Computers, cookies and crime

For most people – and for me most of the time – Sunday is a day of rest. But not yesterday. I had work to do and I won't bore you with it other than to say that from 1300hrs yesterday, I was sitting in a conference hall listening to people talk about the digital age and how it's going to affect everybody, even the manufacturing industries. In fact, it's not so much 'going to' affect everybody, it already IS affecting everybody. We have more computing power in our mobile phones than the computer used to take Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin (I nearly said Lightyear) to the moon. I could go on, but I'll spare you the lecture as you probably already know that mobile technology is moving fast and there will come a time when you'll trust the technology in your iphone more than the medical profession.

Central Chicago is said to be relatively safe

With all the above in mind – not so much the subject matter as I'd yet to learn some of the amazing facts I was assimilating yesterday afternoon – I thought I'd spend the morning wandering around, doing a bit of shopping and generally checking things out.

It was a wonderful day in Chicago. In fact the temperature this week will hit the 70s (fahrenheit) and residents of the so-called Windy City won't be experiencing too much in the way of breezy weather.

Whether those running in yesterday's Bank of America Chicago Marathon felt the same way, I'll never know. The race kicked off early yesterday morning and was being covered by the television networks in the early hours. Later, when I took to the streets, I saw plenty of people covered in silver foil capes having completed the 26-mile course. Some were elated, some were looking a little weary and a couple of people I spoke to were complaining about foot problems. Well, what do you expect if you run 26 miles.

My 'uncle' John – who I used to live virtually next door to when I was a kid and who, incidentally, wasn't really my uncle, he had something to say about running that annoyed the crap out of my dad.

God knows why we called him 'uncle' but we did, just like we used to call 'uncle' Brian our uncle too. They – John and Brian – were neighbours who were friendly with my parents. We used to enjoy happy holidays on the south coast with Brian and his family, back in the day when the summers were always sunny and warm. Sadly, they're both no longer with us. But it's 'uncle' John I'm referencing here because he used to say that 'animals only run if they have to', and if you knew my dad, which most of you don't, Jon excluded,  you'd understand why he wasn't happy with this remark. Dad competed in the 1984 London Marathon when, if I recall, he still indulged a smoking habit. I can't remember his time but it was pretty good for a man of 55 who, one way or another, wasn't THAT sporty in his day-to-day life. He started with half marathons and progressed to the big one.

Whenever I see marathon runners I think of dad. He loved it. In fact, every April from 1985 onwards, he always got his medal out on the day of the London Marathon and never ceased to encourage us – my brother and I (not so much my sister) – to enrol for the next event. I never did, but my brother Jon ran a handful of London Marathons and also put in some good times.

Running doesn't agree with me. Whenever I have run in the past I've injured myself. In 2005, after running around a disused Second World War airfield in deflated running shoes – the air in one of the soles had 'left the building', leaving me running unevenly – I did my back in. The net result? Severe lower back pain that persisted for around six months and led me to cancel a trip to the USA. Now that's not something I'd do lightly. I'm fine now (touch wood) and the problem has not returned, but I steer clear of running in any shape or form; I won't even run for the bus or the train.

My hotel (centre) on North Michigan Avenue

There were marathon runners everywhere yesterday: on the streets with family and friends – marathon running is a family affair for a lot of people – in the hotel lobby, anywhere you'd care to mention; and I saw them throughout the day, even last thing at night, in the hotel bar, when I sneaked in for a light snack and a glass of wine having walked the length of North Michigan Avenue from East Washington. Since lunch time I'd only eaten an oatmeal and raisin cookie in Peet's Coffee opposite Millennium Park and close to the Chicago Cultural Centre.

Earlier in the day I'd visited a few of the shops on North Michigan Avenue. I even tried on a pair of jeans and was amazed to discover that I've reverted back to my old size, that of a 32in waist. This surprised and elated me and that's why I feel mildly guilty about that oatmeal and raisin cookie and, indeed, that late night snack in the hotel bar. I could have just gone to bed and waited for breakfast.

Last night at the Cultural Centre I chatted with a fellow journalist who lives in Chicago near the Midway airport where crime is a bit of an issue. He lives in a townhouse in what he regards as a reasonably safe part of town, but he said that within a few blocks, the crime levels go up but the house prices go down. Always be concerned if you're looking to buy a house in the USA if the house you're looking at is much bigger, say, than what you're looking for, but is incredibly cheap. It probably means you might be moving to a dodgy neighbourhood. I keyed the Midway district into Google and found a forum site on which people discussed the inherent dangers of living in the area. Some people said it's fine if you're simply going to the airport, but others said keep an eye on your surroundings if you're walking about outside the airport.

