So fast forward a couple of months and there we were, watching as the hire car representative crawled around on his hands and feet pointing out in foreboding detail existing bumps and marks.

Little matter that most of the indentations were invisible to the naked eye, or that those that were looked more like the actions of a bird on a high-fibre diet than the result of an accident.

But provided you take out insurance and avoid anything even bordering on stupidity then the spacious roads and freeways of the US make it unlikely that an experienced driver will end forking out for penalty charges.

So having picked up the car, off we set into the grid-like labyrinth of LA. Aside from the traffic LA itself presented few navigational problems, dissected as it is by freeways of such size that British motorways feel like country roads in comparison.

Snaking our way out through LA and into the suburbs we gradually climbed into the magnificent San Gabriel Mountains, the massive peaks of which were still covered in snow in the early spring weather.

Flanked by these awe-inspiring peaks on both sides of the road the drive is best done with the top down to appreciate the epic size of what is in American terms an average sized mountain range. However, without several layers of thermal clothing the elevation makes this unlikely on all but the balmiest of summer days.

Soon enough we began to descend through the San Gabriel Mountains as we picked up Interstate 15 that would take us through the desert.

As we began our descent the temperature began to rise as the frigid rocks of the mountains gradually gave way to the arid dust and scrubland of the Mojave desert.

Down came the top, revealing a infinite expanse of blue, mirrored only in its emptiness by the vast desert stretching out into the distance, bisected by Interstate 15 running though it like an umbilical chord.

With the midday sun beating down it quickly became necessary to apply the sun-tan lotion, but became equally apparent that this is the only way to see America.

Passing roadside diners straight out of a 1950s Hollywood movie and ghost towns set high in the surrounding mountains, driving across America provides an insight into the culture and physical make-up that flying can never do.

Barstow was the first settlement of any significance we passed through, even though in reality it is little more than a collection of buildings in the middle of the Mojave Desert than a thriving town.

Used as a popular location for Hollywood movies, it has featured in Kill Bill, Vol 2 and at least 34 other films and TV programs. Several ghost towns are located nearby, but in terms of things to do there is very little reason to slow down.

Baker likewise is no more than a little cowboy town, although it is home to the world's largest thermometer. It is nevertheless perfectly located for anyone wishing to explore Death Valley National Park or Mojave National Preserve. But having left Baker behind, and with virtually nothing in front for hundreds of miles, we opened up the throttle and powered on under the baking desert sun to Las Vegas.

Anyone considering driving from LA to Las Vegas is urged most strongly to avoid doing so at weekends. Hundreds of thousands of people from LA weekend in Vegas, driving down on a Friday and returning on a Monday.

And while cruising through the Mojave desert can be one of the most iconic experiences America has to offer, being stuck for eleven hours sandwiched between a Chevy and a Jeep can take off some of the shine.

But time it right and the drive from LA to Las Vegas will be one of any visitor's most enduring, and coolest memories of America.