There I sat, with 39 of my new closest friends. On the bus.

But it was not just any bus. It was a chartered bus. A bus that I paid $147 per person to sit on. A bus that Big Guy and I spent almost two days on as we traveled to the Great White North.

Because when you're ten years old and your hockey coach says that you get to play at the biggest tournament in North America, you need to get your gear and go.  Because when you're ten years old and have the chance to skate on actual Canadian ice, you've hit the hockey jackpot. The kids can practically hear the NHL calling their name. 

Months ago, we got the passports.  Paid the deposits. I made sure we had the boots. The jackets. The snow pants. I dug out gloves and hats. We voted as to which lucky parent would be the one to make the estimated 15 to 20 hour depending-on-the -weather journey. And even though I won (or lost the vote, depending on how you look at things), it seemed far-fetched that I would actually have to make the trip.

But reality set in, as I began to write somewhere in the southern half of our country and was still writing between bouts of nausea a little north of Watertown, NY but not quite at our country's border.  And although I have many stories to tell about our Canadian adventure, I'll start at the beginning, with some of the many things I learned on the bus.

Such as, when the bus driver says do not go number two in the bus bathroom, you respect it. That our kids can be really well behaved when they need to. As a matter of fact, the parents were more antsy than they were. 

The first day, as you lug what seems to be a 20 pound bag of snacks and a separate cooler onto the bus, you'll be sure that you packed too much. But by the second day, you'll realize you may not have packed enough. And Sprite can be a girl's best friend for fending off a queasy stomach while trying to read or type more than ten lines at a time.

You'll have periods of disbelief that you're stuck on the bus, such as the moment you pull away from your hometown. These moments will come and go throughout the journey. It may hit you when you notice you're still only in Virginia. Or when you gaze at the sprawling countryside in hilly western Pennsylvania and know you're only half way. Or as you cross the snow covered bridges connecting the tip of New York to the tip of Canada and stare at the dark lakes with quaint islands and inviting dimly lit homes scattered about.

And with only eight miles to go, stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic, you'll be overcome with a combination of both claustrophobia and near bliss as you get ready to approach your final destination. You'll see the joy your kid has as he takes his first steps in the country that he wishes he had been born in. And you'll nearly forget that you have to turn around in three and half days and do it once again.

Next week: The things I learned in Canada.