Trailheads Hike Cascade Springs, Sync Their Bladders, Battle Spiders, And Fill Their Bellies at Fox Bros.
Trail Master has been trying to organize a hike at Cascade Springs Nature Preserve in Southeast Atlanta for a long time. But whenever he proposed the expedition, he was met with a barrage of lame excuses:
“That’s so far away.”
“Hike? Do they rent Rascals we could ride?”
"I liked The Rascals!”
"Young Rascals or the regular Rascals?”
“Are you calling the regular Rascals 'Old Rascals?' Stop being ageist.”
“Can we just cut to the chase, forget the stupid hiking, and lunch?”
But Trail Master persisted, and he finally rallied a quorum: Steve, Brad, and Patrick joined Guy on a hot and humid day.
We couldn’t find Rascal rentals to ride or Rascals (Young or Old) albums––Roy didn’t have any in his extensive collection or at any of his favorite record stores––so we’d have to hike the old-fashioned way, trudging along paths in boots.
This trail is beautiful, with a lush canopy and fewer exposed roots and rocks than most. We imagine riding Rascals would make short work of the paths, and we'd have been much happier-- especially if they came with air conditioners.
We walked along the creek, where some people were cooling their feet. The first time we hiked this trail in February of 2022, we found gifts left on these creek rocks. It was a mystery to us, but we got to the bottom of it like a sober Sam Spade on a case. Read about that adventure and learn the area’s Civil War significance here.
Up the hill was a red vinyl fenced-in area. While this sight would immediately discourage anyone from approaching, it was an invitation to Trail Master for investigation. The area was contained because a talented artisan was hand-assembling stone steps, chipping away at the rocks to fit like a jigsaw puzzle.
We appreciated his efforts, but it looked like a lot of work, so we quickened our pace. We’re just not that into this whole “work” thing.
Trail Master led the way and walked directly into a spider web. He brushed the sticky webbing from his face as we screamed like banshees with our feet on fire. Guy got smart and picked up a stick to knock down webs before he put his face through them. As long as he took care of the webs, we were fine with either approach (although the face thing was funnier).
Atlanta was hit by some nasty storms this past month, and we saw a lot of fallen trees. We were going to Krazy Glue the pieces back together and put them back, but we thought better of it. Mother Nature hates it when you disturb her handiwork, and her punishment is usually bolts of lightning. No thanks.
Guy wanted a selfie, so we struck a pose. Of course, he dominated the shot because he exudes such masculine handsomeness and undeniable vigor (we tell him this kind of crap all the time, and he actually believes it).
We resumed hiking, and soon, like clockwork, all four of us had to pee. This posed a dilemma—where would we go? It was miles to the nearest restroom, and our bladders were bursting. Patrick used to haul a Porta John on all hikes, but the lazy slug forgot to bring one this time.
After debating for almost ten minutes, we decided to pee al fresco.
The woodland creatures looked at us, disgusted.
“Those humans are animals,” a squirrel told an owl. “They’re so uncouth.”
“They are pathetic creatures,” the owl replied. “Hoot, hoot, don’t pollute, and eat Wise Potato Chips.”
We had just read a story about a popular glacier melting because all the tourists were peeing on it. We avoid glaciers, and they are happy about that.
Relieved, we continued, and saw a woman in a yoga pose that looked like an IKEA coffee table: Humatorp. We were impressed by her strength and flexibility and checked whether any books or mugs were resting on her stomach. Nope.
We came upon a young artist selling his work under the trees. This was the first time we've encountered commerce on the trails. Well, there was that one hike where a fidgety drug dealer was waiting for his buyer. He made us as nervous as we made him. The art show in nature seemed like a good idea, and the guy said he does nice business on weekends. Visit and buy something.
We wrapped up the hike with a selfie by an old structure (an abondoned compact car plant?) and notified Roy and George of our lunch plans. We were headed to Gene’s Barbecue near Decatur. When we arrived there, it was closed. Trailheads called an audible and headed to an old favorite: Fox Bros. on DeKalb Ave. Read about a previous visit here.
This is the original Mecca for authentic Texas barbecue in Atlanta, and we gathered around a patio table. The world’s best server, Demetrius, greeted us with a warm smile.
“Hey, you guys are back!” he said.
Did he remember us because we were memorable customers, or had we walked the check? We assumed running positions just in case.
We caught up with our friend, and he brought us refreshing drinks to refill our bladders, along with bowls of water for Elvis and Fio (we got to drink from cups!). We ordered some of Fox Bros.’ famous smoked wings (extra crispy), and they ate like a dream. No one does wings better.
Chicken Fried Steak was the daily special, and three of us ordered it in a flash. The menu calls it “Central Texas Schnitzel,” and the fried beauty comes with a flavorful black pepper gravy that also adorns the accompanying mashed potatoes. This dish is as authentic to Texas as Matthew McConaughey’s accent.
Steve had the tender smoked turkey, which he loved. He added a couple of smoked wings and an unsmoked green salad. Coming from a meat palace, the salad looked spectacular, and healthy!
Roy enjoyed the Texas Turkey Sandwich special. Smoked turkey, peppered bacon, and beef-fat mayo. Leave it to the Brothers to make turkey as fattening as pork! This is why the Fox boys are legends.
Speaking of pork, George went for the pulled pork and a few smoked ribs. He was in pig heaven.
The sides were completely satisfying. Brisket chili wakes up taste buds and smacks them around.
The slaw is cool ‘n creamy.
The mashed potatoes were righteous and soul searching.
Fox Bros. Brunswick Stew is first-rate. Your spoon will make short work of it.
And the green beans are dressed for dinner with tomatoes and savory spices.
The food looked so good that Elvis made a slobbering mess of Brad’s shorts. We think it was Elvis, not Brad, but who can be sure?
Guy walked into the restaurant and tracked down the talented chef to compliment him on the Chicken Fried Steak. The chef was happy to hear the praise. He deserved it.
We sat, talked, and laughed like idiots, and Demetrius kindly took a group photo of all six of us. This is why the man is in the Service Hall of Fame.
We started to solve some world problems but decided there were far too many to tackle on this hot day. We were lethargic from the delicious food. Denied Rascals to ride, naps beckoned.
And just like that, Trailheads scattered to the wind. Who knows where we’ll surface next? We just hope our pants are dry wherever we land.
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.
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Ounr 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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