Trailheads in Turmoil As Super Group Forms To Hike Bob Callan Trail, Then Scarf Antico Pizza.

It’s a mad, mad, mad, mad world after all. Up is down, wrong is right, and the lion lies down with the lamb to count sheep.

Weeks ago, three hikers declared themselves “the handsome Trailheads” (read about it here) and were sued by the two less-attractive members and the recently retired-from-hiking-but-not-from-lunching member, Roy Tumbles. 

A worried nation girded its loins (which is more repulsive than erotic) and hoped the gang could resolve the matter amicably. They feared the remaining “Fab Five” Trailheads were priming themselves for a nasty Beatles breakup.

But it was worse than that.

The three handsome “true Trailheads” (are they handsome or true or truly just handsome?) announced they were forming a super group, like Cream did in 1966. They named themselves The Hiking Hunks. Women worldwide giggled at the narcissistic blowhards. Since narcissism is in these days, they ran with it.

Trail Master Guy declared he was Clapton, “because he’s god,” Brad represented Ginger Baker, “since he was nuts,” and Patrick symbolized Jack Bruce, “because everyone digs bass players.”

No one has reminded them yet that Cream exploded.

The men were clearly delusional and in need of heavy medications (now available at a 1500% discount thanks to our caring president). The “hunks” rallied to hike the Bob Callan Trail. Read about a previous hike here.

This was more of a walk than a hike, since the trail is a ribbon of concrete running along the mighty Chattahoochee River and the Rottenwood Creek upstream. On the opposite bank is the backside of the beautiful West Palisades Trail. Really, the Bob Callan is like a Chattahoochee Beltline.

The Hiking Hunks were accompanied by their loyal companions, Fio and Elvis, who continually apologized to other dogs for their human pets’ behavior.

“They actually think they’re good-looking,” Fio snickered.

“Yeah, those fools are regular fashion models,” said Elvis.

Wait just a minute! That's not our Fio and Elvis.

As they walked, the men took selfies with graffiti backgrounds. These shots would be possible album covers if they ever made it into a recording studio, even though none of them have musical talent, unlike the Cream model they were emulating.

The only alleged musician in the Trailheads is the non-hiking Roy, who was taking a guitar lesson while the Hunks hiked. Rumors have it he shreds on his twenty-six-minute version of Puff the Magic Dragon, George’s favorite song.

George was occupied on this day, taking meetings for his latest project, and Steve was holed up in his mountaintop fortress of solitude, plotting a nasty legal assault against the power trio.

Fio grabbed a newspaper and left a lady-like present in the tall grass off the path. Guy dutifully bagged it. He wanted to dispose of it properly and tossed the doo-doo bag into a dumpster– a recyclable trash receptacle, assuring Fio would remain regular.

We marched under I-75 and I-285. In the distance was The Weather Channel building. Patrick shook his fist at the structure and shouted, “Fake weather, fake weather!” He’s a bit of a conspiracy theorist who believes barometric pressure is a hoax. “Meteorology is a dark art,” he claimed. The others walked faster to avoid him for fear he would tempt a hail-filled thunderstorm.

It was lunchtime, and we decided to break Trailheads’ protocol and eat pizza instead of barbecue. Why not? The Hiking Hunks are rulebreakers. We headed to The Battery to eat the world’s tastiest pizza, Antico.

Giovanni “Gio” Di Palma opened the original Antico Napoletana in Atlanta’s West Midtown in 2009. All ingredients came directly from Italy, and Gio cooked his pies in wood-burning ovens at a blistering 900-1,000 degrees Fahrenheit.

While barbecue Pit Masters take pride in cooking low and slow, Gio baked his pizzas in under two minutes, and the results are perfection. 

Brad and Guy manned an outdoor table with the dogs, and Patrick asked what they wanted. Brad requested a salad. His companions looked at him as if he had three heads and pink flamingos for legs. 

“Salad?!” we asked. “Seriously?”

Brad looked at his boots as the shame seeped in.

“I’ll get a mushroom pizza, health-boy,” Patrick said. “With a San Gennaro pie for the two true Handsome Hunks.”

He placed the orders, fetched the beverages, and we sat, hungry with anticipation. In two shakes of Elvis’ tail, the pizzas arrived.

The slightly charred beauties were quickly attacked. Brad feasted on fungi slices, while Patrick and Guy savored San Genarro pieces, with the flavorful combination of Italian sausage, Cipollini onions, peppadew peppers, Buffalo Mozzarella, and fresh basil. 

We sampled both pizzas while cooing in delight and causing passersby to step lively.

The Hiking Hunks finished their meals and explored The Battery, taking a selfie by the Atlanta Braves sign. We considered going onto the field to play some Pepper, but the gates were locked. They obviously saw us coming.

We cried a little, wiped our eyes and blew our noses, and called it a day. On Saturday, Brad will host the annual Trailheads Holiday Party, and maybe we can sort out our tangled legal affairs. The two battling factions may request separate tables.

Or create grounds for new lawsuits.

Rating: Four Ribs*

Antico Pizza Battery Park

2605 Circle 75 Pkwy

(678) 890-2222

https://littleitalia.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. nj 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. n

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