Thursday is Trailheads’ Hiking Day. Thursday’s are sacrosanct and holy (or at least pretty darn important). On Thursday, we hike and earn our barbecue lunches.
But yesterday, five of six Trailheads had excuses. And unlike many weeks, these were solid, authenticated, and Bonafide excuses. George was out of town, Steve was seeing a doctor, Patrick was meeting an RN for a pre-op about his total knee replacement on Friday, 12-27 (hmm, maybe I do drive him too hard on our hikes––or maybe the whining baby needs to toughen up), Roy was taking his wife to the eye doctor or rather driving her home after since she couldn't see, and Brad was visiting with an out-of-town friend. These were excellent excuses I couldn’t mock. And I hate it when that happens.
So, the Trail Master and his trusty companion, Fio, braved the semi-cold and ventured to one of our favorite hikes, Cochran Shoals, along the Chattahoochee River just outside the perimeter.
It was a glorious day with brisk temperatures and glorious sunshine. The trail was not crowded, so I let Fio off the leash, and she ran wild. She turns 10 on January 1, but you wouldn’t know it watching her run.
She was everywhere but always within close range, so if I called, she would immediately come, like Lassie (but much cuter). And unlike Trailheads, Fio always listens to me and is obedient.
If she sees someone approaching with a dog, Fio returns to me and politely asks me for her leash. I'm not sure if it’s for her safety or mine, but either way, she’s glad to give up her freedom to save me from receiving a lecture about keeping my dog on the leash.
We hiked up the hills overlooking the trail and through the old graveyard, which had been dug likely midway through the Civil War when many graves were marked. In my research, I haven’t found anything definitive regarding the buried family.
I discovered Dr. Scribner was a Yale-trained physician serving the local community. It appears most of his family died in 1863 before Atlanta’s involvement in the war, and cholera was the likely scourge.
I may have to dig up the graves and perform autopsies and some detailed forensics to verify the COD (cause of death). Stay tuned to CSI: Trail Master and learn.
Fio and I hiked on, and eventually, as we were finishing, we saw two Georgia Resource trucks outfitted with tanks and holding 4,000 baby bass and trout.
Rangers were releasing the fish into the Hooch, flinging the swimmers from the truck tanks into the river. They said they’d be good fishing in just a few months. I might have to get my fly-fishing gear out of storage and try my throws.
We finished our hike, and I returned Fio home. I was off to lunch with Trailheads Roy, Brad, and Patrick at Tomo, and our favorite server, May.
While there was no barbecue, the sushi was damn good. Unfortunately, there was no baby bass or trout.
Trailheads wish you happy holidays. We’ll see you on the path to truth and barbecue in 2025.
Rating: Four Ribs or Four Fins*
Tomo Japanese Restaurant
3630 Peachtree RD NE, Suite 140
Atlanta GA 30326
(470) 835-2708
*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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