On Saturday, for my final weekend in Canada, I visited Whistler Ski Resort. It sits about two hours north of Vancouver and is accessed via the almost unbearably-scenic Sea-To-Sky Highway, which runs along the eastern side of Howe Sound for most of the drive. I listened to a Canadian country station as I made my way north, but somehow “I’m Alberta Bound” just doesn’t have the same ring to it as “Amarillo By Morning.”

I had was wearing several layers and had packed a sweatshirt in case of inclement weather, but it was very warm when I pulled into Whistler, and the sidewalks were clogged with strolling couples in flip-flops and shorts. Whistler is less a ski resort than a small town - it’s not the lodge-and-rental-shop cluster of buildings that I’m used to. The main village covers a huge area and looks like a Tanger Outlet Center. If you ever find yourself skiing and decide you need to pick up some lotion at L’Occitane and sunglasses at Tommy Hilfiger, you’re covered. There were definitely more shoppers than those intent on participating in outdoor activities.

There was very little snow on any of the runs, and none at all over by the lifts. Crowds of mountain bikers waited in line for the gondola and a chance to ride down the dirt paths which, in a few months, will be crisscrossed by skiers and snowboarders.

I had planned on riding to the top of the mountain and hiking around up there, but that would have involved me cramming into the gondola with bikes and bikers after shelling out $40 to ride for just one round-trip. There were trails all around the base of the park so I set out on them.

They turned out to be a little too civilized. Much of it was was groomed gravel - or, ugh, paved - and meandered past million-dollar houses and impeccable golf courses. I can’t in good conscience call what I’m doing “hiking” if I round a turn and see a man wearing an Izod shirt pushing a baby stroller and talking on a cell phone. I finally found some dirt paths and wandered down to a secluded lake. I might add that this took place after passing a first, not-so-secluded lake, whose beaches featured a whole host of very white and very naked people. Some of the men were doing the lay-on-your-side-propped-on-your-elbow-with-one-knee-up pose which is reminiscent of a bad 70’s family portrait in front of a fireplace. Imagine squinting your eyes and opening a can of Vienna sausages.

^ Not that bad, but close. And naked.

Anyway, the lake.

I was pretty hot by this point so I contemplated taking a swim. I removed my shoes and socks and stuck my toes in the water. It was about the temperature you’d expect from a lake at the foot of a Canadian ski resort, that is to say, my skin immediately went numb on contact and halted any thoughts of submersing my entire body in it. But it was pretty.

^ It was weird seeing even the topmost runs devoid of snow. I figured they would keep at least a slushy base around all year.

^ On the way home, I stopped at a scenic overlook above a deep valley.

^ There were a few people on the right side of the road watching this rock with binoculars. I don’t know if there was anyone rock-climbing the face of this thing, but that would’ve been pretty impressive.

Tomorrow, I’m off to Seattle. I found a place to stay and will be there until October 9th.