WITH this election year in the United States now percolating far beyond full rolling boil, you'll have to travel to the moon to escape endlessly hearing about it until you're ready to cry for mercy. Ads, counter-ads, debates, endless new conferences, charges, counter-charges crowd out all other news. Help!

At this point, many Americans look with envy at the much speedier parliamentary election system. Personally, we try to spend as much time out of the country as possible during an election year, preferably some place with limited communication to escape the repetitious avalanche of political "messages" and heavy doses of hot air that accompany the election process.

Readers may remember my explanation some months ago of how Chicago got the nickname "Windy City". It had absolutely nothing to do with weather, since the city is rated 19th in wind velocity among major American cities.

A long-ago election generated so much political hot air during a national convention that newsmen labelled it the "Windy City" for that reason alone and the label stuck. I researched those facts very carefully before including them in a guidebook on Chicago I wrote for Fodor Guide Books.

Thankfully, it's finally close to conclusion and not a moment too soon before the electorate self-destructs from the endless assault on their senses. But as a traveller, why not take a lemon and make lemonade out of it. Once out of office long enough, the presidential homesteads of past leaders become prime tourism sites.

In fact, many are major headliners, others less known definitely deserve more attention. Whether it's George Washington's gracious Mount Vernon, Thomas Jefferson's famed Monticello or the homespun warmth of Abraham Lincoln's Springfield home, each reveals much about the men who led their country through history.

Admittedly, you may come away thinking more . . . or perhaps less . . . of them as a result of that visit. The most difficult part is deciding where to begin. There's not space enough to do them all, so what selection method to use?

The most beautiful homes? Liveliest personalities? Those who launched peaceful presidencies or the most scandal ridden? Unfortunately, some presidents manage to combine all the above.

While Thomas Jefferson's self-designed estate of Monticello, Virginia qualifies among the most unique architecturally, scandals of bankruptcy, slave-holding and his personal life have emerged to tarnish his reputation.

But Monticello is certainly high on anyone's must-see list. Unique and unusual in both its imaginative design and his innovative inventions, it sits surrounded by the beauty of Virginia's mountains with a wealth of local attractions.

Andrew Jackson, the seventh President, rose from very humble beginnings, defied the US Supreme Court and forced what are known as "the five educated tribes" from their ancestral homelands. He was responsible for sending them . . . the Choctaw, Seminole, Chickisaw, Cherokee and Osage . . . marching west in frigid weather along what is known as the tragic "Trail of Tears".

That event in many ways is comparable to World War Two's Bataan Death March. The opening of those confiscated Indian lands seemed to coincide with building The Hermitage outside Nashville, Tennessee. Sadly, he is not the only President whose fortune involved other people's misfortune.

His mansion is now a national historic landmark and includes a vast estate with many outbuildings. It's very worth a visit, but the lavish lifestyle he built on the backs of others will not endear him to anyone studying his past. He had "arrived" and wanted to show the world his "success".

Not all Presidents carry such heavily crusted scars on their reputations. Many even begin to look more heroic in retrospect with the passage of time. But since we're in Tennessee, we're going to focus on another native son whose name recalls controversy.

Saved from impeachment by a hair's breadth, Andrew Johnson chose a very different lifestyle. He, too, rose from early beginnings as a tailor in Greeneville, Tennessee into the presidency after Abraham Lincoln's assassination.

One reads about these men in history books, but walking through the town where they spent much of their life, strolling through their parlours, kitchen and bedroom brings them alive in a far different way and makes the visitor want to know more about them.

This Johnson house was more folksy, down-home, surrounded by a broad veranda and very mid-American without pretensions. Its interior was not unlike that of Lincoln's Springfield, Illinois home. Comfortably furnished but without ostentation.

I'd visited it in a small group of journalists invited by then-Governor Don Sundquist on a 200th birthday, six-day tour of eastern Tennessee. Accompanied by the governor and his wife, we stopped at Davy Crockett's birthplace where we were guided by a seventh generation Tennesseean.

"If Davy Crocket's family saw smoke from the next settler's farm, they thought it was too close and moved on."

Our exploration on that trip included Cumberland Gap, plus a treasury of historic homes and villages that make this state a prime destination for travel. A major attraction was the very impressive Museum of Appalachia near Knoxville which I hope to revisit and write about here in more detail.

