Sunny in UK. Warm but overcast in Chicago, sunny in Denver
I got up at 6.30, somewhat less than fully rested, showered and had breakfast. After completing packing and rechecking I had my passport and necessary flight and hotel details, I waited for the arrival of the taxi I had booked the previous evening for 8.25.
By 8.35 there was still no sign of it, so I called the firm, 001. I was initially assured that it was no more than five minutes away, but when it still failed to appear, I called again. Apparently there had been some mistake and they could not actually take bookings for that time of the morning (how useful). I tried some other taxi firms, but they could not help. Somewhat stressed, I called 001 again, and was again told a vehicle would shortly be with me. Somewhat to my surprise, it was, with a suitably apologetic driver.
I arrived at the coach stop around 9.10, paid the driver (by cheque, as neither of us had sufficient change for the transaction), and awaited the coach. This arrived around 9.30, thirty minutes after than the one for which I had been aiming, and arrived at Heathrow an hour later.
Upon arriving at the United check-in area, I was taken aside for security checks, which involved looking inside my suitcase and briefly enquiring as to my plans, then headed into the normal check-in line. I was quickly through this, went through the upstairs security checks, and passed the time waiting for my flight to be called looking around the many duty-free shops, without spending anything.
The flight, aboard a Boeing 767, left on time at 12.45, passed uneventfully and arrived punctually in Chicago at 3.30pm Central time. I watched two films, namely ``Gosford Park'', a mixture of ``Upstairs Downstairs'' and country house murder mystery, which I thought extremely good; and ``A Beautiful Mind'', about Nobel prizewinner John Nash, which was less so but nevertheless passed the time. Catering was of the usual bland nature, while the mid-flight views of the icy wastelands of Labrador were spectacular.
Upon arrival at Chicago O'Hare I passed through baggage reclaim, immigration and customs, then returned my case to be loaded onto the onward flight to Denver, 900 miles to the west. A shuttle train meanwhile took me from terminal five to the gate at terminal one. About the only thing of note at the airport was the presence in the restrooms of automatic electronic toilet seat cover dispensers (complete with large LED counter on the wall to say how much remained), an invention to make one wonder how the world ever managed without it, and also how much got wasted owing to bored visitors fiddling with it.
The awaiting plane was a Boeing 777, larger than that on which I had originally been booked, a change possibly to meet increased Memorial Day demand. It left a little late owing to the need to remove a case, possibly from a passenger who had either volunteered or been volunteered to take the next flight, as this was apparently overbooked.
I followed progress on the video screen in front of me while reading from Francis Parkman's account of travels in 1846 on the Oregon Trail, something I hoped to be seeing in a few days' time. The flight took us across Illinois to Iowa, and would have passed right over the town of Des Moines (famously damned by Bill Bryson) had there not been the need to turn a little to the south to avoid storms nearer to Denver. We then crossed the Missouri and passed over the Kansas prairies, during which time the pilot kept us informed of the score in some hockey game important to Denver residents and announced that commentary would be available on the in-flight entertainment systems just as soon as reception was adequate.
We landed about 15 minutes late, around 6.45pmpmpm Mountain time, seven hours behind London. I left the airport 45 minutes later and boarded a Supershuttle van for the journey into the centre of Denver, around 18 miles to the southwest (the airport is a relatively recent construction in a wide expanse of nothing). The van carried a full load of ten passengers (one of whom was heard loudly cursing the hockey result en route), and made numerous stops at hotels in the city to drop them off before it reached my hotel, the Ramada Downtown, on the main east-west street through the city.
I checked in and made my way up to a very comfortable first-floor room to rest from the journey. Somewhat tired, I did not leave the room and merely consumed a couple of light snacks saved from the flight while watching TV and reading a little, before retiring for the night.