Stone Mountain [1] is pretty much exactly as its name would suggest—it is a big mountain made entirely of stone. In fact, it's the biggest freestanding piece of granite in the world. It's a landmark of pride, embarrassment, and gentle derision to most Atlantans. Pride due to its stature as the second largest sculpture in the world (sharing an artist, and runner-up to, Mount Rushmore). Embarrassment of the Confederate history the sculpture celebrates (depicting Robert E Lee, Jefferson Davis, and Stonewall Jackson on horseback). And gentle derision (or an ironic celebration of kitsch, take your pick) at the Laser Show splashed across the giant façade every summer night—trust me, hearing Georgia On My Mind, accompanied by laser-drawn outlines of various Georgia icons, will bring a tear to even the most stubborn of Yankee hipster.

Sitting on the lawn watching fireworks and swirling laser lights illuminating the face of Stone Mountain is a far cry from walking the 1.3 mile trail to its summit. But since I'd called Atlanta home for a year now, I decided it was about time to walk to the top.

We picked a relatively cool morning to embark. As we parked, I was reassured to see people of all ages, from little kids to old folks, heading toward the start of the trail. The 825-foot rock looks daunting when you're looking up at it from its base, but if a five-year-old kid could do it, so could I.

At first, it was no sweat. We were walking through a shady forest strewn with boulders, and the trail wound back and forth so that the incline wasn't too bad. There were even fitness freaks jogging past me up the trail, their iPods firmly plugged into their ears.

After a leisurely and comfortable stroll, stopping to admire the increasingly striking vistas, the trees thinned and we were looking up at a steep incline of sheer rock. No trees or bushes offered shade or a break from the monotony of the bleached granite-only electrical poles, a handrail and, at a distance, the cables for the tram that carries less hardy visitors to the top.

Here's where things got a bit more, er, challenging. Even the kids who trotted past us, full of excitement and energy towards the base, were slowing and complaining they wanted to be carried.

Without shade, sweat started trickling down my back, but I kept at it, hauling onward and upward and mentally debating the merits of rewarding myself with a trip to Dairy Queen vs. Cold Stone Creamery. Even just a bottle of cold water would do about now—I'd long finished the tepid bottle that I'd brought with me.

The summit came up quickly, thankfully. One moment I was admiring graffiti from 1917 (and visualizing women in dainty shoes and long skirts making this very same trek), the next moment I realized that the building housing the snack bar and the terminus of the tram was just ahead.

That wasn't so bad at all, I thought, wiping the sweat from my brow. I could officially check "hiking up Stone Mountain" off my things to do as an Atlantan. Like visiting the Cyclorama [2] and the Margaret Mitchell House, it's not exactly something that you need to do again and again. Or even more than once.

And then I went to buy a ticket for the tram back down.

--Jessica [2]
Atlanta, GA