The journalist I was talking to said he'd experienced very little in the way of trouble, but he did relate an incident during which he and his girlfriend were mugged by guys with guns and another incident some time ago when he was on a train late at night when two men boarded the train and one produced a razor from his mouth and told my journalist colleague to say nothing – or else. There was somebody else on the train asleep and he was the guy the thieves targetted, stealing, I think, his wallet without him waking up. Something like that.

It all made me think how relatively safe it is in the UK. According to my journalist colleague, the problems start when an area is going through a transition from run-down 'dodgy' neighbourhood to something a little more gentrified. When it's run-down, the residents are all in the same boat, ie they're all poor. But as the area starts to attract professional people with money, the crime starts and continues until the process of 'gentrification' is completed, everyone is respectable and the 'low-lifes' – if that's what they are – have moved on.

Human statue on North Michigan Avenue – she's safe

In the UK burglaries tend to occur when the occupants of the house are out; it's mostly opportunist thieves and small-time crooks from the locality. Crucially, however, they're not armed. Alright, perhaps they might have a knife, but they won't be packing a piece. In the USA, Americans have the right to bear arms – something like that, I'm not au fait with the legal technicalities – so intruders are likely to be armed and the chances are that if you produce a gun you're engaging them in a fire fight that you'll probably lose (assuming the bad guys have greater experience of using their hardware than you do).

Central Chicago, I'm told, is pretty safe, but one thing I have noticed is that so far I've yet to see a single police patrol car purring around the city. Normally, whether it's LA, Portland, Knoxville, Detroit, you name it, I've seen a police presence. Here in the Windy City I've seen (and heard) plenty of ambulances and vehicles owned by the Chicago Fire Department, but no police. Here's hoping they're out there somewhere.

Postscript: just looking at that shot of the human statue (above) can you imagine how awful it must be if your job is being a human statue? She must have woken up this morning in her house or apartment and thought 'where's the silver paint?' Then I'm guessing that she stood outside in her back yard – Americans don't have gardens, they have 'yards' – and sprayed herself. She might have a husband or boyfriend (or girlfriend) to do it for her, I don't know, but what a palaver! And then those clothes she's wearing must stand up on their own. Theoretically, she could probably jump into them, but I'm sure she doesn't. And then of course she's got to get to where she's working – North Michigan Avenue – from wherever she lives. I'm assuming she'll travel by car – imagine meeting her on the train or bus – and in that case I'm wondering what kind of looks she gets from other drivers. What if she gets out to fill up with petrol? "No, I'm perfectly alright, I'm a human statue," she might say to passers-by. "This is how I earn my money, by standing absolutely still and scaring the shit out of old-age pensioners and little children."

Cycling around the Windy City...

I wandered down to the river and slightly beyond to locate the Fairmont Chicago Millennium Park hotel, which, understandably, is close to Chicago's Millennium Park. As I expected, it was one of those loomy, dark and luxurious 'corporate' hotels loved so much by conference organisers. I asked a few questions and then discovered that North Michigan Avenue, the road on which my hotel is situated, is bang in the middle of the city's shopping district. I was located on Chicago's answer to Oxford Street and decided that I'd take a look later on in the day. For now, though, I continued my walk until I found a cycle hire place on the outskirts of the aforementioned Millennium Park.

Riding the streets of Chicago on an Electra Townie – very comfortable

I hired an Electra Townie bicycle, put my copy of Beaumont's The Man Who Cycled the World in the small pouch on the handlebars and set about riding around the city. While it was busy, it wasn't what I'd call dangerous, but being as I stuck to the city centre, it was all rather samey. In total I cycled for about two hours, probably a little more, weaving in and out of the traffic and watching the city from the perspective of a cyclist. I found myself on North Michigan Avenue and decided to dismount and check out some of the stores. The obligatory Apple Store was right next door to my hotel so, having padlocked the bike in the street I wandered in to take a look at the Apple watches and the lap tops.  The Apple Store is like some kind of temple for tech heads.

Crossing the river...

Across the street is Banana Republic, a shop they don't have in the UK and one I'm sure the two women in my family would enjoy. This one is huge, on three levels, and they have a 50% sale going on. Some interesting stuff – for women and men – but being very utilitarian where clothes are concerned (why have a 'trendy' tee shirt emblazoned with some kind of message or logo when a plain tee shirt will suffice?) I eventually left the store empty-handed. They have a Macy's department store so I wandered in, checked out the perfumery department and the menswear and again left empty-handed.

