Atlantica - 01.06.2006, Blaðsíða 49

48 AT L A N T I CA
A scene from the start gate at Kvitfjell, site of the 1994 men’s and women’s
downhill and super G courses, and considered to be a challenging course,
flashes on the screen. I hear gale-force wind rush through my “helmet” and
in the background, the faint cheers from the crowds tucked behind the neon
orange crash nets cheer me on.
“Three! Two! One!” And we’re off – that is the downhill racer with the
camera on his helmet, and myself. My stomach churns at each red gate,
praying that the edges of our Fischer skis hold. They do. We keep careening
downward, whizzing over rough, sometimes-icy patches, our curved poles
allowing us to crouch into a tighter, faster, more aerodynamic tuck for the
straightaways. The capsule jerks, jars and shakes around each turn. As the skier
edges right, so do I. As he slows, so do I. If I were to guess, we’re probably
sweating the exact same amount.
We avoid crashing into the safety nets edging the course, and with a big
sweeping turn to the left, we reach the end of the 3,007-meter course with an
average pitch – downward – of 29 degrees. No emergency brake necessary.
I’m not sure what our time was, but all I know is that we went big – or at
least I thought we went big. Big cheers from the crowds follow our super-
sonic run, whereby the screen then turns off, the door opens and I awkwardly
reemerge into the daylight as a busload of Japanese tourists arrive.
ICE
Though it may fall short of heading to Norway’s far north to commune with
the Sami people – who live in the subarctic regions with natural ice – there
was one stop left to round out the trifecta. I wanted to live vicariously through
American speedskater Bonnie Blair, gold medal winner in both the 500 and
1,000-meter races in 1994, and take my own lap at the Hamar Olympic Hall. It
certainly wouldn’t break two minutes, let alone her 39.25 medal-winning time,
but to be honest, I’d consider the excursion a success story if I managed to slide
around the rink one time without cracking my coccyx.
Located an hour south of Lillehammer (towards Oslo), the arena is an archi-
tectural masterpiece built to resemble the hull of a Viking ship as reflected in
the building’s nickname, “Vikingskipet.”
But inside, what I found instead of a Zamboni-smoothed slab of ice was a
drained floor – and a handball tournament. I arrived to a sea of thousands of
uniform-clad Swedish and Norwegian handball players between the ages of
nine and 17. They were here for the Storhamar Handball Onsker, a three-day
tournament consisting of 230 teams, all playing for their own title glory.
Those teams not tossing the ball inside, huddled together outside on the
lawn, their coaches usually squatting with a white clipboard to illustrate the
best strategy. The 400-square meter rink area inside was divided into nine
different turf-lined handball fields. Arnesen, number three, a goalie for Team
Teie, had some sweet saves.
Though my personal speedskating glory was thwarted, my Olympic tour
still ended on a high note. I chanced my life, limbs, and sanity on a concrete
bobsled course and I sweated through a farcical ski run. But best of all, I got
to watch someone else win.
For information on the bobsled track and downhill skiing simulator, visit olympi-
aparken.no. The Hamar Olympic Hall website (in Norwegian) is hoa.no a
OSLOa
The heart of Oslo is very walkable, and the integrated
public transportation system is efficient.
Oslo.
Hamar Olympic Hall.
042-48OsloAtl406.indd 48 23.6.2006 12:25:39