Fig Leaf Optionalby David Fleming
Naked shuffleboard is not an Olympic sport. And I'm here to tell you one
thing: Thank God.
My day started as a regular old road trip to the Olympic canoe and kayak events on Lake Lanier about 40 miles north of Atlanta. But boredom set in quickly at this otherwise pleasant venue—it wasn't just me, scalpers were offering up the $16 seats for four bucks a pair—so I decided to wander around a bit in rural Georgia. As far as brain power goes this idea registered down there in the AA battery range. A couple Waffle Houses, two Lynyrd Skynyrd t-shirts, a hand-painted sign that read Baptsit Church and about three dozen pickup trucks later, I landed in the tiny town of Dawsonville, home of NASCAR driver Bill Elliott, the Pit Stop Cafe -- which has a pig the size of a Volkswagen on its roof -- and, finally, Hidden Valley Resort, Georgia's largest, um, au naturel retreat. I was intrigued by this place even before the Games when co-owner Anita Ohlwiler told the press, "The Olympics are going to be the biggest thing that's happened to (nudists) since sunscreen lotion." And everybody knows athletes at the original Olympic Games competed, like most of Ohlwiler's guests, sans fig leaf. Kayaking, shmayaking, I thought. "Hidden Valley Ranch? Y'all looking for a salad dressing?" the first local I asked for directions smirked in a drawl that made it seem like she was speaking another language.
"Ain't you a bit over-dressed for that place?" joked another women in the Dawsonville municipal building who called a co-worker to come and give directions to the "nudies" which included a long trip down an overgrown dirt road where I found myself humming the relaxing theme from Deliverance. But the 110-acre resort, booked to near capacity with 700 guests, many of them working or watching the Olympics, is quite nice. And despite the fact that this is a dry county in the middle of bible-banging country, the townfolk seem to like having the tax-paying nudies around. Heck, they even held a Chamber of Commerce meeting at Hidden Valley once. Anyway, here's my notebook entry from inside Ohlwiler's car as she drove me to the pool via Nature's Way road: Nice cabins ...great tennis courts...some pretty camp sites...naked guy mowing the lawn.
At the clothing-optional pool (I invoked this option, remaining in what nudists call the "textile world") we met HVR marketing director Kavin Taylor, the man responsible for the resort's slogan: LEAVE IT ALL BEHIND. Taylor is a nice guy. Intelligent. Well spoken. Oh, and did I mention he was completely buck-ass naked? "The Olympics represent America and nudists are a slice of America," said Taylor. "Most athletes would prefer to train in the nude. Plus, it's so hot right now, I bet most of the people at the Olympic venues wish they were up here going nude." Many of them already are. In its 15th year of operation and one of about 250 nude resorts in the States, Hidden Valley (if you were expecting a pun here you're on your own folks) is the Olympic home to lots of European fans and many of ACOG's security guards, bus drivers, ticket takers and VIP chauffeurs as well as a handful of volunteers working at the Portuguese delegation. Professional tennis players have stayed here, dressage judges and some well known volleyball players and marathon runners, too. And why not? It's a lovely place that underwent almost $100,000 of renovations in time for the Games.
Best of all it's cheap. I could rent a three bedroom cottage with a hot tub here for the same price I'm paying for my dumpy cell in Atlanta. And think what I'd save in laundry costs and souvenir t-shirts alone. There are tennis courts, a little resturant, hiking trails, a natural pond with, the guests warn, extremely cold water (and the occasional copperhead snake), volleyball courts, horseshoe pits, and—eeeegad!—shuffleboard. Viewing this sport played in the buff proves, once and for all, that the people who most enjoy being naked are almost always the ones who really need to wear clothing—and lots of it. "People think if it's nude, it's sex," said Ohlwiler. "Well, that's wrong. It's just a simple, recreational option." Naturists groups around Atlanta see the Games as a way for their type to be taken more seriously. Well, if the Olympics can accept John Tesh and ballroom dancing with a straight face, there's always hope for people with no clothes on. Taylor and Ohlwiler, members of the AANR (American Association for Nude Recreation) originally planned to run a sporting event—skins versus skins, if you will—during the Games. "We wanted to do it and call it the Naked Olympics," said Taylor. "But with ACOG and the IOC being the way they are we didn't want them up here suing us. I'm sure they have some serious rules against the words nude and Olympics being in the same sentence." Taylor then decides to return to the recreation area for, perhaps, a round of shuffleboard. That means it's time for us to leave. A member of our party offers him an Olympic pin and he accepts. How he plans on affixing it, I don't want to know.
photographs by Peter Kay
SI Olympic Dailies
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