The captive environment of an airplane and airport has always been a great place to get some reading done.
I hate to fly. I shudder when the airlines get on the speakers to say - "We have more people booked on the plane than we have seats. Oops, should have seen that coming, would anyone like a can of tomato juice as an inducement to take a later flight?" Someone said worry is imagination misused, well I have a very good imagination. I'm always waiting for that overbooked shoe to drop.
But in an environment of otherwise total boredom I get more immersed in a book than perhaps anywhere else. At my house there are cats, you see. They don't time their disagreements or hunger impulses to chapter breaks. Also Christine is prone to watch HGTV.
I've read many books on planes over the years and I recall many of them. I read Elmore Leonard's Split Images on a puddle jumper to New Orleans once.
Other great airplane reads include Mark Frost's The List of Seven pitting Conan Doyle and his Sherlocks Holmes inspiration against esoteric societies.
Also, John Farris' The Axman Cometh which he wanted you to read in one sitting, and Robert Petitt once insisted I read Chet Williamson's short story "Her Skin's Just Soft and Purty, He Said" from Razored Saddles on a flight to Seattle.
I'm glad I don't have to fly more, but if I did I'd probably get more reading done.