When we planned this trip, it always had definite bookends: the Iowa Caucus, at the start, and then Super Tuesday as the grand finale, the closest America has ever got to having a nationwide primary. With so many states voting on one day, it seemed like when the dust settled on 6 February we would have an end to our narrative, a final scene for our film: Tom and I stumbling tired, battered and bruised into the sunset, possibly accompanied by Governor Bill Richardson. Well, it now seems that someone’s shown that film to a test audience, and they’ve decided they want to spin out the plot for several more hours before resolving anything. Hillary, Barack: what are you guys trying to do to us?

As you may or may not know from the more traditional news outlets, John McCain was the big winner in the Republican race, with Mike Huckabee doing better than expected, and Mitt Romney doing worse than expected. The Republicans look closer than ever to picking McCain as their candidate, but doing so will alienate substantial swathes of their conservative base, especially in those southern states that Huckabee cleaned up in tonight. The night for the Democrats was pretty much split down the middle: Obama got more states, Hillary got more big states – including California – and neither of them will be conceding anything for a good while yet.

We’re just back from spending the marathon results session in La Val’s Pizza Restaurant, having been invited by the cheerful, resilient Berkeley for Obama supporters. We took our place at 4pm to watch the results start coming in from the eastern states, but at that time there wasn’t much politicking going on in the room. We met Sid, who is Canadian, and failing his economics degree at Berkeley because of his dedication to the Obama campaign. He went to Mason City, Iowa earlier this year, hitching a ride with another volunteer from Chicago out to the tiny midwestern town ahead of the caucus. “I’m pretty invested in this campaign,” he told us, with some understatement.

It wasn’t until 8pm local time, when the Californian polls closed, that the Obama supporters started to show up, with their signs, badges, and t-shirts, fumbling their way around plastic tables and into diner-style booths, their eyes permanently fixed on the big news-bearing screen in the middle of the room, like the Mona Lisa inverted.

In such an achingly long results session, lubricated by over seven hours of beer, soda, and tantalising, glistening pizza grease, there were inevitably considerable peaks and troughs. In the lulls, every new bit of news becomes magnified in importance, the absurdly over-used ‘Breaking News!’ tag for once convincing in its phoney weight. “Romney wins Montana!” Rachael called out at one point, seeming to realise about half-way through delivering these three words that none of them were of interest to her. We laugh at the relative insignificance of this news, electorally speaking. “Montana? What is that? Like maybe three delegates? A farmer, his wife, and their pet pig?” A debate ensues as to whether this line is better finished with the word ‘pig’, ‘cactus’, or ‘rock’, and whether Montana in fact has cacti – or anything else. It was a long night.

But there was genuine excitement too. When Obama overturned Hillary’s long-held lead in the slowly-tallying Missouri popular vote, it was met with a room-full of whoops, cheers, and a snatch of the classic ‘fired up! ready to go!’. Twenty seconds later, CNN projected Arizona for Hillary Clinton, to pantomime boos and hisses. When Alaska went for Obama, meanwhile, the 40-odd students erupted in tongue-in-cheek enthusiasm – massive, full-strength, double-armed high-fives are exchanged. ‘Woo! Alaska!” someone shouts. Meanwhile Senator Obama’s speech from Illinois, another fine one in a litany of fine speeches, earned him some dogged, sincere responses from the committed young activists in the room. “Change is coming to America” declaimed Obama from the TV screen. “Damn right it is!” shouted a fresh-faced young turk from beneath his nascent beard. “I didn’t travel the country for nothing!”

When CNN projected California for Clinton at about 9.20 local time, it was not met with surprise, let alone shock or horror; just quiet, mature murmurs of disappointment. There was no need for rage against the dying of the light (”Washington does not need more heat. It needs more light.” is one of my favourite Obama epigrams) – because the contest is not even half-lost yet. Victor, our friend from Wisconsin who we met earlier in the day, is concerned about what the prolonged struggle to find a nominee will do for the Democrats chances in November, but he’s also relishing the challenges ahead:

“When the delegate counts from tonight are all in they’ll be pretty even I think, Obama and Clinton, so it’s all about how the media report it in the next few days, whether they decide someone is ‘the big winner’. But I think it could be the first time in decades that the race goes all the way to a brokered convention [in Denver in late August] – which would be both awesome and absolutely terrifying at the same time.”

