In the United States the automobile is feeling the heat as much as those striving to be President. With petrol reaching $4 a gallon, many Americans are switching to economy models, or forsaking their vehicles for public transport.

In the big cities it's said to be standing room only on buses and trains. From Denver to New York City, San Francisco to Houston, Nashville and Seattle, passenger numbers on mass transit systems have increased by up to 15 per cent already this year. For British tourists in a hire car, a day on the road can induce feelings of guilt when the energy crisis is competing with the race for the White House on TV news in their motel room.

How do you justify two weeks of sightseeing in a thirsty sedan now that the locals are trying to conserve gas? Unfortunately, there's often no alternative to the car. Much of New England, a compact region by American standards, can be inaccessible without one.

Many of the place names may be home from home – Bradford, Halifax, Hull, Leeds, Sheffield, Scarborough, Wakefield, York, even a Holderness – but there's no TransPennine Express.

The seemingly familiar is superficial and driving through this extraordinary country brings a visitor closer to the differences. For one thing, the almost brutal use of the English language. Forget polite cautions to motorists approaching contractors at roadworks. This is an American version: "Let 'em work, let 'em live!" And I doubt our
garden centre would try to lure customers to bedding plants and vegetable seeds with the message employed by its equivalent in Vermont: "Unemployment is capitalism's way of telling you to
grow more".

Just outside the state capital, Montpelier, is the town of Barre. Its quarries have made it the self-styled granite capital of the world and for the foreseeable future business will be particularly good here, regardless of the economy's shudders elsewhere. US casualties in Iraq and Afghanistan will see to that, because a third of all headstones in America are carved of Barre granite.

In the case of one memorial, the wounds were self-inflicted. On the village square in Weston, where the heaviest snowfalls in years had given way to blossoms and fantastic shades of green, are the names of a dozen locals killed in a single battle during the American Civil War. In these parts it's referred to as the "War of the Rebellion", a distinction they wouldn't acknowledge in the old Confederacy.

"Abbott, Allen, Beckwith, Britten, Cook, Hale, Patch, Peck, Winship..." are clues enough to their roots and the exodus inspired by those on the Mayflower when they landed on Cape Cod in 1620, not least William Bradford, formerly of Austerfield, near Doncaster. After eventually settling across the bay, he became governor and historian of the Plymouth Colony, celebrated the nation's first Thanksgiving and planted a family tree that sprouted in all directions. His descendants are said to include the founders of Eastman Kodak and Webster's Dictionary, the child care guru Dr Benjamin Spock, Clint Eastwood and the late actor Christopher Reeve.

Plymouth is known as "America's hometown" and the motel named after Bradford overlooks his statue and the English-built replica of the vessel which brought the 102 separatists seeking religious freedom. It seems ludicrously small, not only to survive 66 days at sea, but for what it represents in terms of a nation's birth.

What did the settlers miss about home? It's easier to describe the yearnings of today's pilgrims in Plymouth. On Main Street is a shop devoted to British products, and the manageress says British tourists are among the customers for Taylors of Harrogate Yorkshire Tea, Marmite, KitKat, Jaffa Cakes and Walkers crisps. Hardly the ingredients of the brave new world sought by Governor Bradford and Co, but then everything this land has become, except perhaps the selling of religion, would have been unimaginable four centuries ago. Even today some can't imagine a black man or woman running the country, though if a count of election stickers among the clapboard houses of liberal and well-heeled New England communities is any guide, Barack Obama is heading for the White House.

Political statements are made in surprising places. "Support Our Troops" said a sign next to the queue for Sunday brunch at the Marshland diner and bakery in Sandwich, on the road to Cape Cod, (wherever you turn here there's usually some reminder of food).

If only the eaterie was as supportive of protecting waistlines. Two eggs, rashers of crispy bacon, mound of potatoes, raisin bread or marbled rye toast, pancakes and cream with jam or maple syrup, free coffee refills – all yours for the equivalent of £4. Can this be America's idea of a recession?

Diners and their like feature in the work of Norman Rockwell, arguably the country's favourite artist. Approaching the 30th anniversary of his death, he remains as popular as ever, judging by the thousands who visit the museum he helped establish in Stockbridge, the
small town where he worked for 25 years. In seeking out his illustrations for the covers of the Saturday Evening Post they are maybe also mourning a lost "golden era", real or imagined, which Rockwell's images reinforced.

His later work famously made telling points about racial segregation and immigration, but underpinning his time were the country's idealism, and certainties about its wider role. Such is the sense of decline in some quarters now that the best-seller list includes a book entitled The Post-American World.

In Boston, such pessimism seems misplaced. The centre is vibrant and smart, and pays its dues to tourism because the city is crowded with history. It is also one of the few large American cities to encourage walking. You'll miss a lot if you don't. Beacon Hill, its cobbled streets and terraced houses undaunted by the neighbouring skyscrapers, could be a transplant from one of our more elegant market towns. None of your Fifth Avenues, Broadways, or 42nd Streets here. It's Blossom Street, Fruit Street, Cedar Lane, and Myrtle Street.

Similarly, there's no noticeable lack of self-confidence across the Charles River in Cambridge, the home of Harvard. The American Revolution had some of its origins here and the energy you feel and hear in the university's grounds does not suggest a generation who've given up on the ideals of their forebears.

One of the problems with meandering for 1,200 miles in 10 days (for less than half what the fuel would cost here) is that you can be deluded into thinking you've understood the country.

All you've seen is a fraction of a vast land. The quickest way of acknowledging this is to spend a few minutes watching the Weather Channel. It's an endless swirl of shifting natural forces which help to make America what it is, and make you wonder why Messrs Obama and McCain or anyone else would want to try to govern it.

On one day the channel was reporting a bewildering range of climates: snow in North Dakota, temperatures in the high 90s in Florida, Phoenix, and parts of Texas, tornadoes across Oklahoma, Kansas, Missouri, and northern Mississippi, and floods in Virginia.

It was only where we were, overlooking Cape Cod Bay in North Truro, that we truly related. Cloudy and drizzle and a north-easterly whistling round the lighthouses. It could have been the Yorkshire coast.

Useful websites include www.visitnewengland.com www.bostonusa.com

Return flights, Manchester to Boston via New York with Delta, from around £250. Ten days' car hire about £220.
On the road, motels offer great value, depending on the time of year. From £35-a-night for a double room outside the peak season. Some also include continental breakfast.