Driven mad by Sydney's bus bedlam

Human beings are doing extraordinary things in Sydney - breaking unthinkable barriers of speed, strength and endurance.

But try getting a bus to take you on time to where you want to go, and faith in human endeavour starts to wilt.

The transport tangles at these Games are known around the world now although Olympic vets say it was worse at the last games in Atlanta.

One day of Bus Bedlam in Sydney drives you insane - rather than where you intend to go.

The bus system is chaotic at these Games. Jams, confused coordinators and lost people - mainly the bus drivers - everywhere.

Hundreds of the drivers were brought in at late notice, partly because drivers already brought in from country areas saw what was around the corner and decided to drive straight back home.

In comparison, the trains are transport heaven. They stick to their routes, the people running them seem to know what they're doing and there's a reliable timetable. Your accreditation even allows you to travel for free.

But transport hell is the buses, although the drivers are charming. Too charming, sometimes.

They veer off to help some stranded soul, and you end up in Penrith instead of Parramatta.

It happened this week. A bus attempting to take the Herald to the shooting, went via the white water centre 30km away from the target. It made you feel like doing some shooting yourself.

Throw in a few traffic jams and a simple journey becomes an ordeal.

The bus on the way to the velodrome became lost. Completely.

The driver and his alleged navigator had typical excuses.

They had been flown in at late notice last week from Adelaide and Melbourne.

They had a day-long orientation around Sydney and were than set loose on their victims.

They had maps at the ready, but they were missing some vital details - like street names.

The driver was supposed to take us to the velodrome but veered off to take someone somewhere else. Lovely chap.

He even let on some athletes wanting to go to their village, until an official intervened. Could have been a great story that.

"What about the ******* velodrome mate?" I enquired.

At one point I pleaded with him to stop at a dairy for directions. But inside was a new Australian who was struggling with 'the' and 'a', let alone what a velodrome was.

The drivers' radios that link them to base had open channels so their pleas for directions were drowned out by all the other pleas for directions. A simple journey took nearly three hours.

It makes you wonder if the Olympics are just too big.

It's not all beer and skittles for the drivers either.

The catering, they say, is decidedly dodgy.

One out-of-towner lined up to get his corned beef roll and found it was off. It had probably been sitting in a bus all day.

He returned it, and asked for another but was turned down because he had already handed his food voucher in.

Neither could he get his original back because they "don't serve off-food."

Others report working 10- and 12-hour-days without a feed.

They are doing a sterling job, driving us all mad.