Six more months of this, followed by a kind of giant, three-day super-caucus to make the final decision? What kind of masochists do they take us for?

Rolling into the pacific Pacific town of Pismo Beach (pop. 8,551) in early evening, we were beset by the usual travellers’ tiredness after the drive from Los Angeles – I was also recovering from Robert de Niro’s attempts to poison me, via some very dodgy veal and wild mushroom ravioli in his Hollywood restaurant Ago. With tired legs and eyes, finding someone in an out-of-season resort town who was more interested in Super Tuesday than this afternoon’s Superbowl seemed like a pretty tall order. Thank heaven then for Sean, our waiter in Brad’s, an informal diner with excellent clam chowder and a smattering of happy-looking Sunday evening customers. Sean is 25, making the best of his eye-wateringly bad uniform shirt, and, fortunately, he has more than a bit to say about the election.

Originally from Berkeley in the San Francisco Bay Area, Sean is normally a Democrat, but this time he’s happy to tell us he’s going to be voting for Ron Paul, “even though he’s a long-shot”. He likes Paul’s ‘no tax on tips’ policy that would help him out so much as a waiter, but it’s the Texan’s broader economic programme that has really impressed Sean. But if – more likely, when – Paul doesn’t get the Republican nomination?

“I’ll vote for whichever Democrat is against McCain,” he says, not having to think about this face-off too hard. “Either would be better than McCain. He’s no better than Bush basically.”

Really? You don’t think McCain’s got a slightly softer, more grandfatherly quality than the current President?

“Nah. He’s the kind of guy who’d shoot the black boyfriend you bring home.” he says, addressing our female friend.

When Sean registered locally two weeks ago, he got ten of his friends to sign up to vote too, and told them to go and research the candidates and pick one. “I don’t think I’ve persuaded any of them to vote Ron Paul unfortunately, but never mind,” he says, still pleased with his efforts – as well he should be. Because, you want to know what real patriotism is? It’s not sporting a ‘Boycott France’ bumper sticker, as we saw at a John McCain rally in Tallahassee; it’s Sean’s simple, selfless actions right there. Not to get all sanctimonious or anything.

*****

With 48 hours until the results come in on what the SF Chronicle is calling Super Complicated Tuesday (has any day in history ever had this many pseudonyms?), the tension is rising, the media are going nuts, and the USA’s fiendishly complicated system of delegates and districts is an algebraic albatross around every journalist’s neck. Super Tuesday has more permutations than I’ve had hot dinners. In light of this, it’s a shame that the US is ranked among the worst of the world’s industrialised nations at math(s).

In other news, you think Barack Obama’s a great speaker? Michelle Obama wipes the floor with her husband. Check out her speech at UCLA today, it’s powerful stuff.

We’ve been on the road a lot in the last few days. We have traversed phenomenally barren terrain – but it has been both beautiful, and diverse. From pebble-strewn, cactus-speckled beige expanses, to ranging sand dunes, to mountainous rock-piles, the south west has been a geological wonderland, all laid out beneath cloudless blue skies. We’ve been tormented by dust-storms, tumbleweed – it’s quite aggressively mobile stuff in high winds – and maniacal crop-dusting planes flying within feet of the heads of the traffic, in the manner of North By Northwest. The ubiquitous US border police have left us well alone though – an advantage of being white and driving with New York license plates.

In between we have got to know some of the finest motel chains the US has to offer – and acquired the kind of local ignorance normally befitting Britain’s finest rock bands. Twice in the space of two nights I have sat down to write, and had to call out hesitantly, wearily, ‘where are we again?’ This scenario has led to Tom and I upending Gideon Bibles and phone directories, and scrambling around inspecting motel chain rubric and check-out instructions for clues. The answers we were looking for were Fort Stockton, Texas (pop. 7,846), and Willcox, Arizona (pop. 3,769). I shan’t be hurrying back to either.

The last two nights have seen us dashing headfirst into our motels to watch CNN’s respective Democratic and Republican debates; out of obligation, rather than enthusiasm, it must be said. These TV debates are like a political version of dressage, the equestrian sport where the horse just rides cautiously around an empty paddock: they are reductive, stultifyingly banal versions of the real thing, but they are also painfully nerve-wracking at the same time, because you know one tiny slip-up could ruin a competitor’s whole campaign.

