Trailheads Tempt Ticks, A Copperhead, And Fate, Then Celebrate Survival At Lewis Barbecue With A Good Saucing.

Remember us? We're the Trailheads— hiking and dining men of mystery. Our last dispatch was well over a month ago, and the rumor mill has been grinding out conspiracy theories about what happened to the six lads.

Many speculate that the band of brothers had an ugly breakup after the introduction of a woman named Yoko. Though revisionist history says she was irritating, not divisive.

Another story was that Roy decided to return to hiking but refused to follow Guy, so he led a bloody coup to overthrow the Trail Master and run the group with iron fists of fury.

Things went sideways fast; a violent battle ensued, resulting in six corpses floating down the Hooch as Fio and Elvis sought new meal tickets. This rumor intrigued the internet tastemakers until Christopher Nolan's take on The Odyssey came out. It had a better storyline and bigger stars.

Another popular tale concerned aliens and anal probes. Opinions were divided on who was probing whom.

Rest easy, dear reader—these tall tales are bogus. The truth is much simpler. We’ve been traveling, so hiking attendance has been sporadic, and we’ve been lazy about keeping tabs. Did you miss us? (We are very needy.) We certainly missed telling you how cute, interesting, and wonderful we are. (Give us our delusions, please.)

This week, Trail Master rallied Steve, Brad, and Patrick to hike the Herbert Taylor Park Trail, not in the heart of the city, but more like the left kidney. Herb was a philanthropist, pharmacist, builder, and a great champion of making Atlanta an international city.

It just goes to show that if you live the life of a do-gooder, you might get a park named after you. We have submitted our resume, website, photos, a short video, and a brown paper bag filled with cash in small, nonsequential denominations to the parks board, requesting that parks be named after us. Guy wants Piedmont Park to become Trail Master Guy Tucker Park. That alone might kill the deal.

It had rained hard the day before our hike, so the Herbert Taylor Park trails were muddy in places. We trudged on through the sloppy mess, ever vigilant searching for deadly quicksand pits.

The greenery was overgrown. Kudzu was bullying every plant on its relentless march to the horizon and total world domination.

We had been hearing about lone star ticks, whose bites can trigger alpha-gal syndrome, an allergic reaction to red meat. If those nasty buggers feasted on us, we’d have a hard time staying on the path to truth and barbecue because veggie ‘cue ain’t going to cut it. Frankly, truth is also hard to find these days, but we continue searching.

With such impending danger, Trail Master naturally wanted to tempt fate by venturing deeper into denser vegetation, prime hiding grounds for sniper ticks and their good friends – chiggers. We've had unfortunate run-ins with those fellows before.

Guy’s troops decided he could scout on his own while they watched him and trembled in fear, nonchalantly peeing themselves, which has apparently become a thing to do in the mosh pits at concerts. People fear losing their place and pee in place. Nosebleed seats for us from now on.

Guy returned, seemingly safe and sound. Patrick wasn’t so sure. He had seen The Odyssey and suspected Guy might be a decoy, hollowed out and housing an army of ticks inside, ready to attack them. He kept his distance from the Trojan Trail Master.

Steve and Brad decided to prove their lumberjack toughness by pushing over a tall tree (show-offs). It was selfie time. Snap!

Next, we stormed the beach as the dogs frolicked. While we wish we were frolicking types, however, it’s not in our charter. We’re too rugged to frolic, at least in public.

As the Trailheads kept marching, they encountered a copperhead snake. Patrick said he could charm the snake. He approached it, and spoke smoothly with his forked tongue, “Hey, good lookin’, love your snakeskin get-up. I love the fancy Hershey's Kisses pattern you're wearing.”

The copperhead snapped at him, and he ran off screaming in terror. We kept our distance; this hike had been plenty dangerous enough.

It was our feeding time, and we sent out a signal to our missing members, George and Roy. They had both been at their dermatologists. George had a chunk of his leg removed, and Roy had his ear frozen. Sun is not our friend. All six Trailheads gathered at Lewis Barbecue in the Ansley Mall. This place is tremendous, and we’re huge fans. Look how happy we are. We also brought a new friend along. Can you find him?

Check out pictures of some of the incredible Lewis Barbecue fare. Drool, but please be careful not to get any electrical appliances wet.

Read a previous Lewis Barbecue review here.

Luckily, we had no allergic reactions to the meat. The manager walked by and exclaimed, "The Trailheads!" Barbecue folks around town know we over-order and over-tip, and they like both.

Trailheads are back, baby. Afterward, Elvis told Brad he was “a good boy.” Elvis knows where his meal ticket is.

Rating: Four Ribs*

Lewis Barbecue

1544 Piedmont Ave NE #406

Atlanta, GA 30324

(404) 939-9567

lewisbarbecue.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.

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