From the summit of the Space Needle, 184m (604ft) up, I looked out across the seaside city of Seattle beneath me. Mirror-like skyscrapers and apartment blocks glinted in the hazy morning light. South of the observation tower I could see Lumen Field — the 69,000-seat stadium of the Seattle Seahawks NFL team — glinting in the hazy morning light. To the west the Olympic peninsula glowed a lush, mossy green. Douglas firs and mountain hemlocks fringed glassy-black lakes where seaplanes with banana-like floats skidded into land. Reminiscent of Cape Town or Sydney, Seattle may well be one of the most beautiful seaside cities.
But I was heading east, to the open road, and Middle America. For the next ten weeks I would be cycling solo and unsupported through 11 states, all the way to Key West, Florida, via a route of more than 4,000 miles. Why? To take the temperature of the nation in the lead-up to the presidential election in November.
“I can’t even begin to fathom how ridiculous things are going to get for you out there,” said John Price, a retired US marine who offered to take me sailing on Puget Sound, the watery playground of Seattle, where cormorants fished beside container ships destined for the Pacific.
Long-distance bicycle travel opens you up to conversations, and offers, such as these. “People who have grown up in the past 20 or 30 years haven’t had a war to rally around like my grandfather did,” Price went on as we rescued a lifebuoy from a passing cruise ship. “All they’ve had is a lot of hyperbole and reasons to try not to get along with people.”
Simon’s final destination was Key West in Florida
GETTY
From a distance the United States can appear more divided than ever. But I was determined to meet real people like Price — the citizens behind the headlines — to better understand a country that many of us take for granted.
It took me almost two weeks to cross Washington — a state bigger than England and Wales combined — via the North Cascades, a densely forested mountain range where a soupy mizzle drenched the canopy and posters warned of hungry black bears.
I spent a night with protesters campaigning for nuclear disarmament, met teenage Mormon missionaries and spoke with Christian ministers warning of an imminent doomsday. But before crossing into Idaho I stopped in the small town of Ritzville for the annual Labor Day rodeo. After a rousing rendition of The Star-Spangled Banner I watched barrel races and bronc-riding from the raucous beer garden.
The Labor Day rodeo at Ritzville
SIMON PARKER
“Hey, it’s actually this dude’s first rodeo!” one joker told the amused crowd. I stuck out like a sore thumb — the only person not wearing blue jeans and boots, I was given away as a tourist by my shorts and flip-flops, but this made me the hiccupping beneficiary of an unending supply of free drinks.
For all the issues and culture wars that rip Americans apart, there are myriad things that bring them together, a love of wild places in particular. In Montana then Wyoming I cycled for hours on end with barely a horse, let alone a human, for company. And when I did occasionally stumble across a tobacco-spitting rancher I was greeted like a long-lost friend. “You’re not from round here, are you?” they would ask as they marvelled, wide-eyed, at my bicycle and big red panniers. “Do you need some place to stay? You look hungry. Can I fix you a sandwich?”
My journey across the US spoke to the greatest American obsession of them all: freedom. Sure, most people thought that I was downright bonkers, and more than a dozen tried to give or sell me a gun for protection from bears, dogs and other people, but everyone was fascinated by my desire to see their vast and geographically diverse country slowly — albeit on a two-wheeled contraption dismissed by many Americans as a children’s toy.
In Nebraska — one of the so-called flyover states, so named because few tourists visit them — I pedalled through thousands of acres of rustling corn fields. Long-distance bicycle travel can make you feel extremely small and the world very big, especially in the breadbaskets of the Midwest, where genetically modified crops sprawl across every sun-kissed horizon.
Battling through a tornado in Nebraska
SIMON PARKER
Most foreign tourists flock to the coastal cities of Los Angeles, New York and Washington. But in many ways Middle America feels like the beating heart of the US; the parched core of a country that feeds the world. Wonderfully off the beaten path I found my English accent turning heads in petrol stations, grocery shops and restaurants. I lost count of the number of people who insisted on buying me breakfast.
At numerous points across the thousands of miles I rode alongside three-mile-long freight trains pulling coal and oil towards cities on the east coast; their drivers made a habit of sneaking up behind me and sounding their horns. Sometimes I would share the road with slate-grey coyotes and vultures dripping in blood. But often I would be entirely alone, the only human for miles.
In Oklahoma, the state immortalised by John Steinbeck in his Pulitzer-winning novel The Grapes of Wrath, I found a surprisingly verdant land that contradicted the “dust bowl” image of my mind’s eye. Nevertheless, the open road swirled with heat mirage and it was normal to ride in temperatures topping 38C. I would try to set off long before dawn to get in 50 miles by lunchtime. On particularly remote and broiling stretches I would need to carry ten litres of water.
I spent the night in Pawhuska, the capital of the Osage, the wealthy Native American nation whose story was told by Martin Scorsese and Leonardo DiCaprio in the 2024 Oscar-nominated film Killers of the Flower Moon. When oil was discovered beneath Osage lands in the 1920s a mysterious spate of murders took place and “headrights” were handed to unscrupulous white widowers. These days the bijou town has an olive oil-tasting bar and the Constantine Theater, the second-oldest performing arts centre in Oklahoma. But instead of traipsing around in the stifling heat with the other tourists I propped up a bar and chatted to people who lived there. “I feel like America is in an era of accountability,” said one of the bushy-bearded patrons, an Osage man who believed that stories such as Killers of the Flower Moon would help to redress racial inequality.
