Partial cloud in UK. Sunny on arrival in Chicago.
I had opted for a flight departing at 16.45, allowing me plenty of time to reach Heathrow without the need for an early start. I arose around 9.00, and after breakfast completed my packing and did a few odd jobs.
After a bad experience with taxis last year, I had arranged for a friend, Arthur Bullard, to take me to the Sandhills coach stop on the A40 on the outskirts of Oxford. He turned up promptly at 12.30 in his purple MG sports car, and delivered me to the coach stop a few minutes before the Heathrow coach appeared.
This made good time on the motorways and arrived at Heathrow's central bus station at 1.35. Compared to the mayhem I usually encounter in Terminal 3 the airport seemed relatively quiet. There was no wait at check-in, and I found myself with plenty of time to spare before boarding.
After making a couple of phone calls, I tried to visit the spectator gallery above Terminal 2 in order to pass the time (as I had done one bright morning in September 2001). ``Security reasons'' however had led to it being closed indefinitely. I returned to Terminal 3, went through the security checks and into the departure area. After an aimless wander around the duty-free shops I sat down to watch the departure screens for my gate to be called. For added amusement some of them were displaying lines of text at ninety degrees to the horizontal, while another was going through the Windows boot sequence.
Eventually it was time to board the plane, a Boeing 777. This was under half full and seemingly almost deserted in the business class cabin -- perhaps a sign of the times. I had a side aisle seat, next to a young Englishwoman on a short business trip to Chicago.
The flight was fairly uneventful. I watched a couple of films: ``The Hours'', about Virginia Woolf and the influence of her novel ``Mrs Dalloway''; and ``Welcome to Collinwood'', a comedy about a botched robbery, with at least one idea seemingly pinched from ``The Wrong Arm of the Law''. An in-flight meal of salad and pasta followed by ice-cream was served, reasonable except that I found myself completely unable to open the pot of salad dressing. A sharp implement might have helped had it been allowed.
We made good time and came into Chicago O'Hare forty minutes ahead of schedule, giving a total flight time of just over eight hours. Conditions were clear and offered excellent views towards the city as we made the final approach, the immense Sears and John Hancock towers clearly visible in the distance. Passage through immigration and baggage reclaim was very quick and I was soon outside looking for transport into the city centre. Although the elevated railway (``El'') network extends to O'Hare, the station is not easy to find, particularly with heavy luggage, and I had ruled it out as an option.
There was no immediate sign of shuttle vans so I opted to pay a little more for a taxi. The journey of about 15 miles into town was very quick and set me back $31.70 plus tip, about ten dollars more than a shuttle would have been. My hotel, the Travelodge Downtown, was situated just south of the main business district, opposite a building site and an ``El'' line.
I checked in and went to my room, a quiet one at the back of the hotel. I spent some time trying and failing to persuade the television to work, despite following the rather strange instructions affixed to it. Eventually I gave up and returned to the problem a few minutes later to find it had decided to behave after all. I found a programme showing some motorcyclists heading up the Moki Dugway in Utah -- having driven on this dramatic stretch of road myself it caught my interest, and the programme went on to show more of the region's dramatic scenery.
Somewhat wearied after a long day, I did not go out again and went to bed at 10.30.