I thought it best to hand the bike back before having lunch so I pedalled off towards Millennium Park – which involved riding back along North Michigan Avenue and negotiating a busy left turn near the park. Over the road from the park is the hugely overrated Tavern at the Park, a kind of pub with tables and space at the bar to sit and 'enjoy' the cuisine, which is very predictable and not, in my opinion, that great. It was one of those places where you can bet you'll get unnecessarily large portions. I ordered the chicken hash lunch with a Revolution Porter – and to be fair the portion was average-sized – and finished off with apple crumble and ice cream. The main course was fine (ish) but it came with truffles and I've now discovered that I'm not endowed with expensive tastes. If I had to list the things I really hate eating, I'd definitely have foie gras at the top of the list followed by Queen scallops – let's make that all scallops – and now I'd like to add truffles. They overpowered my chicken hash, which was basically chicken stew (but not as good as my wife makes it). It came with two poached eggs, which I knew would be runny and messy-looking on the plate once I had sliced through the egg and allowed the yoke to mingle with the stew and...ugh!

Scenes from the city as seen from the bike...

Foolishly I asked for dessert and, to be fair, was told that the portions were pretty large. I opted for something I thought would be safe: apple crumble and ice cream. But it was far from safe. I don't know what they did to it, but it was overly sweet and sugary, the ice cream smothered in something that was bound to be really bad for the health – some kind of syrupy, caramel concoction. Other guests passed comment on the size and I smiled back with a look of apprehension, wishing I'd never bothered.

Multi-storey car park and apts.

Next to me was an investment banker from California and after a couple of Revolution Porters the last thing I wanted was a big political conversation, not least because I know fuck-all about American politics. Equally, I didn't want to talk business either, but we did both and I was quietly glad that I was finished eating and simply awaiting the return of my credit card.

I ambled back along North Michigan Avenue amidst the crowds of shoppers and tourists, clutching my copy of The Man Who Cycled the World, which, for some reason, attracted the attention of the Americans, some of whom passed comment. "Did he do it?" And I'd reply, "Yes, he did it and then he cycled the Americas." The book became a kind of icebreaker as, earlier, the investment banker had asked me about it too. So if you own a copy of this book and don't want to be bothered by strangers, leave it at home.

Revolution Porter

When I reached my hotel room I hit the sack. I have, in fact, just woken up at 0400hrs UK time and whatever it might be here in Chicago (2200hrs). I was woken up by the female voice on my lap top exclaiming, "It's four hours." I thought I was dreaming or that the clock radio on the bedside cabinet had come on or there was an intruder in the room who liked to remind people of the time. It was a good excuse to get up and clean my teeth and check out my schedule for the day ahead (until I realised that it was only 0400hrs in the UK and that here in the Windy City it was still the night before. So I turned to the computer and here I am. That same female voice has just told me that it's 'five hours' back in the UK, meaning it's 2300hrs here. I think I might hit the sack again, or watch some TV or just lie on the bed and contemplate great things (like what I don't know).

But I haven't mentioned the bike or the Chicago Marathon, both of which need to be discussed. First, the bike. An Electra Townie, which they sell in the UK. It has a front brake and a mechanism whereby you pedal backwards and the bike stops. It works well, This is a comfortable bike, ideal for the city, but I'm not sure how good it would be on the sort of rides (and distances) covered by NoVisibleLycra. Don't get me wrong, if I owned one, I certainly wouldn't be trading it in for something more suitable as it would do the job. Remember that in most cases a bike is a bike is a bike, although I'm sure Mark Beaumont would disagree and I certainly wouldn't fancy cycling the world on an Electra Townie.

Not as good as my wife's chicken stew...

Sunday sees the Bank of America Chicago Marathon and all over the city I've seen people in trainers, especially in the hotel. Going back to my room in the elevator (lift) I got chatting to a guy from Ecuador who was running his first marathon. We were soon joined by another Ecuadorian doing the same thing, but not necessarily for the first time (I didn't ask him).

Wherever I go there are people wearing brightly-coloured trainers who, I'm guessing, are fast asleep at this very moment in preparation for the big day tomorrow. I say 'tomorrow' because it's still yesterday as I write this. It's only tomorrow in the UK.

And now it really is time for me to revisit my bed and get some more sleep, although I doubt I'll get much now that I'm fully awake and in writing mode.