Since every official Sound of Music tour in Salzburg was completely booked, I did what any reasonable person with absolutely no tour-guide qualifications would do.

I told Sarah,

“It’s fine. I can give us a tour.”

Because apparently watching The Sound of Music and having access to Google Maps now made me a licensed Salzburg tour guide.

So we rented e-bikes.

At least, that is what they were advertised as.

Technically, they had batteries.

Technically, they had buttons.

What they did not appear to have was any sort of actual propulsion.

We pushed the buttons. Nothing.

We tried different settings. Nothing.

Eventually we accepted that we had basically rented two very heavy bicycles with decorative electronics attached to them.

Perfect. Off we went.

For a while, I have to admit, my self-guided tour was going surprisingly well.

Stop #1. Found it.

Stop #2. Also found it.

Look at me. Tour guide Ali.

I was probably about ten minutes away from charging Sarah admission.

Then somewhere between one Sound of Music location and the next, my carefully planned route took a slight turn.

And by “slight turn,” I mean…

I accidentally led us onto a busy highway.

I did not choose the highway.

I would like that officially documented.

The road we were riding on simply decided that it was done being a pleasant little Salzburg street and casually merged us directly into fast-moving traffic.

One minute we were pedaling along pretending to be Maria and the von Trapps.

The next minute we were trying not to become part of Salzburg’s traffic statistics.

Cars and trucks.

Us. On our two fake e-bikes.

There was no turning around.

There was no graceful exit.

There was only forward.

So we pedaled.

And pedaled.

And weaved our way through traffic while I desperately tried to maintain the confidence of someone who had not just taken her wife onto a highway during a self-guided Sound of Music tour.

Eventually, somehow, we escaped.

We found our way onto a trail running through some kind of park.

Trees. Grass. No Trucks. Safety.

Things were looking up again.

Except now Sarah was thirsty.

Very thirsty.

She told me she needed water.

I assured her that we would keep an eye out for somewhere to buy some.

This seemed reasonable.

What was perhaps less reasonable was the fact that neither of us had thought to bring water on a three-hour bicycle tour.

Not one bottle.

Nothing.

Apparently my tour-guide preparation consisted of:

Sound of Music locations? Check.

Route? Sort of.

Water required for basic human survival?

We’ll figure that out later.

So we kept pedaling.

And to be fair, there really wasn’t anywhere to stop.

We were on trails.

In parks.

Along paths.

There were no cafés.

No stores.

No little Austrian man standing beside the trail with a cooler full of bottled water.

I knew Sarah was thirsty.

I was actively looking.

Then suddenly—

SCREEECH.

Sarah slammed on her brakes.

I stopped and looked back.

And immediately knew we had entered a new phase of the tour.

She was no longer simply thirsty.

She was angry thirsty.

You know how people get hangry when they haven’t eaten?

Sarah gets something different.

Thirnasty.

Thirsty + nasty.

A condition that apparently develops rapidly when your wife has dragged you through Salzburg on a non-electric e-bike, accidentally taken you onto a highway, and then failed to produce water in the middle of nowhere.

She looked at me.

“I have told you several times that I need water.”

Now, Sarah’s version of this story is that she had been telling me this repeatedly and I had somehow been ignoring her.

My version is slightly different.

My version is:

WHERE EXACTLY WAS I SUPPOSED TO GET THE WATER?

We were riding through a park.

There was nothing around us.

No shop.

No vending machine.

No restaurant.

No magical hydration station hidden behind a tree.

I couldn’t exactly stop, dig a well, and hand her a freshly drawn glass of Austrian spring water.

So I tried to explain.

“I know you’re thirsty. But we aren’t going to find water HERE. We have to keep going until we get somewhere that HAS water.”

This explanation did not improve her mood.

Apparently logic is not particularly effective against Thirnasty.

So off we went again.

Me pedaling in front.

Sarah pedaling behind me.

Thirsty.

Angry.

And presumably reconsidering the moment earlier that morning when I had confidently announced,

“I can give us the tour.”

Somewhere in Salzburg, an official Sound of Music tour bus was probably cruising comfortably down the road.

Everyone sitting in air conditioning.

Listening to an experienced guide.

Possibly drinking bottled water.

Meanwhile, our version had included:

Two e-bikes that weren’t electric.

An accidental highway.

A three-hour ride with no water.

And one increasingly Thirnasty wife.

Was it the official Sound of Music tour?

No.

Was it historically accurate?

Debatable.

Was it memorable?

Absolutely.

And in hindsight, maybe we actually captured the spirit of The Sound of Music perfectly.

There were mountains.

There were bicycles.

There was drama.

There was someone desperately wanting to escape.

It just happened to be Sarah.