I woke this morning to bitter, bitter cold (about 7 degrees Fahenheit). I was also restless in spirit. I'd planned a leisure explore of Boone and Blowing Rock in the morning, followed by a trip up Grandfather Mountain and then along the Blue Ridge Parkway to Cherokee. But the tip from the guys at the front desk about the Appalachian folklore archive was too good to pass up. By the time I finished breakfast, I had decided: I was going to spend the morning in the archive and cancel some of my other plans. Not an easy choice to make.

After meandering my way to the Appalacian State University, I rode up to the fourth floor archive and met a great librarian who promptly took me under his wing and led me to many spooky books, articles, and even contributed a first hand ghost story he'd experienced himself! Apparently, the old library building was haunted by a researcher who felt the need to browse the collection long after he/she parted this veil of tears. Frequently, student assistants manning the collection alone at night would retreat to the well-light hallway rather than spend the evening alone in the haunted stacks, and one young woman phoned our librarian friend in tears because she could hear the shelves creaking and books moving all by themselves. Well, one night, my librarian friend was working at his desk with a student assistant when they heard the click that signified some had come through the entry gate with its rotating bar. They heard footsteps going down the hall, and then the sound of someone settling themselves into one of the vinal lounge chairs set out for the students. Librarian and assistant both turned to look at the chairs to see who had entered the library. No one was there! Serious creeped-out, they both approached the chair hesitantly, but still saw nothing. They beat a hasty retreat back to the office, and spent the rest of the evening ignoring the shuffling of books as they moved by themselves on the shelves. Strange stuff!!

I spent a happy morning in the archive, reading old folklore books and photocopying old newspaper articles about headless ghosts, spectral dogs, mountain witches, and the pink lady of Asheville (I've heard of white ladies and gray ladies and the girl in the lavendar dress, but this is the first female spirit I've ever read about who favored the color pink!)

Much to my annoyance, when I reached my car, I found the metered time had run out and some zealous campus officer had given me a parking ticket. Not wanting to go on the run from the student police, I headed right over to the office to pay my bill. And darn it all, before I could relieve my feelings with a dry comment or two, the sweet gentleman behind the desk forgave the ticket and even gave me directions to his favorite cafeteria for lunch. It is impossible to be mad at such southern hospitality, though I was so flummoxed by such a sudden change in my feelings over the matter that I nearly burst into tears!

To avoid crying like a goose, I jumped back into the car and headed out of town, pausing just long enough at the local car wash to get all the salt from the PA blizzard off my car (which looked like a wreck compared to all the nice North Carolina cars which did not have to contend with snow and salt and black ice.) Then I drove to the town of Blowing Rock, which was the inspiration for Jan Karon's mythical town of Mitford in the bestselling series. Being a big fan of Mitford and its quirky characters, I had to take a ride through town. It was as quaint and lovely as I'd pictured it, though the resort nature of Boone had bled into the outskirts of town. Still, it had a wonderful small-town feeling. I got gas at the local Exxon station (mentioned in the Mitford novels) and had lunch at the local grill (not the fancy ones that had sprung up since Karon put the town on the map, but the old-time grill that was started back in the 50s and was the hangout of the locals. I stuck out like a sore thumb -- of course -- but was swiftly invited into the conversation between the staff and the regulars, and was a source of much interest to them. Soon I was chatting to them about my trip, and before I left I got a wonderful true story about a dog ghost that the fellow running the place had experienced himself. Definitely one for the book!

After presenting the fellow who gave me the dog story with one of the books in the Spooky Series as a thank-you for sharing his story, I headed out to explore Grandfather Mountain on my way to Cherokee. I did not expect the state road I was on to have more twists and turns and scary corners than just about any other road I've ever been on -- and that counts the Going to the Sun road in Glacier National Park, Montana -- which has a terrible reputation! I think the person who planned the road must have followed a snake up and over the mountains!! No way -- NO WAY -- could you go fast on that road. Slow and steady -- that's the ticket.

At last -- at around five thousand feet in elevation -- I reached the park for Grandfather mountain where lay the little museum and the mile-high bridge (my ultimate goal). And the hiking trail to the bridge was closed. And the museum was only 15 minutes from closing!! Oh RATS! Disappointed, I backtracked along the highway and took the Blue Ridge Parkway back a few miles to the scenic overlook and the Lin Ville viaduct -- a 1243 foot long S shaped viaduct around the "head" of Grandfather Mountain -- considered an engineering marvel since there is nothing else like it in the entire world. It is a 7650 ton roadbed built like a bridge around the outer edge of the mountain. It actually conforms to the contours of the mountain -- the only viaduct ever built to do so -- and no two sections are alike. It was put together like a big jigsaw puzzle made out of wire cables and epoxy glue -- seriously -- but you'd never guess any of hese things when you drive on it. It is a big long curve out over -- well -- nothing! Your car swoops around the face of the Grandfather like a bird swooping from point a to point b. Very cool. The viaduct and the scenery made up a little for not being able to walk on a suspension bridge a mile high!

After that, I followed my faithful GPS units directions through the Blue Ridge mountains down to Asheville and then west to Cherokee -- enjoying the amazing mountains -- which reminded me in places of Montana -- and watching a gorgeous sunset. The last forty-five minutes were driven up and over the Smokey Mountains to Cherokee in complete darkness. Another winding road fifteen minutes up and twenty minutes down. A truck was tailgating me all the way down, which was irritating. Come on, folks! Do you really think I am going to go down a dark and narrow and very steep and very winding road I've never been on before at top speed? Get real!! It was a relief to be back down in the valley on the far side of the mountain, and my GPS and I had a tiff over where the hotel was supposed to be. (I won the debate, and now the GPS isn't speaking to me.)

Having eaten on the road, I happily settled into my hotel -- which had coffee and tea laid out for visitors and some scrumptious home made oatmeal cookies. As I write this, I am finishing up a cup of vanilla chai tea and am planning an early night. After all, I had a busy day!