Day one of the countdown, and you’re all coming with me

I’ve mentioned it a few times now, usually in passing, usually while panicking about fleecy trousers. But it’s November, the countdown has officially started, and I’ve decided it’s not really my trip anymore. It’s ours. So pull up a chair, grab a coffee, and let me tell you where we’re going.

On the twenty-ninth of November, I’m leaving Tasmania for Canada. I’m taking my hockey notebook.

* * *

For anyone just wandering in, hello. I’m Bella Bruce. I write hockey romance, mostly set in a sprawling, slightly chaotic fictional league called the PHL, full of found family, big feelings, and men who are far too large to fit comfortably through doorways. I live in rural Tasmania, at the bottom of the world, which is a very long way from any professional hockey arena.

And here’s the confession that tends to surprise people. I have never been to a live hockey game. I have never seen the inside of an ice hockey arena. I have never, in my entire life, seen snow.

I know. I write about it constantly. My characters skate on it, fall on it, and kiss in it. Everything I know about hockey, I’ve learned from a screen, at strange hours, in my pyjamas, yelling at referees who can’t hear me from half a world away. My fandom (Washington Capitals, in case the jersey in every photo hasn’t tipped you off) and my writing have been tangled together for years. This trip is where they finally meet in real life.

So yes, it’s a holiday. But it’s also research. I’ll have a notebook. I’ll be taking notes. That makes it tax-deductible in spirit, if not in law.

* * *

I’m not going alone. There are three of us, and you’ll be hearing a lot about all of them.

There’s me, obviously. The one with the notebook, the compression socks, and an unreasonable amount of excitement.

There’s Millie, my writing partner of twenty-five years. She’s forty-something, lives in the Pacific Northwest, and has been plotting impossible stories with me across oceans and time zones for a quarter of a century. We’ve written whole worlds together without ever being in the same place for long enough. This trip, we get to make stories face to face, out loud, probably far too loudly, in the back of a car.

And there’s Jo. My sister. My long-suffering sister. The woman who has heard every plot problem, every 2am “what if,” and every sentence that begins with “okay, but hear me out.” She’s agreed to come along anyway, which tells you everything you need to know about her patience, and possibly her judgment.

Three women, one hire car, and a frankly irresponsible amount of hockey.

* * *

Here’s the plan.

We fly out of Tasmania on the twenty-ninth, leave Australia from Sydney on the thirtieth, hop through Auckland, and thanks to the magic of the International Date Line, land in Vancouver on the same day we left Australia. I’ve been assured this is normal. It still feels like cheating.

From Vancouver, we head inland to Edmonton, which I’m reliably informed will be the coldest point of the trip. I’ve been watching the weather. It’s been snowing. It’s not even winter yet. On the third of December we’ll be in the stands watching the Caps take on the Oilers.

Then it’s a four-hour drive south to Calgary, to see the Caps play the Flames at the Saddledome, in what’s set to be its very last season. I’m quietly honoured to get to see the old girl before she goes.

And finally, it’s a long day’s drive back across the mountains to Vancouver, to watch the Caps play the Canucks on the seventh, before we fly home and I spend the next month trying to explain to the cats where I’ve been.

Three cities, three games, and one very special farewell. Because as you all know, this is also my Ovi farewell tour. I’ve wanted to see him play in person for as long as I’ve loved this team, and I’m so grateful I’ll get the chance before he hangs them up.

* * *

Now, here’s where you come in.

I’ve got a month, one blank notebook, and a long list of things I want to know. But I want your help. What should I be researching for you?

What do you want to know about the arenas, the fans, the food, the noise, the cold? What would you want me to notice that I might miss? What questions have you always had about hockey that a girl from Tasmania could find out for you?

Leave them in the comments. I’ll be writing every day this month, and every good question goes in the notebook.

Twenty-eight days to go.

— Bella

P.S. I can’t read this title without hearing it to the tune of “They’re Taking the Hobbits to Isengard.” I’m sorry. Now you can’t either.