We at Ghost Hunters of Asheville strive for ghost tours offering the greatest of entertainment, excitement and thrills, but there are times we just can't compete with the City of Asheville. Take tonight: The ghosties were plentiful, but so was Asheville oddity.
Thirteen of us launched from the Haywood Park Hotel. Immediately, we ran into a questionable young fellow with a basketful of paper slips -- ostensibly our personal fortunes just waiting to be plucked from the pile. There was no getting past him. We lined up and chose our fortunes -- prophetic declarations as "When you give love, you will receive love. This is the law of attraction" and "There is no way to peace. Peace is the way." All courtesy of Brett Rodgers, massage therapist, phone number, website. Hm-m-m. Well, Brett gets an "A" for creative marketing, but an "F" for actual prophecy. Not one of our fortunes carried even a whiff of warning for the 4th "911" call I'd make in my 18 months of touring.*
We were benignly walking down a sidewalk when it happened -- a car suddenly veered right in front of us, hitting a parked motorcycle, then driving down the street. Throwing down my backpack and notebook, I took off after him. It is testament to my stubborn sense of justice and Asheville red lights (certainly not ANY modicum of fitness, I assure you) that I caught the car 3 blocks away. The New Yorker got his tag number called into "911" and the tour was supportive of the slight delay. There was no extra charge for added excitement.
Ghost touring is never boring. On any given evening, you never know what's in store -- paranormal or otherwise.
*(Other calls involved a fight among locals and 2 passed out 'inebriates'.)
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