As we crossed the border from Arizona into Utah, the second state of our journey across the USA, the approach of the 4th July was becoming evident. American flags adorned houses, shops and street lights in preparation for American Independence Day.

Ted turned to me one morning whilst riding through a sleepy flag-covered village and asked ‘Who are they celebrating independence from?’ An awkward smile spread across my face as I replied ‘From us. From the British’, ‘Oh’ came the uncomfortable response, the huge hole in our school education syllabus about British history becoming strikingly obvious. I have a smidge more knowledge about American independence than Ted, but I’ll admit that most of that has come from the West End Musical, Hamilton, which is up there as one of the best musicals I know, but I’ve always been more inclined to sing it’s tunes in the kitchen rather than fact check it’s historical accuracy.

I am, however, familiar with many of the famous quotes from the USA’s founding forefathers and evidently so too are the factories churning out ornaments for the USA market. Many of the decorations stating things like ‘Land of the Free’ or ‘Land that I love’. As we pedalled along through the continual heat of the southern Utah deserts, I couldn’t help but feel that the USA being the ‘Land of the Free’ now felt slightly ironic given its consumer driven culture, where more is better, and where very little is free (and in fact everything is very expensive). We first noticed it as we tried to find water. We would see a creek, lake or reservoir on the map and aim for it, hoping for a much needed refill of our water bottles, or a chance to wash the sweat and dirt off our skin, but each time we reached it, the water would be private and fenced off, with large ‘No Trespassing’ signs surrounding it. Having learnt already the get-off-my-land type consequences of entering private property, we didn’t dare jump any fences, so ended up cycling on-and-on in search of water. It just shows how much of a precious commodity water is in rural parts, where ground water is so scarce and it’s not piped in from miles away, like it is in the towns and cities. When we did finally roll into a town, buying bottled water and ice by the trolly load seemed to be how all the locals did things, but we found getting hold of water for free was pretty easy. Petrol stations and camp sites often let us fill our bottles for free when we asked, even if we were just passing by. Most sports grounds or playgrounds also had a water tap with drinking water freely available – although from the looks given by some of the locals, I think Ted washing himself and his clothes under the fawcett was not the usual use of community amenities. This piped water is usually siphoned in from miles and miles away, sometimes even from the next state – crazy.

The cost of private accommodation is also definitely not free, in fact it’s generally pretty astronomical and well beyond the Yorkshire man’s budget we are trying to stick to. Several of the rural campsites you have to pay for don’t even have water, or showers, so as Ted puts it – you are paying £25 for a bench! This being said, the USA also has an incredible amount of public land, which is free for the public to use and enjoy. Acre- upon-acre of National Forest or BLM land (land owned by the Bureau of Land Management), as well as National Monument land, where generally you can camp for free. Many of the sites also have all the services a couple of dirtbag cyclists could ever need – a stream, a bench, a firepit and a long-drop loo, total luxury!! It’s been such a privilege to be able to enjoy all this wild and beautiful public land, and in this respect the USA is the land of the free they talk of. It’s the kind of freedom over land that we can only dream about in the UK. But as Franklin Roosevelt said ‘Freedom cannot be bestowed; it must be achieved’ and the Americans in favour of retaining the expanse of the public lands, and their rights over them, are having to fight to retain them due to some questionable decisions from past Presidents (who I really wish had been advised to ‘talk less and smile more’ as per the advice given to Hamilton).

We, however, did enjoy the benefit of freedom bestowed – one afternoon, leaving the town of Kanab before heading back out into the cactus flowers and dead rattlesnakes of the desert, we saw two guys hanging their 4th July flag decoration outside.

We stopped to ask if we could refill our water bottles before cycling on. They immediately invited us inside to cool off whilst using their tap. They were two brothers-in-law who were adding the finishing touches to a new glamping pod site, that opened to the public the following week. Whilst devouring the cheesecake they had also offered us, we chatted away to them, telling them our story and listening to theirs. They were from Israel and had moved to the USA, shocked and saddened by what  had happened in their home country. The USA provided them with the freedom to start a new chapter with the glamping site and they kindly invited us to stay and give the facilities a test run. An hour later, as I stood with eyes closed, head tilted up to enjoy the full force of the rain shower, savouring the feeling of the cool, refreshing water tracing lines down my face, I replayed their story in my mind and was reminded of the fragility of freedom, how quickly it can be destroyed. We tore ourselves away from the luxury of the glamping pod the following morning and continued onwards, loaded up with water and a stark reminder to hold tight onto the freedoms that we do have.

The next section of the route promised to be another hot and dry one, but this time we would be passing through Bryce Canyon National Park. Counterintuitively, National Parks in the USA don’t really feel like a park for the nation, but instead often feel a bit like amusement parks with lots of costs and people and rules and signs and dedicated walkways and names for everything (even most road lay-bys have individual names, as though they are a visitor attraction in themselves). But we were pleased we braved all this to visit Bryce. We also had the benefit of having the place to ourselves. When we arrived at the canyon itself, the heavens opened and the storm we had been riding away from all day finally caught up with us.  Everyone else, unaccustomed to the rain (unlike us hardy Brits!) quickly disappeared back to their SUVs and trucks.

