Today's drive was through Virginia, paralleling and sometimes crossing the beautiful Blue Ridge Mountains to Roanoke. South of Roanoke, I turned onto Blue Ridge Parkway -- against the express wishes of my brand new GPS -- and along the top of the mountains into North Carolina. Hurrah! I actually cheered aloud when I saw the sign. It was only then that I felt my Spooky Trip had truly begun.

I spent the rest of my journey pulling off at scenic overlooking after scenic overlook, gawking at the view. When I wasn't gazing at the scenery, I was outwitting my new GPS unit, which kept trying to take me off the scenic parkway onto a faster route to Boone. The Blue Ridge mountains are so lovely -- even in winter time -- that they took my breathe away. The truly do fade into a deep blue distance. Up close, the roads were clear of winter snow but the rocks and outcroppings alongside the road dripped with amazing ice cycles that sparkled in the sun. As the road wound this way and that, the car would enter the shadow depths of pine and laurel, darkened by the massive mountain peaks touring hundreds of feet overhead, and then would zip out into the sunlight as I climbed two, three thousand feet and came upon yet another amazing vista. My only complaint about the parkway -- no rest stops!

Not quite sure of how soon it would grow dark, I reluctantly allowed the recalcitrant GPS to have its own way and turned down off the ridge. And found myself driving through a new wonder -- the high mountain farmlands and back hill country of North Carolina, where the homes range from back-country shacks and trailors to multi-million dollar chalets. I passed cattled siloutetted in gold by the setting sun and shaggy ponies cropping by a stream. Wonderful gray rail fences lined the farmland, and hundreds of small trees set in rows declared place after place as tree-farms. Then I found myself on the highway to Boone, and soon after pulling into my hotel to the triumph of my poor, beleagured GPS unit.

As I checked into my hotel, I mentioned to the two lovely fellows manning the front desk the spooky purpose of my journey. Embracing my task as their own, they proceeded to give me all the gossip about the area's ghosts: The widow of Cone House who wanders the Widows walk long after death, the phantom hiker of Grandfather mountain -- whom one of the men had met in person while out on a day-trip with his backpacking buddies; the haunted basement of East Dorm in the Appalachian State University. And the phantom beast that harrasses anyone attempting to camp on the site of the old ruined house just off the Blue Ridge Parkway. Exciting stuff. I also got a tip that ASU had a fantastic Appalachian folklore collection that I needed to see in the morning.

After a lovely meal at a steak house -- my second choice for the evening (I got lost trying to find the first place, and my faithful GPS unit refused to believe the restaurant existed, in spite of the evidence both of the local map and the helpful guys on the front desk) -- I slipped down to the pool to have a swim. And found myself talking for an hour with a family from Charleston South Carolina about spooky Charleston ghosts, photography, and what it was like to travel places hunting for ghost stories. What a fantastic start to my trip! I got some great South Carolina ghost stories for my web site, and an invitation to dinner any time I find myself in Charleston.

I also learned from the Charleston family that the flight I had originally planned to take today from La Guardia to Charlotte   -- until I changed my mind and opted to drive -- had crashed in the Hudson River earlier in the day!  Yikes!  Fortunately, everyone survived the crash, due to some excellent piloting.  Scary stuff.  Boy am I glad I decided to drive!