We’re currently visiting our friend Greg on a small island in the Atlantic.

On Friday, we surfed early and watched the sun slowly rise, painting the underbellies of distant rain clouds a contusion purple. A storm was approaching.

Still, Greg wanted to show Dana and I another wave, on a different part of the island. "You have to take a gondola to reach it," he said.

Sounded fun. We ate breakfast, packed the car and headed to the island's north side.

It was misting when we left Greg's. As we drove, it started raining. Then pouring.

"I guess it's worth mentioning this spot is on the wet side of the island," he said.

We arrived at a dramatic overlook just in time to witness a mighty fight between the rain and the sun — a rainbow was refereeing. This was a good sign, we thought. But then...

"I think the gondola might be closed," Greg said.

It was. The gate was shut and the cable wasn’t moving. Not a worker in sight. Honestly, I was relieved. I didn't really need to take a gondola 500 meters below and hike in the rain and leave Dana on the beach while we surfed…

"Oh wait, they're just at lunch,” Greg said, cheerful. “It reopens in just a few minutes."

Damn it.

We paid our three Euro's each ("Cheapest and steepest in Europe!") and got in the gondola, our boards wedged diagonally to fit.

When we reached the bottom, I wish I could tell you that the sun won the battle. I wish I could tell you that the rain stopped and that my windbreaker turned out to be waterproof. But that wouldn’t be the truth.

We walked in sideways rain for five minutes — giggling at how predictable this all was — and turned back, soaked. Sometimes things don't work out as planned and that's OK.

We went home and took a nap.