At one historic and elegant plantation, I asked the guide what had happened to Indians we were told originally lived on this land. Turns out the owner, another signer of the Declaration of Independence and noted land speculator, had taken land evacuated by Indians in treaties he arranged and brought in slaves to work it. "Oh, the Indians were moved out west and this became government land."

MEANWHILE, back at Johnson's home, Greeneville as Tennessee's second oldest city has much to make visitors linger. His tailor shop, two homes, and the National Cemetery where this 19th President is buried are now National Historic Sites administered by the National Park Service.

Tennessee turns out to be very Presidential, albeit with very controversial occupants of that office . . . all of them made headlines. James Polk is remembered at his family's ancestral home in Columbia, Tennessee, which contains memorabilia of his one term in the White House. A dark-horse Democrat, he promised the party he would run for only one term.

During that term, the US expanded its boundaries westward. He settled the Oregon boundary dispute with Great Britain and as a result of the war with Mexico added California, Arizona, New Mexico, Texas, Nevada, Utah, major parts of Colorado, and some of Wyoming to the US.

As former Mexican President Carlos Salinas unhappily pointed out to my brother Jim and me once at an official government reception in Acapulco: "The US took almost one third of our country." One wonders how many Americans actually realise . . . or care . . . how those states were acquired? It's another example of the age-old theory "Might makes right".

Polk died three months after his term ended and the strain of office is all too apparent in two portraits hanging in Polk House . . . one painted at the end of his first year in office, the other just three years later when it ended. Memorabilia range from Mrs. Polk's inaugural gown and White House china to a large variety of personal items. Built in 1816, it's now a Registered National Historic Landmark.

Some presidential birthplaces come as a major surprise. An example is the small two-room cottage in West Branch, Iowa where Herbert Hoover was born. Andrew Jackson's detached summer kitchen at the Hermitage was larger.

Hoover's Presidential Library and Museum, gravesite and birthplace attract many visitors. Mrs. Hoover's home movies show the family's personal side. History tends to remember Hoover only as being in office at the time of the great worldwide depression. But displays here also point out his work as a humanitarian.

Indiana has two stately presidential homes occupied by members of the same family. William Henry Harrison built Grouseland at Vicennes, Indiana, in 1803 when he was Governor of Indiana Territory and it was very much a frontier outpost.

The first brick home in Vincennes, it also served as a sort of fortress shelter for townsfolk when dispossessed Indians fought to reclaim their land. It's been restored by the Daughters of the American Revolution and furnished with original Harrison possessions.

Elected to the presidency in 1840, grandfather Harrison served only one month in office as ninth President before dying of pneumonia. His father, Benjamin, had been a signer of the Declaration of Independence and his grandson, another Benjamin, would also later become President. The latter's home is a major Indianapolis attraction.

T ese two Harrison homes are far more elaborate than the boyhood home of Dwight Eisenhower in Abilene, Kansas. A comfortable looking, two-storey white frame house, it's of a style found all over middle America. One learns interesting, unexpected facts about the famous when touring their homes, things that sometimes make them seem more down-to-earth. Ike's family went through some tough times and he soon learned to fight back when teased about wearing hand-me-down clothing. He also went around the neighbourhood selling produce grown by his family.

The home is exactly as left when Eisenhower's mother died in 1946. A pacifist, she was unhappy when her son went off to West Point, but lived to see his triumphant return as the World War Two Supreme Allied Commander.

Today the house is focal point of a 22-acre park with museum, library, visitor centre and family cemetery where the former President is buried.

Next week we'll visit a quite far-flung and remarkable site that played an important role in the life of Teddy Roosevelt, a destination worth a travel detour. It helped bring him back from the depths of despair, re-evaluate his life and gather the strength to move forward.

MEANWHILE, we've found a tongue-in-cheek way to cope with election madness using our own style of humour. Our ancestor, Ralph Waldo Emerson, said a man is not a man until he's a non-conformist. (He was so broad-minded, I'm sure today he'd also extend that to women).

So brother Jim and I have formed our own personal Emersonian Non-Conformist Party. On primary election day, in our state one must openly ask for a particular ballot. So, of course, we lightened the tense mood in the voting hall by asking for an Emersonian Non-Conformist ballot.

Anytime we sense a political argument about to erupt, we counter by responding: "Don't ask us . . . we're Emersonian Non-Conformists." Yes, voting is serious business. But the only way to survive bitterness of modern elections is to find some way to laugh at the candidates and yourself.

Next week: How North Dakota saved Teddy Roosevelt