Suspicious minds: Susan in the Ozark mountain range, '100 miles of steep ups and steep downs'.
I am sat in Ellington Public Library with a fan blowing a soft draft of tepid air over my head. I've been sat here for two hours and I'm not sure how much longer I can feign an interest in Stories of the Golden West before the librarian realises I'm milking it for the coolness. In the last 24 hours I've developed a true empathy with the torment of Sisyphus, except I'm pushing a bicycle up a hill not a rock. With a hot, wet towel wrapped around my face. Metaphorically speaking.

The Ozark mountain range is 100 miles of steep ups and steep downs, so you spend half your day with your legs spinning round like the clappers and the other half with your thighs screaming as your lowest gear fails to ease the effort. I would cry but my eyes are bleeding.

There was no sign of what was looming as I crossed the Mississippi River at dawn. The first sight that greeted me was acres of sunflowers waking up to the sun's rays with fog coating the horizon and the foothills of the Ozarks. I had stayed the night in Chester, Illinois, the home of Popeye - a man I am beginning to bear a startling resemblance to, without the aid of spinach.

After a morning of cycling through vineyards and farmer's markets I arrived in Farmington where my reveries were promptly shattered by a little twerp in a souped-up junkmobile, yelling at me to get a "cuckoo, cuckoo" life you "cuckoo, cuckoo". I decided to follow up this delightful experience with a beer, so parked my bike, opened up the door of the nearest bar and proceeded to skid across the laminated floor before coming to rest at the feet of three oversized men in trucker caps and dungarees. Dressed as I was in lycra it was quite a while before I could convince them that no in fact, I was not a stripper.

I had no idea what to expect of Missouri and I have to say, so far I'm quite surprised. On the one hand there are lots of farmers selling fresh produce outside their homesteads, the state parks are superb and the vineyards picturesque - try out the Grapevine Grill at Chaumette Winery if you're ever this way. On the other, confederate flags have replaced the stars and stripes on most dwellings, there is a sexism rife here which is actually quite sinister, and so far the only example of diversity which I have seen is the offering of Busch lager in bars instead of Bud Light. But I'm only two days in and I am optimistic despite the chorus of catcalls which greets me every time I climb onto my bike.

Tonight, fingers crossed, there is a storm predicted which should clear the air somewhat. It would certainly be nice to be able to say "yes, it is raining, it's not just me sweating".

Peace out, people.