When fate gives you a swift kick in the you know what

It’s probably human nature to assume that we are in charge of our lives, but it’s amazing how quickly unanticipated events beyond our control can undo the best-laid plans and leave us feeling powerless.

My wife Liz and I drove from Maine to Quebec City on Monday to celebrate our 25th wedding anniversary. We settled in Monday afternoon, had a pleasant dinner that night and enjoyed relatively warm temperatures as we strolled through the city on Tuesday morning. The plan was for us to spend another night in the city and head back home on Wednesday.

Then fate intervened.

First, a store clerk told Liz on Tuesday morning that the local weather forecast called for 6 to 10 inches of snow the next day. Our Prius shed its snow tires last week, so the thought of driving through the white stuff on Wednesday to get home was not encouraging.

Then the forecast got worse, with predictions that the storm would arrive very early on Wednesday, and cover a large area. That raised the prospect of us slip sliding our way not only through the streets of Quebec City on Wednesday morning but also across a large snowy swath of southern Quebec province and western Maine.

Reluctantly, Liz and I decided to beat a path back to our house Tuesday afternoon, to stay ahead of the storm. We canceled our dinner and hotel reservations for that night, packed our belongings and dumped them into the car.

Which had a dead battery.

Eventually, a guy from the Canadian equivalent of AAA jump started the Prius and we finally headed south toward the Beauce region of Quebec and the American border. Of course, we had lost quite a bit of travel time by then, thanks to the temporarily comatose Prius, so it was dark and getting darker by the time we crossed into Maine.

What followed was a seemingly endless, nerve-wracking nighttime drive on a two-lane highway through some of the most desolate territory in New England. Route 201 in Somerset County, Maine,  is a hilly, curvy, heavily wooded area largely devoid of homes, businesses, lights, people and - except for the occasional logging truck - other vehicles. To describe this remote region as the willywags is a gross understatement.

The moose crossing signs that popped up every few miles didn’t help to calm our nerves, because every Mainer knows that moose have a knack for running out in front of oncoming cars and trucks, which means curtains for the moose and sometimes for humans as well. The lone moose that we spotted - a very tall adult - stood right by the side of the road, and fortunately stayed put as we drove by.

It was well after 11 p.m. by the time we finally pulled into our driveway. Although the first part of our carefully planned vacation was idyllic, happenstance eventually trumped harmony. Despite our grumbling, we had no choice but to adapt. Perverse gods were pulling our strings, and we had to dance like marionettes.