This morning as we were slowly rolling out of Dryden Creek Campground with our windows down, we were unaware of the sprinkler on the side of the road periodically spitting water into the gravel path. We noticed the flying water too late, and within a second the Jetta rolled right into the line of fire and the sprinkler hit us with a healthy dose of icy glacier water. We gasped and screamed as the cold water jolted us out of our morning drowsiness and took quick evasive action to avoid plowing through the “Welcome to Dryden Creek” sign.
Now that we were bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, we made it onto the main road and headed north towards Whistler. We’d been looking forward to spending the day in the host city of the 2010 Olympic Winter Games and walk around the Olympic Village. We were immediately in love with the log and stone style of the village and the breath-taking scenery around us. It was eighty degrees at the base of Blackcomb and Whistler Mountains but there were athletes in skiing and boarding gear strolling around. We bought tickets for the complex chain of ski lifts that take riders to the top of the mountain where winter activities were taking place on the glacier. Hopping aboard, we discussed how essential it would be for us to spot a bear on our trip and forty minutes later we were on top of the world. The view at the top of Blackcomb was incredible, and the glacier was crawling with skiers and snowboarders. It was hard for us to wrap our minds around this: here were are, warm, in tank tops and sandals, standing on top of a glacier covered in snow, being passed by people on skis.
The atmosphere at the top was so cool! Every other person seemed to speak another language, giant speakers blasted anything from Bob Marley to the Barenaked Ladies and there were tents and flags scattered along the sidelines of a massive field of ramps, jumps and half-pipes. There was some sort of competition going on and contestants ranged from all ages young and old, size and shape, man or woman.
The only way to get over to Whistler Mountain in the summertime was to take an enclosed ride across, so we boarded the world’s longest continuous lift system and enjoyed the glass bottom gondola ride over to the twin peak.
At the base of this mountain we got another dose of extreme sporting as we watched mountain bikers hurtle down steep paths and winding turns. The lifts on this side of Whistler had hooks for the bikes to accompany their riders up the chair lift.
Back down in the village, we looked around the town and were entranced by the little shops beckoning us to purchase ski pants and helmets (yes, even in the middle of summer). We wished so badly that we could join our friends on the glacier, but resisted the urge to buy anything (like a $4,000 mountain bike or $150 pair of snowboarding gloves). What a life! The rest of the afternoon we wandered through the village, stopped to munch on some panninis and worked on perfecting our Canadian accents. We were hoping to lure some wife-seeking Canadian men into our lives, making our stay in the Whistler area permanent.
Eventually making our way back to the car, we began driving south out of Whistler. We were disheartened to leave, but this town still had a trick up her sleeve for us. As we were passing the wooden “Welcome to Whistler” sign, we noticed a police car pulled up to the curb beside it. Not thinking much of it, we continued on until we looked again and spotted a young black bear chewing on his paw in the soft grass, oblivious to the traffic and park rangers’ shooing attempts. He took his time getting up and lumbered across four lanes of traffic right in front of us and into the woods nearby. We were so happy to have spotted a bear, and daydreamed about the chances of seeing big horn sheep at our next stop tomorrow. We drove well into the night, ending up at the Imperial Motel in Grand Forks seven hours later.
I hope they had bear crossing signs
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