I took a little trip earlier this week — OK, maybe it wasn’t a little trip. I drove down to Chapel Hill, N.C., to watch Tyler Zeller play.

It was well over 1,000 miles round trip, which isn’t that big a deal. I don’t mind driving normally and I was by myself, so the pottie breaks and stops for snacks were few, meaning I could push things and make it down and back and watch the game in three days. I took my time and meticulously planned my route, but I hadn’t driven much of the route beforehand.

Let me pause here to mention one thing — I don’t like heights. I don’t like to be up high on things such as, say, a ladder, nor do I care to look up at heights like, say, mountains. Well, the suggested route to Chapel Hill via the Internet and AAA said to travel east to Charleston, W.Va., then turn south and cross through Virginia before hitting North Carolina.

Not only I had never ventured to North Carolina, I had never set foot in West Virginia nor Virginia either. And looking on a regular old road map doesn’t really give you a good feel for the terrain you’re going to be covering.

The drive from Charleston south was on the “Blue Ridge Parkway.” Travel brochures would describe it as “scenic.” I, as someone who hates heights and who thinks nothing is more beautiful than flat old countryside, would describe it as “terrifying.” For about three and a half hours I went up one mountain and down another, traveled through two tunnels under huge mountains, and went around a particularly scary curve that looked out across a steep valley that must have been 50 miles long and was capped off by Pilot Mountain in North Carolina on the other side of the valley.

It was white-knuck driving at its best, or worst to be more accurate. By the time I arrived at my destination the first night Mount Airy, N.C. — and the birthplace of the actor Andy Griffith — I was thinking there must be a better way to get home. With the help of the World Wide Web and some maps, I planned a different route back, through western North Carolina to Knoxville, Tenn., and north into Kentucky. Yes, it still came near the Great Smoky Mountains, but I reasoned it couldn’t be any worse than the Blue Ridge Parkway and besides, the Blue Ridge Parkway is a toll road. I actually paid a grand total of $8 to be scared to death (at Disney World that would probably be a bargain).

OK, quick travel tip here: before planning a new route through any mountainous terrain, do a google search for “rock slides.” I’m heading west to Hickory, N.C., for the night after the game Monday on Interstate 40 when I come across a flashing warning sign “I-40 closed ahead — rock slide.”

A rock slide back in October in North Carolina near the border with Tennessee had closed down I-40. Great. Now I’m in unfamiliar country, committed to this route home, and I’ve got to find a detour.

As I saw it, I had two choices — I-26 out of Asheville, N.C., to Tennessee, then pick up I-81 back to Knoxville — which looked considerably out of my way, or take Highway 70 west north of Asheville through the mountains into Tennessee, then pick up I-40 again.

Despite my lack of regard for mountains, I chose the latter, reasoning that the distance saved would be to my benefit.

OK, imagine the curvy route between Loogootee and Shoals, only much worse, for about 40 miles. That’s what I traveled to get over to Newport, Tenn., and catch back up with the interstate.

And here I need to mention my second travel tip: check the weather for hurricanes in your area. This whole time I’m driving through the northwest part of Hurricane Ida. It wasn’t heavy rain, but it made sure the fog was hanging heavy in the hills and hollers.

About halfway through the mountains, I came across a North Carolina state trooper sitting at a little grocery store watching traffic. I pulled up beside him and said “Sir, I’m trying to get around the rock slide on I-40. Am I headed in the right direction?”

He said, pleasantly enough, “yes,” though he went on to inform me that, even though the other route I had considered was 55 miles longer, it was actually quicker than what I had chosen. I said, well, at least I’d see some countryside I’ll never see again.

“Well, you’re about to see some more,” was the reply I got. And of course, he was right.

Well, the rain stopped and the sun eventually came out, and I arrived home early Tuesday evening to hugs and kisses of my sons Ben and Alex and my wonderful wife. A good trip being defined by a good ending. But next time, I think I’ll just watch the game on TV.