My great adventure

I packed my toiletry bag and three books this morning, leaving the laptop behind, and headed northwest. The plan was to land in Saluda, read for a while, then drive to either Brevard or Bryson City, the latter because I’d seen at that the overnight low on Sunday is predicted to be 59. Heading up 25 from Furman, though, I saw a sign that said “Brevard 38,” so I decided to eliminate Saluda from the itinerary and go directly to Brevard.

Unfortunately, that was the last sign I saw for my intended destination. I passed Table Rock, then Walhalla (which name always reminds me of Wagner’s ring cycle and Brunhilde and Wotan and that crowd), Westminister, Seneca and Clemson, all of which were mute on the subject of Brevard. So I decided to call it a day. Looking at a map now, I see that the turnoff to Ceasar’s Head I avoided shortly after the Brevard turnoff was the road to Brevard. By driving past it, I missed the mountains altogether. And 3 hours and 120 miles later, I’m back in the bat cave. Maybe I’ll try again tomorrow with a map.