On both occasions Tom, Rachael and I sat amidst our traveller’s debris on freshly made hotel beds, squirming, squinting, occasionally guffawing at the TV. For the Republican debate, this was because of the horrendously angst-ridden battle between John McCain and Mitt Romney for the upper hand in the GOP race (this wasn’t, of course, based on actual policy, but whether you prefer a veteran or a businessman, essentially). Each time one spoke, the other displayed the kind of smile normally reserved for axe murderers standing behind heroines in slasher movies. Meanwhile Mike Huckabee and Ron Paul, the remaining two candidates in the Republican race, sat excluded at the end of the table, like small children at a dinner party. Huck was unhappy, and justifiably so, the poor creationist loon: “I didn’t come here to umpire a fight between these two – I’d like to swing a few myself. Could I maybe get some questions that all of us could answer?”

Last night’s Democratic debate – minus John Edwards, who dropped out if you missed that – was just as bad, but for the opposite reasons: someone at the DNC (the Dems’ party machine) obviously watched the Republicans ripping each other to shreds the previous night, had a brainwave, and knocked some Obama/Clinton skull together, telling them they had to make nice for the good of the party. Cue a grin-heavy liberal love-in, watched by everyone from Steven Spielberg to Ugly Betty to (I think) Josh from the West Wing.

With 22 states preparing to vote, The Tuesday of Destiny is looming large just the other side of the weekend, and the race couldn’t be more exciting right now. Thank god there are no more debates, and the news channels can get back to spending all their time speculating on Mary-Kate Olsen’s knowledge of Heath Ledger’s death, like they were doing this morning.

Some fun facts about Texas: it was a Republic between 1836 and 1845. It only joined the Union on the conditions that it could secede whenever it felt like it, and that it could divide itself into five smaller states whenever it felt like it, like some kind of constitutional Hydra. These get-out-of-the-Union-free cards remain at Texas’s disposal to this day. I mention this just because there’s still a fiercely independent spirit to the Lone Star State. As we drive from Houston to Austin, and watch the typical headgear change from stetson to beanie, the only candidate lawn signs in either city are for local Sheriff or State representatives, rather than Presidential candidates (not including Ron Paul signs. EVERYWHERE has Ron Paul signs. We’ve seen Ron Paul signs fixed to trees in the middle of a Louisiana swamp for chrissakes). The point is that Washington feels like a very long way away – and most Texans want it to stay there.

Austin is an incredible city. Famous the world over for its music scene and progressive attitude, the main activity is, quasi-officially, just hanging out. You don’t have to do this with a rollie cigarette, a faded black band t-shirt, and sandals, but it is encouraged. Obviously this is somewhat of a departure from the stereotype of the macho, conservative state George W. Bush used to govern. Talking to our new friend Ryan in The Side Bar, I respond to his loathing for Bush by asking him why he chose to move to Texas from his native Chicago. Ryan laughs: “this ain’t Texas.”

Ryan would like to see Bush impeached. He recalls the attempts to impeach Bill Clinton, snorting into his beer, which has been self-spiked with tomato juice (”it stops you getting sun-burned in the summer”, he explains, completely seriously). “Bill Clinton can do whatever the hell he likes with a cigar, as far as I’m concerned” he says, citing budget-balancing and other economic successes.

Bush’s State Of The Union speech earlier that evening was better delivered than usual – he didn’t look like a lost child in a shopping mall for once, and managed to be less monotonous than the dreary Democratic response that followed it. Delivery aside, it was, of course, rich in hawkish doublethink:

“In Iraq, our enemies are fighting to secure safe-havens for terrorists.”

The only person who’s secured a safe-haven for terrorists in Iraq is the man who launched an illegal, unilateral, ad hoc invasion of it.

“Al-Qaeda is on the run in Iraq.”

And they’re running right towards you, strapped with explosives.

“We will continue to deliver justice to our enemies.”

No, you’ll just keep making more of them.

