SQUAMISH, B.C. -- Is there a perfect host city for the Winter Olympics? The way the festival has developed over 86 years and 21 iterations, it should be a large metropolitan area at the foot of a great mountain. Or, perhaps, at the very top of one if geography permits. The city must be large enough to hold multiple professional-size ice rinks, speed skating ovals, and a big stadium for ceremonies. And there must be lots of land for Nordic skiing, and black-diamond grade trails to zoom down. Salt Lake City was a fine example of this -- the Olympic area eight years ago was tight and compact, and everything fit neatly into an 80 mile (130 kilometer) square.
That certainly isn't the case this time. Vancouver is the anchor city, and the XXI Winter Games carry its name, but the skiing and sliding takes place two hours' drive north at Whistler. I'm sure that television viewers are now used to being whisked from one to the other in milliseconds, but the distinct feeling in Vancouver is that Whistler is in another universe. You have to spend a day in one place or the other, and some of the people I've talked to have simply chosen a side and stuck with it for the duration.
I heard that there were some tickets available for the skiing events up north, so when I was at B.C. Place on Sunday for a medal ceremony, I asked at a ticket window what the availability was. "Oh, we don't have Whistler tickets here," the lady said.
The disconnection between the two Olympic satellites brings to mind the Lake Placid Games of 30 years ago, when many seats went unsold and empty because of a simple logistical error: the tickets were only available at the venues, and you needed a ticket to get near the venues. Even with the Internet, history seemed to be repeating. I went over a series of confusing and vague VANOC documents about travel to Whistler, I learned three things: that there's no parking near the venues, that there's a rigorous checkpoint halfway up, and that a motorcoach ticket costs $50 one-way (or more).
A trip to Whistler for somebody without tickets seemed like gambling. Why would anybody spend $100 on a round-trip ticket to learn that there are no tickets available? So I took matters into my own hands. On Day 5, I would drive north as far as I could. If I was turned around at the checkpoint, or was otherwise denied parking or tickets, it would at least be a learning experience about VANOC's logistics.
Highway 99 cuts odd jags through Vancouver's street grid before straightening in the city's northwestern corner. Soon, drivers are in the open, going up and down hills and around the sides of mini-mountains. The road cuts through Squamish Nation, a native land that dates back to time immemorial. It's beautiful country, with tall firs and periwinkle-colored mountains on every horizon that look like giant pinecones. It's breathtaking enough that you might have to stop at one of the many viewpoints and recover. There, one finds trash cans that are specially designed to be used by humans only. Bears roam, and rule, this land.
This is a 131 kilometer (81 mile) distance, but it isn't the kind of drive one might find on the fast Trans-Canada Highway. The climbs are slow, and it's an 80km speed limit on the downhills. Then there's a Royal Canadian Mounted Police car stationed at every turnout. Everybody's going for the gold these days.
And there's also the series of ominous temporary signs that indicate that there's a permit required to move north past the "Sea to Sky" checkpoint north of Squamish, the town roughly halfway between Vancouver and Whistler. An Olympic permit? Is this the way that VANOC is regulating parking? Doesn't say.
In Squamish, 75 minutes north of the city, there is a welcome center. Visitors are welcomed by a giant lumberjack, who's wearing the now-famous $10 red Olympic mittens with the Olympic rings on the outside and a white maple leaf in each palm.
The locals inside didn't have the same grandness of spirit. Squamish didn't get any Olympic events to host, but the town been saddled with the unpaid job of orienting confused northbound Olympic travelers. The young brunette lady at the information desk was pleasant, but her Canadian Nice was definitely wearing thin. "There's a BC Transit bus that you can catch to Whistler," she said, drawing a rudimentary map on the back of a brochure. "It's just a kilometer north of here. The stop is in the Wal-Mart parking lot."
And, just like those mittens, it's $10. (Or free if you have an event ticket for that day.) There's nothing in the official literature about any Wal-Mart or special BC Transit bus -- is it because they're not official sponsors? -- and there's certainly no directions about parking in a dirt lot so that the Wal-Mart folks won't tow you.
The ride on the No. 98 Squamish Connector takes another hour, and it drops passengers at the Upper Village of Whistler. As soon as the bus doors open, there's loud music and colors and the sound of distant cowbells.
Now this is the Winter Olympics! On the Village Stroll, the resort town's pedestrian walkway system, there are superfans draped in flags and goofy costumes mingling with athletes wearing credentials around their necks. There are also people carrying skis and snowboards over their shoulders -- Whistler is operating at 90 percent capacity during the Games, and there are lots of people who are taking a break, renting a pair of Rossignols, and getting a few runs in.
At night, there's another medal ceremony and a concert by Canadian singer-songwriter Feist at the central plaza. Afterwards, there's a "fire and ice" in which snowboarders fly through three interlinked rings of flame, and hundreds ooh and aah as they sip on cups of hot chocolate. Compared to the bars on the rainy streets of downtown Vancouver, there's an actual winter festival spirit here.
I think I'll stay for a few days. After all, I made it this far... and I was finally able to buy some skiing tickets too.
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Sportswriter 
