The papers are filled with stories of people forced into "stay-cations," hanging out at home in lieu of traveling to Lake Minnewakahaspee or the Redneck Riviera.
Personally, I prefer stay-cations to any other kind. All my stuff is here. I get time to enjoy it. My family is here. I get to enjoy them. No fussing in the car, no fuming over what’s missing when we get there.
Yesterday, for me, was the highlight. My son and I took a nice ride. We got on our bicycles and, without spending a penny, we enjoyed the day, the city, and one another’s company.
Our home is 5 miles due east of downtown Atlanta, on the border with Decatur. There are nice routes anywhere you go, because we’re next to the railroad line featured in the Battle of Atlanta. This means it’s flat. As you get older a flat route becomes a better one.
We headed east, but not along the railroad track. Instead we wandered through the tree-shaded streets of Kirkwood, our neighborhood. This was the "city" Frederick Law Olmsted was working for, in 1894, when he became stricken with what was probably Alzheimer’s, but was described as dementia by his biographers.
Kirkwood wanted to build a north-south community between Atlanta and Decatur. The south end would have a commercial district, the north end a park. Many decades later, after the MARTA rail was run along the old freight rail tracks, creating a "wall" between north and south, and black folks filled in the southern part, this northern area became known as Candler Park, Druid Hills and Lake Claire. (If you look at Weather.Com for our area, you’ll still see this designation, North Kirkwood. I don’t know why, but I like it.)
Anyway Kirkwood is coming back. It’s only a few miles from Emory and the CDC, just 5 miles from downtown and midtown Atlanta, and an easy commute to either Buckhead or Sandy Springs via MARTA. The houses cost half what they do elsewhere. Not only are they being fixed up, but we’re getting some major in-fill development as well. A burned-out shell once owned by Hosea Williams himself was torn down and replaced with a mixed-use development called Kirkwood Station. The Kirkwood Neighbors Organization has put up a Welcome to Kirkwood sign on the former Boulevard Drive, now Hosea Williams Drive. (I think they should have made it Hosea Williams Blvd. myself…)
We took Hosea Williams to Rogers Street, picked up a little piece of
the PATH behind a park, and came out on Arkwright, which is part of
what’s now called the Trolley Line trail. Past Whitefoord the road
turns uphill, ascending to Moreland Avenue. This neighborhood is now
called Edgewood.
We crossed Moreland and entered Reynoldstown. Back when Atlanta was a
manufacturing center, at the turn of the last century, this is where
the mill’s managers lived, small comfortable homes on tree-shaded lots.
We angled north, past an old convenience store now turned into a dog
park and coffee bar, then made a left on Wylie, over several railroad
tracks, and past new condos to Krog.
There we entered a tunnel, built in 1915, and now filled with
marvelous graffiti. Watch yourself — it’s bumpy, an old concrete
roadbed never really repaved. We came out in the sunshine of Decatur
Street, went up another block, and went left on Edgewood Avenue.
A right on Glen Iris, a quick left, down the hill past Boulevard and we
came upon The Doctor, the grave site of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and
his lovely wife Coretta. A bus was emptying in front of it, so we
didn’t stop. I guess they were having a party.
We continued on, under the downtown Connector, through the old black
downtown known as Sweet Auburn, and uphill to Peachtree, where they were
setting up the Atlanta Jazz Festival.
We continued on through the Fairlie Poplar District, exiting at
Techwood by Centennial Olympic Park. A left, a right and we were on Marietta
Street in front of CNN Center. I stopped to pump up my tire, and we
rode on past International Blvd. A quick right, a left at Luckie
Street, and we were next to the Georgia Aquarium, the Atlanta New
Century School John attended for two years on our left. Then back on
Simpson to Marietta Street and up past the Coca-Cola headquarters.
A few more blocks and we found Northside Drive. A right, winding
down an exit ramp on what’s called (believe it or not) Lester Maddox
Highway, then freewheeled down Northside at a furious 30 mph to 16th Street and the
entrance to Atlantic Station.
There’s a giant Ikea in Atlantic Station, but we rode past it. A
left, a right, and we’re where these pictures were taken, in a small
park the developers’ built. I told John it was the Arc d’Triomphe, and we’d arrived in Paris.
Declining a victory lap, we headed out 17th Street, across the
Connector again and up a hill to Peachtree. Down the hill, a quick
left, another right, and we’re in Ansley Park, one of old Atlanta’s
toniest neighborhoods.
Following along The Prado we exited at Piedmont
Park, and from there it was an easy jaunt back home, through Virginia
Highlands, along the Olmsted Parks defining the northern border of old
Kirkwood, and up East Lake Drive to home.
We were gone about three hours. We stopped whenever we wanted to. We weren’t in a hurry and were passed by many other bikers along the route.
The
traffic was mild, the air fresh and clean, the people beautiful and the
scenery marvelous. The exercise made our laziness over the rest of the
day a pleasure. We kept the windows open and let the breeze blow in. I
made grilled kebabs and risotto for dinner.
Crisis? What crisis?
