Thinking about a driving holiday in the US this summer? Hotel and food prices are a fraction of those in Europe, air fare is considerably lower, and for the adventurous in spirit, car rental prices can be zero.

No, you don't have to steal the car. Just sign on with one of New York City's many vehicle delivery agencies, and book your flight. It's as simple as that.

You won't know at the time to which city you'll be delivering which car, but that just adds spice to your anticipation of the trip. Call the agency a few days before you're ready to go, and with luck you'll be able to select your destination and type of car from as many as half a dozen choices.

How does it work? More than 10 percent of Americans move house every year.

Some of those bound for a new and distant city often drive there, towing their possession behind them in a rented trailer. Others prefer to fly, and appoint an agency to deliver the car for them.

Corporate executives, for example, are always strapped for time. A week's cross-country drive may be out of the question for newly-appointed vice-president, but he can't bear to part with his beloved BMW. Nor would it make sense, even if he could find the time, to arrive exhausted to take up that prestigious new posting.

Snowbirds, retired Americans living in the northeastern States, migrate in their million to Florida for the winter. They badly need their cars in the Sunshine State, where walking is unheard of, but can't face negotiating the 1,500-mile drive down there.

In fact, the agencies derive their customers from as many sets of circumstances as there are cities for their vehicles to be delivered to.

Drivers are in shorter supply, which is where you come in.

You'll need a valid Bermuda driver's licence and a credit card. If you stay within the simple rules, there's nothing to pay -- some agencies will even contribute to your gas costs -- but your credit card serves as identification and acts as a guarantee that you'll return the car as agreed.

A couple of years ago, a friend and I decided to try it. In New York we were offered several destinations the very first time we called, with the promised of more to come if we waited a day of two. Our best bets seemed to be a medium-sized Honda destined for New Orleans, or a brand-new Lincoln Continental Mark V, jet black and very sexy, to be delivered to Spokane, Washington State. The latter sounded like a more comfortable drive, and besides, I's traversed the Sunny Southern route before. The cross-continental Continental it had to be.

The agency gave us 10 days within which to deliver the car by any route we liked, and permitted us to add no more than 3,600 miles to the odometer. Both proved to be about twice the minimum necessary if we'd had espresso coffee injected intravenously from coast to shining coast. We briefly met the Continental's owner, which is not mandatory, nor even usual, but this one was keen to ensure that he wasn't handling his $40,000 dream machine over to hoodlums.

Our probity proven, it was Seventh Avenue to the Holland Tunnel, and within 20 minutes we were hurtling at full tilt across America. Fuller tilt than you might think: the Lincoln continental packs more power than is strictly necessary, even in the 65 mph zones. We quite often drove under 100 mph, officer.

The smart thing to do first was to break the back of the journey. Spelling each other at the wheel, we shot straight through to southern Illinois in 24 hours to pick up a friend.

After catching a few Zs at her apartment, we lit out for Chicago. At Gilman, an hour south of Windy City, we stopped for a hearty dinner and well-earned motel room, which on a shared basis set us back all of $42.

Two days in Chicago gave my pals time to do the grand architectural tour while I search out old digs and acquaintances in nearby Evanston. I must have left with my debts paid, since everyone acted pleased to see me again. With reluctance, not having the time to accompany us on the rest of the journey, our passenger caught the train back home. We turned our attentions to the West.

All the most interesting areas lay the other side of Minnesota, so we ripped straight through it. The initial target was Mount Rushmore in South Dakota, where the faces of four Presidents are carved into the side of a mountain.

Upon arrival, we discovered that the site was sacred to the Sioux Indians, and that the carvings therefore constitute as much an act of vandalism as a national Park in South Dakota, where the faces of the four Presidents are carved into the side of a mountain. Upon arrival we discovered that the site was sacred to the Sioux Indians and the carvings therefore constitute as much an act of vandalism as a national treasure ...

