Montezuma” after eating bad escargot in the City of Lights. Perhaps it was “Chef Henri’s Revenge”—a French gift, like the Statue of Liberty.
That left Guy (Mr. Trail Master), Brad, and Patrick accompanied by Fio and Elvis, to fly the Trailhead’s flag. Brad requested an in-city hike close to his place because he's Mr. Busy, so we chose the Morningside Nature Trail, which we hiked in February (read all about it here).
This trail can be as short or as long as you wish. You must descend wood steps to the main trail (they used to be metal steps that spooked the dogs—they don't like seeing what's below them as they walk), then cross bridges, and explore sandy beaches by a creek. Many spidery tributary paths run off the main trail, and as Trail Master led his troops, he was determined to explore brave new lands.
It was a hot, muggy day, and Patrick had forgotten to bring the backpack AC unit to cool Guy and Brad as they hiked. They were as angry as beavers in a steel mill.
“How could you forget the air conditioner?” Guy asked. “We could sweat!”
“I don’t want dew on my brow,” Brad said. “It’ll make my mascara run.”
(Brad had just shorn his facial hair and was very sensitive to heat and bright light.)
“I’m so sorry,” Patrick said, lugging the ice chest filled with cold Perrier and a large tin of Beluga caviar.
“Can’t you fashion a fan like those Roman emperors used to have?” Guy asked. “Then you could wave it back and forth to cool us.”
The pack mule hung his head in shame, tears rolling down his cheek. “I’ll do better next time,” Patrick said. “It’ll never happen again, sir. Promise.”
“It had better not!” Guy said.
The men and dogs hiked on, with Patrick in the rear, sad, shunned, and mumblingto himself. On this mid-August day, the trail was full of hikers and dogs. We passed a man with two African Ridgebacks, and we commented on how handsome they were. He lobbed back kind words about Fio and Elvis.
Then, he explained that his Ridgebacks were initially bred to hunt African lions. Elvis looked at Fio. The Ridgebacks gave them a badass nod.
“Big deal,” Elvis whispered to Fio. “We could do that,”
“Yeah,” she agreed. “If only Atlanta had some stupid lions.”
Elvis nodded. “Did I ever tell you about the time I almost caught a squirrel?”
Fio rolled her eyes. “Yes, E––only about a million times…”
Elvis then mentioned that Fio could be mistaken for a lion with a perm at a distance. She was not pleased with that.
Down the trail, we went to an area that looked like a chiggers and ticks breeding ground, with tall greenery and lots of places for parasites to hide and attack unsuspecting hikers.
“That looks interesting,” Trail Master said. “Follow me.”
“Are you sure, Guy?” Patrick asked, his voice trembling. “It looks pretty chiggery.”
“Those dogs hunt lions, and you’re afraid of some itsy-bitsy bugs? Man up, son,” he said. “We’re Trailheads!”
We began wading our way through the jungles as the hungry insects strapped on bibs.
The tributary path led to a main trail, which we hiked to the beach so the dogs could frolic in the water. We suspect Ridgebacks don’t “frolic” –– they probably chill in hot tubs until it's game time, then settle into a nice lion dinner with a chianti. Up on the bridge, we noticed a man holding a camera.
“Uh-oh,” Brad said. “Paparazzi.”
“Not again,” Guy said, wiping his brow.
Patrick quickly called for makeup and hair. "Powderpuff! I need a powderpuff, STAT––I have a little shine!”
Trailheads are often hunted by shutterbugs who snap secret pics and sell them to the tabloids that make up outrageous stories to sell papers. Some recent headlines include:
TRAILHEADS-KARDASHIAN CLASH GETS UGLY
YOU WON’T BELIEVE WHAT TRAILHEADS DID NOW
WILL TRAILHEADS JOIN TAY TAY ON ERAS TOUR?
TRAILHEADS ARE THE LATEST K-POP SENSATION
VIDEO FOUND OF TRAILHEADS BRINGING MARILYN BACK TO LIFE WITH ANCIENT MAYAN RITUAL.
We approached the photographer on the bridge. Patrick got all bowed up and talked tough.
"Yo, what are you shooting us for, my man?"
Timo is a Finnish photographer who recently moved to Atlanta from Los Angeles. No doubt the LA celebrity news well had run dry, so he boarded the Trailheads gravy train. We talked and asked for his film roll.
“Sorry,” he said. “Don’t have one. It's a digital camera.”
“Then give us the genie who lives in your magic box and draws the pictures,” Patrick said.
“Sorry, Timo. He writes.” Brad apologized. “Patrick doesn’t know how technology works.”
Because he was friendly and agreed to share his shot with us, we let Timo keep his pictures, which will no doubt soon be splashed across gossip rags worldwide. We suggest that Timo shoot at a higher resolution next time to catch our rippling muscles and tanned, glistening bodies. Just sayin'.
