Bad Boy Brad on The Lam From The Law, Loses Car Keys, Saved By Fair Damsel, Then Feasts At Community Q.

Your mom warned you about having friends like Trailhead Brad. He’s a man who plays by his own rules, rebels against authority, and refuses to be constrained by society’s “stupid laws.”

How bad is he? Here’s a picture of the jungle gym he played on as a kid. 

“It toughened me up,” he says as he tugs on Superman’s cape, spits in the wind, and pulls the mask off that old Lone Ranger. 

Everyone knows you don’t mess around with Brad.

This week, Brad explained that he was on the lam from Johnnie Law. On Christmas Eve in Metter, the Georgia State Patrol cited him for driving with an expired license plate tag–bah humbug!

Brad paid his fine online but was also supposed to appear in Metter court. He either forgot or ignored it. He was notified yesterday that his driver’s license has been suspended for a year for being a lawless no-goodnik. 

As Brad tells his story, he transforms into Edward G. Robinson in Little Caesar. 

“So, here’s the low down, see? If they think they can build a hoosegow to hold me, they got another thing coming,” he says mockingly. “There ain’t a crossbar motel that can contain a rowdy palooka like me, see?” He smiles, chomps his cigar, and gives a belly laugh that rattles the ground. “Just let the coppers try. They won’t take me alive, see? I’ll fix their wagons, capiche? But toot sweet!”

Brad was speaking in tongues. With his criminal behavior, we wondered if we’d soon be a hiking chain gang.

Fortunately, Brad plays pickleball with a Lincoln Lawyer named Bob, who is defending the lawbreaker, but he said it would take a few days to sort out. Time is a social construct that Brad has no use for. The wanted man took his car to hike the Morningside Nature Trail with Guy, Steve, and Patrick. At Bob’s suggestion, he had Elvis do the actual driving.

Roy remains on the disabled list due to his plantar fasciitis, while George is frantically recording podcasts and promoting the world premiere of his movie about the Atlanta ’96 Olympic Games.

The crew began their hike, ascending the hill on a magnificent morning with the trees showcasing their new spring coats. Guy regaled us with tales from the Southwest. He and his bride, Patty, had recently returned from a vacation in Santa Fe and Taos, where they enjoyed the local foods and asked the locals if they were Bulldog fans, and how they thought the Dawgs would do this season.

We descended to the Southfork of Peachtree Creek beach, which resembles the sandy carpet where Sports Illustrated usually shoots its swimsuit edition. Fio and Elvis went in for a refreshing dip, not shedding their coats–they are quite modest.

We continued along the path through the lush greenery and walked to a bridge with newly replaced wooden planks. If the planks seem loose, we always let Patrick go first. If he falls through and splatters below, we backtrack. It’s a foolproof system, using a fool to test a structure’s integrity and stability.

On the bridge, we found a photo op. Shocking, we know.

We met some dog people on the trail, and Brad and Guy talked dogs with them while the pets blushed and checked each other out. 

On another bridge (where were we—Venice), Brad took out his iPhone and snapped a few pictures. He then put the phone back into his pocket. We marched on.

Mr. Hunger showed up, and we began backtracking to the parking lot to head out for lunch at Community Q BBQ in Decatur. We sent a notice to Roy, who is more of an eater than a hiker these days. As Trailheads ascended the long stairway to heaven, Jimmy Page played, and we descended past the hedgerows to the parking lot.

At his car, Brad discovered that his car keys were missing.

“They’re my only set,” he said. Perhaps justice had finally been served!

Let’s think about this for a second. Now that car keys are a “fob,” are they still keys? And should it be plural? You no longer have a key for the car and one for the trunk. And in Brad’s fancy electric car, he also has a frunk. We’ll call his fob a set of keys and let this one go. But frankly, it’s a serious issue that must be solved. 

He thought about where the “keys” might be and decided they had probably fallen out of his pocket when he pulled out his iPhone to take pictures on the bridge. Trail Master Guy said he’d go with him to backtrack and find them. He knew if Brad ventured alone, he would never find his way back.

Patrick and Steve held Elvis as they returned to the woods. The dog couple we had met earlier was exiting the trail, and we asked if they had found a set of car keys on the trail.

 “No,” they said. “But we met a girl who said she found some keys and saw they belonged to an SUV. She went to the parking lot and put a note on the car’s windshield. Then she returned to the trail to look for the owner.”

Sure enough, a woman named Jess found Brad’s keys and left a note underneath his windshield.

She also purchased a billboard to inform the owner. 

Of course, Brad saw neither. He called us, and we shared the good news. Brad and Guy went in search of the mysterious woman with his keys. They found Jess, a young damsel who saved an outlaw in distress. We’re sure Brad didn’t inform her that she was aiding and abetting a criminal without a driver’s license, yet she politely posed for a picture. 

The happy hikers returned to the parking lot, and we zipped over to Community Q BBQ, located in a strip plaza with an eclectic mix of eateries, including New Orleans fare and soon Korean delicacies. 

This barbecue emporium was founded by legendary pitmaster Dave Roberts, who passed away unexpectedly in early December last year. We are big fans of this joint, which continues to maintain its founder’s legacy. Read about a previous visit here.

The menu board features all your favorites, along with some surprises such as brisket Sloppy Joes, savory sides like black-eyed peas with rosemary and bacon, and smoked sweet potatoes with braised kale. 

We placed our orders and grabbed an outdoor table. It was a pleasant spot with acres of shade and a cool breeze. A guy named Kirk, who used to work with Roy at a big ad agency, approached and said he was a regular reader of these silly blog posts– thanks for your patronage, Kirk!

What about our food? Bad boy Brad gushed about his chopped brisket. 

“This is some of the best brisket around,” he said. “Much better than the slop they serve in lock-up. And you don’t have to worry about getting a shiv in your side.”

Patrick lowered his knife, hiding it under his leg.

Brad also gushed about his spareribs, which he described as “great, with a perfect bark.” Elvis took offense and refused to come out from under the table.

Guy agreed, tearing into a rib and smiling. “They’re among the best,” he said. We asked him not to talk with his mouth full.

Non-hiker and avid eater, Roy feasted on pulled pork, which he described as “moist and tasty.” He fed his plantar facetiousness into submission. Steve who was also enjoying the pork agreed it had curative properties.

Patrick raved about his brisket Sloppy Joe, a heaping mound of lean, tender chopped brisket in a sweet, spicy sauce tucked between two slabs of Texas Toast. This baby ate like a dream. 

Now, let’s talk sides.

Roy gave his seal of approval to the coleslaw, which was sweet and creamy, and the tasty collard greens.

Brad was cuckoo for the gussied-up black-eyed peas.

Patrick loved his Brunswick stew and praised its simplicity of pork, corn kernels, and tomatoes in a tangy stock. 

Steve indulged in Community Q’s Brisket Chili, a daily special.

We finished our platters, loosened a few holes in our belts, and talked macroeconomics, and quantum theory. Brad said he had to get going before the law found out where he was.

The outlaw was on the run. Lincoln Lawyer Bob has his work cut out for him with this hombre.  

Rating: Four Ribs*

Community Q BBQ

1361 Clairmont Rd

Decatur, GA 30033

(404) 633-2080

communityqbbq.com

*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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