... which gave us the chance instead to visit Badlands National Park in South Dakota. They're called the Badlands not, as I's anticipated, because of atrocities committed there in the days of the Wild West, but because the land itself is no good. Bizarre, undulating canyons alternate with the kind of barren landscape astronauts found on the moon.

Driving the Lincoln -- by now affectionately nicknamed "Earl'' -- through the unearthly terrain at a crawl, it was impossible to reconcile the desolate isolation from the hurdy-gurdy of Chicago which we'd experienced just 48 hours before.

A night in the Badlands -- how could we not? -- and Wyoming lay of delicious cherry pie, we ran into a gentleman who had driven a covered wagon half-way across the country to celebrate Wyoming's statehood centennial. He persuaded us, or vice versa, I forget which to join him for part of his journey.

"Follow us,'' he said, as he and five of the largest men ever seen outside a basketball court took off in a dusty jeep. Follow we did into the heart of the American experience, we wondered just what we might have let ourselves in for.

We were 50 miles from anywhere, and seconds from our first major disagreement, when the covered wagon, with two broken-down donkeys tethered to the front, appeared at the roadside out of nowhere.

After some inexplicable delays, and the unfortunate realisation that I was the only mans present without a gun, I hopped aboard the experience of rolling across the prairie in a covered wagon.

Cowboy paraphernalia was laughably cheap in Cody, home of Buffalo Bill, so we filled Earl's back seat with boots and spurs, knives and turquoise necklaces.

My heart wasn't in the shopping for next on the agenda, just a few hours away, was Yellowstone National Park.

"Hey there, Mr. Ranger, sir!'' I said in my best Yogi Bear impression, honed to perfection since I was five years old, but Mr. Ranger simply stared back at us with blank incomprehension. Everything else in the park, the natural formations and the abundant and astonishing wildlife, more than live up to expectation. The behaviour of our fellow tourists was noteworthy. We rather thought you shouldn't saunter up to a 400-pound buffalo intent on patting it on the back. As we watched Old Faithful, the reliable geyser which erupts more or less every hour on the hour, a small child standing next to us said "Mommy, it's coffee time.'' The little boy was wrong. It was time to head for Spokane. Two days' leisurely drive through some breathtaking scenery would put us there in good time. Leisurely it would have been had I not fallen into a race with some crazed students in a souped-Up Mustang, which saw us taking a number of curves on two wheels. Earl handled it slightly better than did my co-driver. This part of the trip was most memorable for the shock we received on checking into a completely red motel room -- carpet, walls, ceiling, beds, sheets and even the telephone -- in Bozeman, Montana. Spokane greeted us one day and 600 miles ahead of schedule.

We had enjoyed the trip of a lifetime. My friend took the bus to Los angles to continue her summer holiday, but I needed to make my way back to the East Coast, so I took the train. Two trains, actually, the Empire Builder for the 48-hour trip from Spokane to Chicago, and the New Yorker the following morning.

Our 14-day vacation carried me through 11 states, from the forgotten past of the covered wagon to the hi-tech future of Earl's onboard computer technology.

As to cost, the whole trip, including airfare, motels, train rides, gas, food, and souvenirs, came in at under $1,000 per person.

The benefits of the experience were beyond measure. If you decide to try it this summer, let me know, I just might come with you.

HOW TO DO IT: Several airlines operate daily flight from Bermuda to New York City. the cheaper flights carry restrictions, so check with your travel agent.

The NYNEX Yellow Pages lists 18 car delivery services under " Automobile Transportation and Driver-Away companies''. Two recommended agencies are the AAA Economy automobile Transporters Inc. (1-800-862-6762).

North America is dotted with more than 100,000 hotels and motels. Directories are available, but stopping when you want to at the nearest one which suits your budgets works just as well. Expect to pay from $18 to $50 for a comfortable room for two.

Information on Amtrak train tickets is available by calling (212)-582-6875, and reservations may be made and paid for by credit card by dialling the same number.

Roger Crombie is a reporter with The Mid-Ocean News and contributes regularly to RG.

LIFE IN THE SLOW LANE: Cowboys's in Wyoming crossing America the old-fashioned way.