Road Rules

Too early for the music, though -- we headed for doughnuts. I'd read about Ye Olde Donut Shoppe in one guide book, and I was eager to try a few. Per the authors' instructions, we found the shop where U.S. 33 meets U.S. 219, but alas -- it was shut up tight. We peeked through the grimy front window and saw empty display cases and chairs stacked on tables. It's a shame when mom-and-pop shops like this one close, but it also provided a road-tripping lesson: Call before you go.

Turning south on U.S. 219, we skirted the edge of the Monongahela National Forest . The 909,000-acre wilderness area features Snowshoe Mountain Resort , Canaan Valley Resort State Park and many other sites, including our next destination: the Highlands Scenic Highway (Route 150).

The drive was rejuvenating, even without doughnuts. For 22 miles, we ogled red spruces towering on mountaintops more than 4,000 feet high, wildflower-filled meadows sloping steeply toward forested valleys and overlooks with signs detailing the highway's flora and fauna. The only other car we saw was a forest ranger's.

And that's when we finally found it, after half a day's drive: the middle of nowhere . What does the middle of nowhere look like? "Incredibly gorgeous," was all Kate could say.

We left the scenic highway at the junction of Route 55, stopping at the Cranberry Mountain Nature Center (Route 150 and Route 39/55, 15 miles west of Marlinton; 304-653-4826. http://www.fs.fed.us/r9/mnf/sp/naturecenter.html ). Signs posted outside noted the dangers of the wooded trails next to the parking lot, including rattlesnakes and bears. There was no one around, and, suddenly skittish, we decided to drive instead to the Cranberry Glades Botanical Area . We were relieved to see cars parked there. We strolled on the boardwalk above the bog and marveled at its uniqueness. The bog is an acidic wetland formed by glacial melting thousands of years ago, and it is the southernmost home to plants usually found in Canada and parts of the northern United States. We stopped to look at otherworldly flowers sticking out of the bog, which was covered in moss and the fringed, reddish cranberry runners, with a few trees and tall shrubs here and there.

After the bog, we had planned to visit the Pearl S . Buck Museum (home of the Nobel and Pulitzer Prize-winning author) and Beartown State Park (home of unusual rock formations) along U.S. 219 south. But -- oops -- I made a wrong turn, and we wound up driving west on Route 39/55.

Lesson three: You can't always control your own ineptitude.

Ockershausen had advised me: "Take a map and study it, so when you run into a problem on a major highway, you'll know an alternate route." The problem was my lack of direction, but I knew from studying the map that we could hit Route 20 south, which leads to the park.

The sun dropped quickly, briefly illuminating the sheer rock walls and steep ravines framing the road. The hairpin turns made things menacing as I inched along in the dark. When the rain started again, I worried we'd never make it to the park.

Lesson four: It always takes longer than you think it will.

At 11:30, we arrived at McKeever Lodge at Pipestem Resort State Park (12 miles south of Hinton on Route 20; 304-466-1800. http://www.pipestemresort.com/ ), exhausted and hungry. We checked in and snacked on provisions we'd packed, and I fell asleep the minute I closed my eyes. In the morning, I was rewarded with a heavenly view: row after row of mountains in the distance, with white clouds filling the Bluestone Gorge right outside my window. It was spectacular. Two trips to the lodge's buffet and four cups of coffee later, I was ready to pursue our plan: riding the tram.

The aerial tramway was the main reason I wanted to visit Pipestem. I do love a good canyon hike, but mostly the downhill part. So I was intrigued when I discovered that visitors can hike to the bottom of the gorge, then ride to the top -- 3,600 feet in six minutes -- in an enclosed gondola. I had to try it.

Because the tram was closed that day from 1 to 4 and the hike would take at least two hours, and since we also wanted to go horseback riding, we compromised. We would take the tram down, hike along the River Trail, then ride back up the mountain. It felt like cheating, but there were too many fun activities for only one day: horseback riding, canoeing, golfing, swimming in the pool, eating, hiking, archaeological exhibits, nature walks, concerts in the amphitheater . . .

So at 9 a.m., we climbed into a swaying gondola at the Canyon Rim Center. Gliding down the hill, we heard rushing water before seeing a stream appear to burst through the tree canopy, hurtling down the mountain in waterfalls and over rocky beds. A deer grazed next to a waterfall while Kate snapped pictures.

We hopped out at the Mountain Creek Lodge and set out on the River Trail. We hiked about an hour, then rode the tram to the top. Midway up, I spotted a roly-poly wild turkey ambling along the tree line. I was relieved to see wildlife that was, well, alive, because we'd seen so much roadkill the day before. I needn't have worried. There were plenty more animals at the nature center, and a bearded park ranger patiently answered our slightly anxious questions: What kind of bears live in the woods? (Black bears, mostly harmless.) Had he ever seen a bobcat? (Not at Pipestem.) What about big spiders? At that, he pointed to the counter behind him, where a gallon-size jar had a wolf spider clinging to the side. Kate backed away slowly.

Our afternoon horseback ride included wooded trails and a hayfield that was right out of a Monet -- the golden grasses waving under robin's-egg-blue skies, wispy clouds overhead.

There was one more stop we had to make, though, before we made tracks. A few days earlier, when I was looking at a West Virginia map with my parents, my dad found a town near Pipestem called Talcott, our family name. "You've got to check it out!" he said.

About a half-hour from Pipestem, on winding Route 3, stood a statue of a burly man, hammer in hand, with a sign beneath that read, "Tradition makes this the scene of the steel driver's ballad, 'John Henry.' "

The statue was erected by the Hilldale-Talcott Ruritan Club in 1972, the 100th anniversary of the completion of the Big Bend Tunnel for the C&O Railroad -- a one-mile tunnel beneath the West Virginia mountains -- that some believe to be the site of John Henry's fabled contest with a steam drill. An American myth, enacted in a town with my name! But why was this place called Talcott?

This detour called to mind something Ockershausen had emphasized: "We have so much history in our region, and it's not boring! It's really fun! History is the stories of people." Yes, and it's even more fun when those people have your name . In a brochure for the upcoming John Henry Days festival (July 8-10, Route 3, Talcott; 304-466-3255. http://www.hintonwva.com/JohnHenry.html ) was the answer to my question: Colonel R.H. Talcott was the engineer in charge of building Big Bend. We drove down the gravel road next to the train tracks to see the entrance to the tunnel. Some say it's haunted by John Henry's ghost, and it's easy to see why. An eerie mist wafted out of Big Bend. Its entrance was blocked by heavy stones, the dark cavity filled with water and coated in green slime. Thoroughly spooked, we dove back into the car and drove back down the gravel road, out of Talcott and toward home.

I wasn't worried about missing sites on the way back. Travel writer John Fitzpatrick had advised me: "Sightsee on the way out, then race back." So we did.

Cruising east on Interstate 64, then I-81 and back on I-66, I dozed a little in the passenger seat, thinking about the next time I'd go to West Virginia. I had so much reading to do before then! I'd need more guidebooks (what are those plants in the Cranberry Glades?), a family tree (who was R.H. Talcott?) and a geology textbook explaining the spectacular landscape. In an ideal world, one road trip begets another. Kate and I have to coordinate our schedules, rent another car, map out another route. We need to get back on the road.

Final lesson learned: You can't do everything in one trip, but with a little planning, you can arrange a fine little adventure.

A regular Weekend contributor, Christina Talcott is busy planning her next road trip, a drive up the California coast. She will bring towels.