As a Briton, there is no greater country to travel in than the USA

On a recent 4,000-mile bike ride across America, I lost count of the times someone picked up my tab – and I’m sure my accent helped

With more than 3,000 miles on the clock, I had cycled into a tight spot. A bottleneck of roaring traffic near Little Rock where the asphalt crosses the Arkansas river. Riding on would be suicide. So, I edged back, slowly, and took refuge in the shade of a nearby gas station. 
I stood out like a sore thumb. I always did. Because a bicycle and big red panniers are oddities in some parts of America. But then, when I opened my mouth and asked for help, a remarkable – but not unexpected – act of kindness played out. 
“I’m terribly sorry,” I said, to a silver-haired man filling up an SUV. “But might I be able to trouble you for a lift across the bridge?” 
“British?” He replied. And before I could even mutter the words Midsomer Murders, the back seats were down, and I’d been bundled into the trunk like a muddy labrador. 
The journey only took 90 seconds, but it might have saved my life, and wonderfully epitomised the level of kindness and generosity that followed me from Seattle to Miami, on a 4,373-mile bicycle ride through 11 diverse and dazzling states.
He dropped me off, and gave me a recommendation for dinner. And then guess what happened? The restaurant manager was so enamoured with my English accent and hair-brained journey, that the delicious plate of barbecued brisket (and three beers) was on the house. 
He even gave me a free (clean) T-shirt, and I departed on a wave of umami, while being given God’s blessings by half-a-dozen fellow patrons. 
In many parts of the world, being British is something to keep schtum about. Our history of empire building, and the booze-fuelled behaviour of some modern holidaymakers, has seen to that. In America, however, I’ve always been made to feel like a long-lost cousin. 
It’s a welcoming country in the first place, and travelling by bicycle certainly helps, but speaking The King’s English is the key – in my experience – to unlocking The Special Relationship. 
Time and again on my US odyssey, I found myself lured into deep and personal conversations with strangers. Perhaps it’s because freedom of speech – as ratified by the First Amendment – is so hardwired into the American psyche that the average citizen doesn’t bother with small talk or flim-flam, but cuts directly to the chase. 
“I’ll give you a quote,” said a retired bank manager I met in small-town Nebraska, sitting alongside a table of Trump-voting farmers. “We believe in the GGC: Guns. God. And Country!”
In the diners and convenience stores of Middle America, it is no exaggeration to say that people formed orderly queues to tell me about long-lost relatives in Scotland or Wales, their adoration of the British monarchy, or an addiction to the English Premier League. Fending off questions about Downton Abbey, warm beer, and milky tea, I felt like a one-man tourism attaché (albeit without a suit and tie but dressed in sweaty Lycra). 
And while I confess to not wanting to actually live in the land of Stars and Stripes – with its guns, private health care and baffling tipping culture – it is a country of such open-armed sincerity that I plan to return on holiday many times. Furthermore, I’m desperate to share the nation with my daughter. Once I’ve introduced her to its epic landscapes via films like Easy Rider, Midnight Cowboy and Thelma & Louise, we’ll take a road trip and see them with our own eyes.  
It is, therefore, a travesty that I hear so many Britons scoffing at the idea of a holiday in the “predictable” or “samey” US. Largely, from people who have: 1. Never actually been. Or 2. Went to a theme park in Florida and then ticked the country off their bucket list. Which is surely no different to taking a selfie outside Buckingham Palace and then claiming you’ve “done Britain”. 
There are also people who say they’ll boycott the US if Donald Trump is re-elected to the White House next month. Give me strength. You’re cutting your nose off to spite your face. Just because you don’t agree with a country’s political leadership, it shouldn’t stop you from experiencing all the delightful qualities that really do make America great: its national parks, its open roads, its small towns and its welcoming people (including the Trump voters). 
So, why does America receive such scorn? Perhaps it’s because deriding the US feels like punching up. A free hit. An easy target. And maybe the enormous success of “brand America” since the Second World War and the ubiquity of American culture has become a poisoned chalice. Every day, while barely noticing it, Britons consume American television, film, music and literature with barely a thought. And this has – somewhat paradoxically – turned people off. 
But by turning your nose up at America, you deny yourself the greatest holiday destination on the planet, which is made doubly attractive when you’re British. A Special Relationship? A holiday there can feel like a group hug with 330 million people.
Telegraph readers can save 15 per cent on Simon Parker’s new book, A Ride Across America at The Telegraph Bookshop.
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