Trailheads hiked on and encountered a snake. A giant, black snake. We wondered if it was poisonous and if it would make a cool necklace. Patrick once saw an Alice Cooper concert where the singer wore a boa constrictor like it was jewelry, but he wasn’t going to risk grabbing this slithery monster.
Roy is our snake expert because his phone has a snake identification app. We got as close as we dared to take pictures (the snake was probably thinking, “damn paparazzi”). After snapping pics, we kept moving with a spring in our steps.
Roy later identified the viper as a non-viper, non-venomous (snake people will snake-slap you if you call the slithery creatures poisonous). “It's a Black Eastern Rat Snake,” Roy said later. “He’s one of the good guys. And boy, howdy, that was a big one!"
Up off the trail was a sign reading PRIVATE PROPERTY, NO TRESPASSING, so naturally, Guy went into the area to explore. Brad and Patrick waited, debating whether they would drag Trail Master’s body out after he got shot for a proper burial. Or maybe we’d leave his remains for the raccoons and coyotes to feast upon. Tough choice– nurture or nature?
The hooligan returned and reported he’d discovered a treehouse with an addition sprawled over two trees. “What, no pool?” we asked. He called us Wisenheimers and told us to keep marching. He’d had enough of our “guff”—whatever that was.
We heard a Tarzan yell echo across the forest as we walked away. Could that have been his tree home with Jane, Boy, and Cheetah? Did we miss an opportunity to meet Johnny Weissmuller and Maureen O'Sullivan?
We came upon some vegetation, and Guy struck a pose like Juan Valdez, the famous Columbian coffee bean picker used in advertising for five decades. Actor Carlos Castañeda, who portrayed the fictional character, passed away on April 26, 2024. We raise our coffee mugs to him and wish the famous mule driver, “Happy Trails.”
Back on the beach, we met an interesting man named Lindley. He collects artifacts he finds in the creek washed from the trash of Emory Hospital and the Veterans Administration Hospital on Briarcliff.
He said he had found glass hypodermic needles and metal “taps” for children’s shoes back in polio days. You meet the most fascinating people with the oddest hobbies on the trails. Weird hobbies like hiking.
Hunger consumed us, and we began returning to the cars for lunch at one of our favorite joints, Fox Bros. Bar-B-Q, the original location on DeKalb Ave. Read about our last visit here.
Roy was supposed to join us for lunch but was having car problems. Wah-wah. His battery was dead. At our age, we can all identify with that. We shed no tears since that meant more food for us, and sped across town.
The three Trailheads grabbed an outdoor table under an umbrella, and our friendly server brought water for humans and dogs. The yellow umbrella caused trouble for our food photos. You'll see they all have a yellow aura. We assure you the food tasted better than it looks here. Sorry, Brothers Fox.
“Whoa,” Patrick said. “The daily special is chicken fried steak. I don’t care if it’s not barbecue. I’ve gotta get it.” Guy, who also used to live in Texas, said he’d do the same. But first, we’d split some smoked wings in honor of the chickens in the kitchen frying the steak. Trust us, no one fries steak like a chicken.
Any Fox Bros. visit must include their incredible chicken wings, wet or dry. We ordered ours “extra crispy and wet,” and everyone agreed they were transcendent––the best bird flappers in Atlanta.
A proper chicken fried steak is a beautiful thing, and since the Brothers Fox hail from The Lone Star State, they make a delicious version of this classic.
On the menu, it’s called a “Central Texas Schnitzel.” That’s fancy talk for a top-round steak pounded thin, breaded, and fried to a golden crisp topped with lakes of incredible black pepper gravy. No, the gravy isn’t offered in an I.V. bag to go––we asked. However, a proper I.V. bag might be needed later.
Brad upheld our barbecue heritage and had the smoked beef brisket and jalapeno cheddar sausage. He and Guy wore the official Trailheads “Steer” tee shirt, which perfectly complimented his barbecue. He loved his main course and scarfed it down.
That brings us to the sides. Brad enjoyed his spicy green beans with tomatoes, potatoes, and a sauce that kicked up some heat. The recently cleaned-shaven Trailhead dug into his spicy collard greens peppered with meat and some palate-pleasing bang.
Guy and Patrick enjoyed their fresh-made mashed taters smothered in that delectable black pepper gravy. Boy, howdy, it ate like a fever dream.
Patrick also savored his brisket chili side––pure meat, pure flavor, pure heaven on a spoon.
We loosened our belts and let the bellies ooze. It had been a good day. Now, we would just have to avoid the paparazzi on our rides home. We called for our makeup department.
Okay, eagle eyes, see if you can spot the Trailheads sticker on the Fox Bros. door. If you find it, you win. Now… where’s Waldo?
Rating: Four Ribs*
Fox Bros. Bar-B-Q
1238 Dekalb Ave NE, Atlanta, GA 30328
404 577-4030
*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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