Team J00ster, you're the last team to arrive... I'm sorry to say, you have been eliminated from the race

Eight cities, nine flights, seven days. Gotta love US domestic business travel, where even the act of handing out a measly packet of peanuts is likely to tip the decrepit MD-80 you're sitting on right back into the Chapter 11 from whence it came.

First stop: room with a view. Santa Monica beach is a welcome sight after a frigid New York winter. I was going to say a breath of fresh air, but this is LA, so let's leave that metaphor for now.

Meltdowns, TARPs, and bailouts seem a long way away out here where the only concern is whether your suntan is perfect and your Hummer will fit all the bags your personal shopper picked up on Rodeo Drive.

Where the beautiful people shop. Which explains why Rock isn't buying.

How many beaches can lay claim to having a roller coaster? Or a parking lot bigger than the beach itself?

Sunset over Malibu.

Northward bound. Next stop the hills of San Fran. Nice hotel, too bad we arrived at midnight and left at 6am.

Now we're talking! In the US it takes three hours to crawl three blocks on a sweltering freeway; in Canada it takes 30 minutes to hop on a seaplane and get whisked literally from hotel door to hotel door. And they play ice hockey up here. 'Nuff said.

The way to travel. Sure beats squeezing into the middle (unassigned) seat on Southwest with an ample Texan on either side.

British Columbia from the air. Who would have thought something with Britain in the name could be this awesome?

General Motors Place, home ice for the Canucks on their quest for Lord Stanley's Cup.

Given their hot form in sweeping into the second round, one suspects their playoff quest will outlast their arena name.

After the endless frustrations of JFK and LAX, it's nice to arrive at an airport where the only time you're number 2 for departure is when an orca or two strays onto 22R.

Room with a view 2, a rare case where the sequel beats the original. Hey, it can work - like Empire Strikes Back. It's prequels you need to worry about.

There's something cool about a flight where the only security check is the Captain's laconic warning to watch the splash as he chucks your bag into the pontoon stowage hatch.

Millionaries row. Or it was, before the dark times, before the GFC. And before Rock walked into the neighborhood and sent the median household income the way of Lehmans.

Hard to believe such picturesque scenes are literally at the doorstep of the CBD.

Looking back at the city from Stanley Park. Yep, the man himself. He also has a rather famous cup named after him, so clearly he did something right.

Local culture in BC.

Maybe it doesn't quite make up for not having time to see the Golden Gate in SF, but still pretty darn cool. The 12km run around Stanley Park is somewhat challenging after too many days of room service, so any photo op, however contrived, is a welcome break.

Don't think that seaplanes have it all their own way on Vancouver Harbor. The big boys still have right of way.

Hang on, is that a beach? There's something seriously wrong with New York when even the Canadians are sunning themselves on the beach right about now. I mean, this is the city hosting the winter olympics and it's still warmer than NY...

Like every good Vancouver citizen, these locals are wondering where they're going to catch the next Canucks game.

Notice how this blog ends at Vancouver? That's 'cause the next stop was Denver...