For us, the rain couldn’t take us away from the gravity defying hoodoos, the fascinating layered mineral colours or the striking beauty of the canyon. But it did lead to our first experience of the dreaded peanut butter mud of Utah that others had warned us about. The rock in this area is all dry, fine, dusty, red clay so the moment water is added to it, it becomes the slippiest, sloppiest, chunkiest mud that sticks to everything. If you walk in it, it quickly fills the lugs on your soles, then more mud sticks to that mud, layer upon layer, until you end up trying to skate about in platform shoes made of slippy mud. Hilarious to watch, but not so fun to try and master yourself. Somehow, miraculously, we made it out of the canyon without either of us taking a tumble in the mud and we enjoyed the refreshing coolness and the sweet petrichor that the rain brought with it.

The drop in temperature was very welcome, but it indicated that the series of storms we had seen in the forecast were heading our way, so we had some decisions to make. The route itself headed off-road, up over a large climb and a high plateau of chunky, cut-up dirt road for over 100kms which we knew was impossible when wet, due to the peanut butter mud. The advice is always to stop riding and wait until the ground has dried out. But this felt so impractical given the series of storms predicted, and the lack of fresh water or resupply along the whole ridgeline. We had already experienced a small amount of the mud on a section of the route earlier that day with some peanut butter mud creating large sticky patches, which then stuck to our tyres and flicked all over our bikes and bags. Things got worse when the trail started switching between mud and dry, dusty, pebbled gravel, it created a mud and pebbled layer cake effect on our tyres and bikes. This then dried in the baking heat into a perfect clay, concrete consistency – not great! So we had some thinking to do about our route options and spent a night at the Butch Cassidy Campsite (great name!) in Salina to enjoy a shower, the luxury of laundry and some time to re-route before heading out the following day – well that was the plan anyway.

The following day was Sunday, and having eaten up all our food supplies, we hoped to decide on our route, then swing by the one grocery store in town to restock. But we’d forgotten that everything closes on Sunday here in Utah, with it being a largely a Mormon state. And by 3pm we still hadn’t finalised our route, so with little other option, we unpacked all our bags, that we had only loaded up a couple of hours earlier, set up the tent (again!) and decided to stay for a second night. At around 8pm, the amazing host at the campsite appeared with a small hamper full of food for us – A homemade stew and some freshly baked scones still warm from the oven – delicious. We couldn’t believe the kindness and generosity. We spent the rest of the evening filling out bellies and sharing travelling tales. Like many other Americans she had never left the USA, but had used the freedoms she had even without a passport to travel to all states of the USA by the age of 27, amazing.

So, a day later than we thought, we pedalled on. We chose to stay on the paved backroads (most unlike us, I know!) but at least we knew we wouldn’t be stuck in peanut butter mud for days on end. It’s always feels a bit frustrating to have to re-route in this way, it feels like you’re missing out, but in this instance it was definitely the right decision. And as we continually remind ourselves on this trip – we can’t do everything.

We frequently acknowledge this, but try to keep enough freedom in our very loose plans to be able to experience things that we don’t expect. We often find that the best moments are those we could never have created ourselves, even if we had meticulously planned it. The 4th July ended up being a perfect example of this.

We found ourselves staying with a WarmShowers host family for the 4th July, after graciously being invited to stay for a second night.  Steve and Noelle were full of life and laughter, their super-cool LA-influenced energy, creative vibes and beautiful art filled home made them seem much younger than their years. They were so much fun and their optimism shone through, giving us the feeling that this truly is the land of the free and anything is possible. We enjoyed a huge all American style breakfast with the family, which they had already forewarned us would be a three hour affair and we lapped it up. We cruised around town on their incredible collection of vintage bikes, and absorbed the upbeat, red-white-and-blue filled, celebratory atmosphere that came with the national holiday.

The evening celebrations were so classically American, they felt too good to be true – food, games, fireworks all shared with the neighbours and the local community. As Ted and I stood hand-in-hand watching the fireworks light the sky with their magical sparkle and the playlist found Bruce Springsteen’s ‘Born in the USA’, it felt like we were in an episode of Dawson’s Creek – the only difference being that our own teenage years are long gone!

We were so fortunate to be part of a celebration of freedom that so obviously means so much to the USA and it’s people. Despite all the uncertainty around the upcoming election and the unsettling political divides that the media perpetually circulate about the USA, it seems on July 4th at least, those differences are diminished in the light that is shone on independence and freedom. And who knows whether all this unity will seem as hopelessly nostalgic as a Dawson’s Creek episode when viewed through the eyes of a cold November election day, but I just hope that, like Alexander Hamilton, those who are like their country, who are young, scrappy and hungry don’t throw away their shot!