Our first big trip of the season wasn't even supposed to happen but like most things in our world, plans shifted, and off we went to Saint Louis.

It was cold. Really cold. We hadn't originally intended to travel that way this year, but we had a group down there with quite a few people ready and eager to be certified. So, we figured "hey, there are more of you than there are of us, so we'll come to you!"

The flight there? Fairly uneventful. Nothing too dramatic. We rolled with it, even landing in the middle of a snowstorm like a couple of seasoned Canadians. Snow? Please. We've got that down.

Enter: The Rental Buggy & Our Trusty Snow Navigation Skills

Once we picked up our tiny rental buggy, we navigated our way through the snowy roads to get to the location where the course was being held. Everything felt smooth. We were in the groove. The horses were waiting. The team was prepped. We were ready to rock it.

Until the next morning.

"Hey, where's my passport?"

Cue the dread. Carolyn went to look for her passport. No passport. No big deal, we thought maybe it fell out in the car. We checked. We double-checked. We searched every bag, nook, and glove box.

Nothing.

And here's the thing: turns out you actually need a passport to get home if you're flying internationally. Who knew? (Okay, yes, we knew. But still.) Sure, Carolyn could have driven across the border, but that brought its own complications - rentals, border crossings, time - not ideal.

Professional on the Outside, Meltdown on the Inside

Even while we scrambled in the background to figure things out, the show went on. Kari kept delivering the training, staying focused, while Carolyn was quietly melting down and dialing every number she could find.

Delta, bless their snowy little hearts, wasn't much help. They told us that anything found on the plane gets packed up and shipped to Atlanta. But the kicker? The plane hadn't even left yet! It was still sitting in Saint Louis when we called, and even though the airport was basically empty, no one would go check. Like, seriously?

So, we were officially up Sh*ts Creek. No paddle, no passport, no promises.

Enter: Dallas, Detours & Divine Intervention

With no Canadian Consulate in Saint Louis, the next step in this saga took Carolyn south—to Dallas. The new plan: Kari would head home to Calgary to repack and grab some actual warm-weather clothes for Las Cruces, because Carolyn's Saint Louis thermals weren't going to cut it in the desert.

And Carolyn? Off to Dallas.

This is where our amazing facilitator family showed up like angels with hay-scented halos. The wonderful Genevieve Nichols opened her home, fed Carolyn, let her do laundry (clean undies are crucial in a crisis, folks), and drove her all over town to get everything she needed—from passport photos to the endless paperwork it takes to fix a lost passport mess.

Meanwhile, Kari was flying back to Calgary on some of the most delayed, chaotic flights you could imagine. Because of course.

Stay tuned for Part 2, where things heat up (literally) as we head into race cars, police stops, and possibly the world's most heavenly drink. Because this trip? Oh, it was just getting started.