The total eclipse was just a week ago but my wife and I realized that our planets were aligning several months prior. Several facts came together at once and we decided to act. But the only line I have internalized from a Scottish poet decided to pollute our vacation plans once again.

The best laid schemes o’ Mice an’ Men

          Gang aft agley

Yeah. That one. For those who don’t speak whatever language that is (I remembered the “words” not the context, I mean, come on) it is often cited as “The best-laid plans of mice and men often go awry.” While no sane observer would ever accuse me of “laying best plans” my wife and I had carved out a nice little vacation. Our older son, Nathan, was away at college. Our younger son, Sebastian, was going to be in South Africa for half a fortnight. My in-laws, who live right behind us were going to be in California.

Don’t tell our kids, but unlike some, we are looking forward to this.

We would be without obligation for nearly two weeks. Sure there was our beloved pooch, but we have a great dog sitter, so we were all set to practice being empty nesters (a stage of life we have anticipated since the kids were, um three?). But where to go?

It would be the end of March/beginning of April, which is perhaps the best time of the entire year to be in Houston. So we couldn’t go somewhere where the weather was worse. France? Out. California. Nope. South America? Risky. Mexico? We were just there.

We settled on Spain, a country with which I have very little experience. Sure, during my bike tour guide years, I would venture into the country, but it was almost exclusively in the Basque region in the north where no one spoke any recognizable language (have you ever heard Basque?) so I was never at an inherent disadvantage for not speaking Spanish.

Yeah, I have no idea what that says. From multilinecomment.com

We settled on a week together in Seville, a town that seemingly everyone loves, and then I would go on to Girona, perhaps the cycling capital of the country, to ride around for another week.

Perfect.

The best laid schemes o’ Mice an’ Men

          Gang aft agley

We had our flights, our Air B&Bs, our train tickets, and our excitement ready. Then. An ultrasound and an MRI later, my wife was in the hospital having major surgery. Countless hours of handwringing, waiting (forever) for the results from pathology (which ended up kind of negative?), then weeks of rehab.

All the while, we held out hope that maybe, just maybe, we could still go. Sure, my wife would not be able to ride (although we did entertain the electric bike option for about 37 minutes), but I could still ride and we would walk the town in the mornings and evenings.

But would she be able to do it?

And would I?

Three weeks before our departure, my wife was doing quite well. Sure, she was still sore, but every day was better. Her biggest problem? She is married to a complete moron. Even though I played basketball in college and have been coaching the game essentially ever since I have not played a competitive game of hoops for a couple of decades.

I am in there, trust me.

But.

There was the student-faculty game at my son’s school, where I have been the J.V. basketball coach now for seven years. Other coaches, several parents, and of course the kids, begged me to play. So I agreed.

I will pass over my defensive dominance, the excitement of the game, my airball free-throw which was followed by a swish, and the fact that we won the game. No, what I remember the most was my comment at the end of regulation, which ended in a tie. As others were contemplating a five-minute overtime, I suggested leaving it a tie. No one feels great, but no one is dejected either.

And I added:

And no one is injured.

Yeah. Not more than two minutes into the overtime, I had a hyperextended knee and a possibly fractured kneecap.

Excellent.

The best laid schemes o’ Mice an’ Men

          Gang aft agley.

The flight to Spain was only a few days away and I was hobbling around like a 90-year-old and my wife had trouble sitting down for any extended period. But neither was our biggest worry. No, what concerned us the most was the weather in Seville. The week before “our week” there? Pretty spectacular. The week after? Even nicer. Our week looked like this:

Yup. Rain. Every. Single. Day. And it wasn’t just a “chance” of rain, no every day we were supposed to be there, the chances of rain were at least 78%, with most of the days solidly in the 90% range.

So just a handful of hours before takeoff and consulting the forecast every fifteen minutes or so, I stopped my wife (who was furiously packing board games so we would have “something to do”) and we decided to cancel the trip. Sure, it cost us a bit of money, but spending seven days in the pouring down rain? Hard pass.

So where to go instead, at the definition of the very last minute?

More on that tomorrow.