Trailheads Search For Hippopotamuses, Hike Two Trails, And Devour Gas Station Meat Candy.

If you’re a hippopotamus, it’s hard to hide. That’s a classic opening line for a novel, eh? With each adult beast weighing over 3,000 pounds, you’d need a sequoia tree to provide adequate coverage for your girth to hide behind. 

But on a cool and blustery first day of spring, the hippos played hide-and-seek with Guy, Brad, Roy, and Patrick. George was hobnobbing in Europe with luminaries from the International Olympic Committee, and Steve was traveling in the Minnesota tundra without snowshoes.

This was the first hike on a natural trail since Patrick’s total knee replacement in late December. He’d recently played golf in Palm Springs and met giant Marilyn Monroe, and she told him he was ready to return to the trails. Frank, Sammy, and Dean agreed. The Rat Pack are the Trailheads’ spirit animals.

Patrick requested a flat hike to break in his new equipment, and Trail Master Guy selected two short-ish hikes: Crooked Creek Trail and Garrard Landing Park Loop. To loosen up, Guy pushed his car over––his subtle way of telling us he will not tolerate disagreements.

We embarked on the relatively flat journey, but within five minutes, Trail Master led us off the path and descended toward Crooked Creek. We navigated our way, going over fallen trees and mucking through the underbrush, where sleeping snakes probably wondered what all the commotion was about.

Stubby, non-native, invasive Privet was everywhere, attempting to take Patrick and his fancy new Titanium knee down.

We came to the steep creek bank and stared at a massive dam that had been constructed. The project was above the pay grade of ordinary beavers, so Roy speculated that the construction crew must have been hippopotamuses. These suckers are the third largest land mammals––can you name #1 and #2? Keep reading for the answers.

Hippos may look cute and cuddly, but beware––they are unpredictable and deadly. Sure, you think, but tubby would have to catch me first. Don’t be fooled; these meaty tanks can run almost 20 mph, and you don’t want to discover the viciousness of their bites.

They are one of the top ten killers of humans in the animal kingdom (penguins with firearms are #6). Always handle hippos with care and compliments like, “You look fabulous, have you lost weight?”

We call one hippo trouble; experts call a pack of them a bloat. Being in a hippo zone, Trailheads were on high alert. We slowly backed away from the water bank and returned to the trail. We’re too lazy to run and too young to die.

We hiked and talked about the TV show 1923. We wondered how the British Dame Helen Mirren landed in the Montana wilderness and what happened to her tea and crumpet accent. 

We’re also fans of HBO’s The Pitt. The gripping medical drama does not depict going to the emergency room as being as much fun as you’d think. Who knew?!

The dogs played in Crooked Creek, which fed into the mighty Chattahoochee. We beheld its glory. The river was wide and deep along this part, telling Elvis not to dare try taking it on. While Elvis rarely listens, he knows better than to question a body of water. With one hike under our boots, we headed to Garrard Landing Park Loop, off Holcomb Bridge Road.

At least half of our group was willing to go straight to lunch after hiking one trail, but Guy insisted we do two short hikes to make up for one normal one. He’s a sadist like that. This trail hugs the Hooch, then meanders by a stream next to the water treatment plant and the Johns Creek Environmental Campus.

The toll bridge, built in 1834 and operated by Robert McAfee, has been reconstructed. The Union Army burned down the original bridge during the Civil War, and no records survived showing that the Yankees paid the toll. We suspect they didn't. War is hell.

We got tired of hiking and learning history and heard our worms barking to be fed. Today, we decided to repeat history and not eat barbecue. We were returning to Dunwoody to sample the incredible NFA Burger, Billy Kramer’s beef palace, which opened in 2019 and has made history ever since. Read about our first visit here.

The joint is housed in a Chevron station, and Billy’s NFA Burger has been crowned the best in America, the best in Georgia, and the best in Atlanta. What does NFA stand for? “Not F’n Around.” Fill in with your appropriate f-word. 

At NFA, you wait in line, place your order, and look hungrily at the grill master as he smashes mounds of freshly ground beef into patties of joy. These sizzling burgers receive a healthy shake of special spices. 

As the burgers cook on the sizzling grill, an incredible alchemy happens as the spices and beef juices combine, creating magical meat candy. Your inaugural bite will introduce you to the crunchy wonders of this delectable flavor.

We sat at one of the picnic tables outside and waited as puddles of drool formed at our feet. Soon, a kind woman delivered our food in plain brown paper bags (like we were burger degenerates, which we are). We attacked with zeal.

We enjoyed classic doubles: two 2.75-oz. beef patties, crisp Mt. Olive pickles, American cheese, French’s yellow mustard, and “Sassy Sauce” tucked inside a Martin’s Potato Roll. You can get single, triple, and quadruple patties. Order your NFA burger accordingly. 

Brad ordered extras on his burger. He especially liked the Hatch Chilies add-on because it was chilly, and he needed some New Mexico on this day.

Three of us opted for the Tater Tots, but Guy insisted on the traditional crinkle-cut French fries. They were dusted with a nice seasoning blend and were tasty. But there’s just something transcendental about biting through the crispy shell of a mega-processed spud shaped into a tot. It’s spiritual.

Guy picked up dessert––a box of NFA’s Schmoops by Jules. They’re mini cinnamon sugar twists and were the perfect ending to our fine dining experience in the freezing wind. 

We all yawned and agreed that an NFA burger-induced nap was in our future this afternoon. The answers to the trivia question are elephants and rhinoceroses being the only land mammals larger than hippos. Then again, after our lunches, we may have broken into the top three.

Rating: Four Ribs and Four Tacos*

NFA Burger 

5465 Chamblee Dunwoody Rd.

Dunwoody, GA 30338

(Inside the Chevron station)

nfaburger.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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