Ryan and our wonderful host Meghan, who have more tattoos between them than pretty much everyone I know, share with us liberal America’s sadly familiar talking point: where they’d most like to emigrate to – in the event that someone like Huckabee or Romney were elected, I presume. There are stories of friends travelling abroad and getting trouble because they’re American: “That’s what Bush has done to us, he’s made us an embarrassment, as a nation of people. I hear it’s safer to pretend you’re Canadian.”

So who are they voting for? Ryan’s happy with Obama or Clinton, either change will do, and Meghan, sighing, says Obama. She supposes. “But I don’t even know if I’m eligible to vote in the Democratic primary. That’s really awful, right? I feel really bad that you guys are more into this election than so many Americans are.”

I explain that, on the contrary, that’s what we expected; that disaffection seems likely, and justifiable in many ways.

“I think I’m registered as a Green or an Independent or something. I suppose basically the problem is that none of the candidates are far left enough for me, they’re just too close to the Republicans. And I just don’t really trust any of them.”

“It’s not about colour, it’s generational” said one of the more sensible pundits on CNN last night, citing the statistics that young voters of all races were once again voting overwhelmingly for the Senator for Illinois. This is what we have been saying since we saw the caucus at the Iowa City Senior Citizens Center overrun by literally hundreds of bright-eyed first-time voters.

The Democratic contest is all about age and guile versus youth, innocence and a bad haircut.

Sandis Sullivan, the 60-something Georgian who was running the poll in Springfield Baptist Church in Greenville, South Carolina, knew it was about age, not race:

“These young people are so much better informed than my generation.” he said happily, gesturing to his Blackberry. “I don’t really know how to use this thing, but the younger generation, they’re always multi-tasking. I see them out in cafes and in the street, and they’re checking the news and e-mailing their friends and socialising all at once. It’s great to see.”

“This election is about the past versus the future” Obama said in his powerful South Carolina victory sermon last night. And do you know what, it is. It’s about the recent past and the near future.

So many of the young people we’ve met, 18-30 year olds everywhere from snowy towns in New Hampshire to the grand cities of the south, display a scepticism of their politicians you’d expect in Communist Russia. Intelligent, worldly people like Patch and Leah in Baltimore are disenfranchised, dispirited, and unenthusiastic about this election. They think every one of the candidates is hiding something, most of them not very far below the surface, and in any case the whole process is bent anyway. They really wish it could be otherwise, and talking about the great Presidents of the past, they seem to feel they ought to tuck in their cynicism and just believe. But they’ve been burned before – worse than that, they’ve been burned ever since the birth of their political consciousness.

There is a whole generation of young people who have reached voting age since the year 2000, and that generation’s formative political experience, their pubescent awakening to the world outside the school playground, the first time they asked their parents what was going on on the news – was a total subversion of logic, justice, and democracy: the stolen election of 2000. George W. Bush and those that legitimised his presidency have aborted the hope of a whole generation of Americans.

Rob, a 26-year old born in Jamaica and raised in NYC, moved to Orlando, Florida when he was 18, with his wife and newborn daughter, arriving in the midst of the scandal. I didn’t envy him starting a family, bringing new life into the world, with the acrid stench of corruption hanging so thickly in the air. In that context, it takes a lot of gumption, it takes almost a blind act of faith to believe in a political system in which the default option seems to be unabashed deception. But Rob’s doing it; he wants Obama as President, and he’s organising for the Obama Florida campaign.

“We are ready to believe again” Obama said in his victory speech, to passionate cheers from all sides. But it’s not about believing again. It’s about whether you can believe for the first time, despite all the evidence to the contrary. So many teenagers and twenty-somethings we’ve met have jumped on the Obama bandwagon and said “take me where you’re going. I don’t care where it is and I don’t care how we get there. Just take me.”

But so many more aren’t just going to offer their hope, no questions asked. People we’ve met like Patch, Leah, Uni, and Meredith reckon they will vote for Obama, if they vote at all, but they aren’t about to offer their heart and soul to his campaign – because they don’t want to give that love just to be betrayed, chastened, and burned like they suspect they will be. Were Obama to win, there is still a multitude of ways they could have their belief sold down the river: by the Democratic party, by the voters, or, most fearsomely of all, by Obama himself. For so many young people, this election relies on whether they feel psychologically ready to take a massive political leap of faith. And if they’re betrayed this time, recovering that faith will be virtually impossible.