Terminal 7 at LAX. The Hertz shuttle bus driver was nice for so frickin' early in the morning.

Airport Security wasn't bad at all. Not as good as O'Hare, but there's hardly anybody in line, so it's a cake walk. I'm through the line at 5:45am for my 7am flight (United 102). That's a long time to kill. I decide to try and find a bottle of Coke for the trip. Nobody that's open are selling soda. Just water. And it's not cold either. Water is better than nothing. Eventually, after a lot of people watching, it's time to go.

My seat is 31B. Great, a center seat... except no one takes the window! Whoo Hoo! Sweet. It's foggy outside again. Hard to see anything while taxiing. We take off from 25R and we can't see a thing. We pop out on top of the fog/clouds and I never see Los Angeles again. As we head west, the clouds dissipate. We fly right over Las Vegas and you can see and identify everything. We get served a egg-ham-cheese croissant and get The Italian Job as a film (edited, of course). I'm am so friggin' exhausted, but I can't sleep a wink. I instead listen to the movie and Air Traffic Control on Audio Channel 9. We take the Bradford 3 into Chicago and land on 22R at 12:48pm, flying right over the Allstate Arena. Carol was waiting for me in baggage claim, even though I didn't check any bags. (Hey, we needed a place to meet.) Well, I'm back home again. I am happy to be home, but happy to have made the trip. I'm happy to see old family ties and I'm happy to have been able to take a few hours for myself.

I'd do this again in a heartbeat.