sugarloaf mountain northern peaks trail (blue)

I've been thinking about the woods behind my childhood home. Newnan, Georgia is one of the biggest metro-Atlanta suburban areas now. When my family moved there, way back in 1990, it wasn't like that. It was downright rural then. My subdivision was sprawling, the nooks and crannies filled with uncharted nature that seemed endless to a kid. They were eventually filled in with houses, and the woods became short paths to visit our neighbors. But for most of my childhood, the woods were the woods, and there was a lot of them back there. 

Directly behind my house, the woods went back and back and back for as far as I could imagine. I explored them by day, and tip-toed a step or two into them at night, before running back to my house scared. My brother and I, and my friends and I, bushwhacked through them, creating our own trails we remembered by the broken limbs and eventually well worn paths. I learned to suck on honeysuckle and spot poison ivy, and we built forts out of tree covers and played hide-and-seek and foxes and hounds in the bush.

When we first moved to Newnan, we lived with my uncle down the street for a few months, while my mom closed on what would be our home. My Uncle Mike lived only 7 houses down from where we would live for the next 15 years, but the woods behind his house were a whole other world. His woods were even vaster. There were rolling hills and large rocks that seemed like boulders to my little eyes. There was a stream that ran who knows how far. My brother trekked the length of it more than once. I thought he was the strongest and bravest. I was maybe six or seven years old.

I jumped from rock to rock, and in the creek played leap frog on the pebbles, trying to never let my toes get wet, else I lose the game. I balanced with my arms outstretched on fallen trees, walking on my tip-toes the entire length of them, pretending I was an Olympic gymnast like Shannon Miller. 

In 1993, Atlanta had a blizzard - the "storm of the century!" Really, they called it that. Even wikipedia remembers. I'd never seen snow, and my mom woke my brother and me up early, so so early, as the wet, white stuff came down in sheets. It covered our lawn, probably only inches at most, but I swear it went up to our waists. 

Of course, all of metro Atlanta shut down, and that meant no school. We bundled up as best we could - there's a shortage of winter coats when you live way down south, and we convinced our black lab puppy, Shadow, to come play with us. We threw the first snowballs of our lives, wrestled in it, sledded down the sloping hills of our neighborhood streets, and tried to find the trails we'd blazed in the in the snow-covered woods. 

All of these childhood memories came flooding back to me this weekend when Zander, Theo and I went hiking at Sugarloaf Mountain in Dickerson, Maryland. It was a quiet day, cold and icy. The first quarter mile of the Northern Peaks blue-blazed trail we attempted was iced over and treacherous. Fortunately the trail cleared up after that, the snow provided a beautiful back drop, and we were able to finish the 5.5 mile loop. 

After passing the White Rock Overlook, about 2.5 miles in, we descended until we passed a unique tree formation. One tree arched over like the top of a swing set, and another intersected it like a jungle gym. I had to stop (for the millionth time) to take a picture. Growing up in the woods hit me so hard, and I had this thought that if I were ever a playground contractor, visionary - this is what would inspire me. Then I thought I wouldn't have a job for very long, because I'd tell kids to come play in the woods. They're the real playgrounds. 

Don't you want to swing from that arch, and climb and jump off and hang upside down? 

At White Rock Overlook, the view itself didn't take my breath away - it was the little red farmhouse, so proud and distinct in the distance, that did it. What is it about that iconic image that takes me somewhere I've never been, every single time I see it?

 

Hiking makes me feel young again, like we can all stop time for those miles we're breathing hard and sweating in the woods, convincing ourselves we can make it to the top. The peaks I summit and the trails I meander are longer and higher and tougher than the woods behind my childhood house, but my love for them started at 365 Freestone Drive, in the subdivision without a sign. You can spot it by the three giant boulders on the right-hand side of the road. 

Want to hike Sugarloaf? I recommend the blue-blazed Northern Peaks Trail. It's a less-traversed trail on the busy mountain. You'll be stunned by the green-moss covered rocks, giant oaks that shade your way, and views that include a certain little red farmhouse. Read more about it on LocalHikes.

oh hey, PS - I ran about a mile of this trail, too, just like I did after Old Rag. This is becoming a habit. I'm thinking of trying out trail running. Do you have any suggestions on routes, running trails, shoes, etc? Want to run with me? I'd love to hear from you!