Simon on the open road in Wyoming
SIMON PARKER
Just outside Subiaco in Arkansas I met a friendly cattle farmer railing against taxes then, at a nearby Benedictine monastery, spoke to a monk who had once hunted ghosts. “Enjoy life!” God had told him after saving him from the devil. It was a maxim to live, and ride, by.
• 12 of the best US road trips
A few days later I was chased into a Mississippi cotton field by a pack of angry dogs, only to be greeted by a chipper farmer who insisted on buying me a cheeseburger and fries. You seldom find such characters, or acts of kindness, in a guidebook; sometimes you have to stumble out of a hedge and simply hope for the best.
Until now the food had been mostly lousy — processed and beige. In the food deserts of the Midwest fresh produce is scarce. But barbecue is a religion in the South. “Low and slow,” goes the mantra. At the Dreamland Bar-B-Que restaurant in Tuscaloosa, Alabama, I slurped meat and marinade from tender pork ribs with abandon. “In the 1800s the good cuts of meat went to the fancy people,” Jimmy Hart, a friend of a friend who worked for the local tourist office, said. “But the rest of us were left with the brisket and the rump, so we had to figure out how to make it delicious. Growing up you knew that some of the best food could be found in some of the sketchiest neighbourhoods, because their barbecue pits had been burning for a hundred years.”
Arriving in Key West, after cycling more than 4,000 miles
SIMON PARKER
The pristine, empty forests of Alabama surprised me more than any other corner of the country. Dappled in buttery sunshine, the rolling roads were so quiet that I could practically hear autumn leaves falling on the grass. Dozens of white-tailed deer clip-clopped through the undergrowth then stared back at me with their billiard-ball eyes.
Florida, in contrast, felt loud and brash. I zigzagged south, trying to avoid theme parks and busy cities. A journey from A to B will always have its bottlenecks, but at least this one smelt of citrus, with oranges, lemons and limes lining my sultry path.
• Read our full guide to Florida
I arrived in the Florida Keys via the Overseas Highway, a 113-mile extension of Highway 1, the 2,370-mile route that follows the US east coast; blue skies, fluffy clouds and a light tailwind — close to perfection. This was the beginning of the tropical end of Florida, and of my journey.
Island-hopping via 42 bridges, some as long as seven miles, I stayed in 1960s art deco motels and refuelled on stacks of pancakes sopping with maple syrup. As a blistering blood-orange sun dipped beneath the horizon I celebrated on the streets of Key West with thousands of sequined and body-painted revellers at Fantasy Fest, the Floridian answer to Mardi Gras, albeit in October.
With 4,373 miles behind me, all seen at the gentle pace of a bicycle, I was exhausted but in awe of the country I had just explored — a nation that can seem more divided than ever, but delivers generosity, hospitality and epic scenery by the bucket-load.
Simon Parker was a guest of the tourist boards of Seattle (visitseattle.org), the states of Washington (stateofwatourism.com), Nebraska (visitnebraska.com), Oklahoma (travelok.com), Arkansas (arkansas.com), Mississippi (visitmississippi.org) and Alabama (alabama.travel), and the Florida Keys (fla-keys.com); the travel insurance he required for cycling across the US was provided by Yellow Jersey (yellowjersey.co.uk). His book A Ride Across America is published on Thursday (£20; September Publishing). To order a copy go to timesbookshop.co.uk. Free UK standard P&P on orders over £25. Special discount available for Times+ members.
Three epic cycle trips in the US
By Katie Bowman
1. California wine country
While we’d never recommend cycling under the influence, you can at least afford to swallow wine-tasting sips when you’re biking between vineyards. This six-day meander starts in San Francisco and ends in Healdsburg, ticking off five wine valleys, including Napa and Sonoma. There’s also time to see thousand-year-old trees in the Armstrong Redwoods state reserve and enjoy the coast as you pootle through Bodega Bay, staying in fabulous foodie hotels.
Details Five nights’ full board from £3,426pp, including transfers and bike hire (backroads.com). Fly to San Francisco
2. Maine coast and national park
Maine cycle trips are offered from May to September, so now is the time to get to New England. This week-long self-guided coastal route takes in atmospheric island lighthouses, craggy shorelines and bohemian towns, where you’ll stay in charming inns. You’ll start in Portland and end with a spin through Acadia National Park and along its granitic Schoodic peninsula.
Details Seven nights’ B&B from £4,019pp, including flights, transfers and bike hire (headwater.com)
3. Cross-American adventure
USA Bike Tours specialises in trips offering guided rides with other cyclists, accommodation that might include camping, meals, a guide, a medic, a support vehicle and a bus to transport your luggage. You must, however, bring your own bike and camping gear. This trail wheels from Canada, through Montana, Wyoming, Utah and Arizona then on to Mexico and all the Latin American nations en route to Panama. You can also book one of 11 individual 10-to-20-day sections.
Details Twenty-four weeks’ full board from £25,736pp (usabiketours.com). Fly to Inuvik and out of Panama City
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