Cali the co-pilot snoozed her way through most of the 2,600-mile round trip to New York. Little comfort could be found for a four-legged, 95-pound mutt in the front seat of a Pontiac, but she never complained, never whined about having to use the bathroom and never once piped up to tell me I was going in the wrong direction.

Of course, with her silence came an agreement that she would not drive at all, leaving the entire journey to one driver. Along the way, and through the snores, America is moving along.

From the tree-lined interstates of the Deep South to the mountains of Virginia and Pennsylvania — and with limited conversation options — the mind stays focused on the surroundings, the people and the changing license plates.

Some things learned:

• More New York-tagged cars can be seen in Mississippi than vice versa. Actually, Mississippi tags outside of the Deep South were extremely rare. Once outside of Knoxville, Tenn., the only Mississippi tag seen was attached to the back of my car.

• Virginia doesn’t mess around with speeders. Signs throughout the state — and there are plenty covering the 323 miles from the north border on Interstate 81 to the south at Bristol — declare that “Traffic laws enforced by aircraft.” I couldn’t lose the image of a speeding Pennsylvanian being blown off the road by a hovering aircraft.

• New Jersey drivers have trouble reading speed limit signs. I-78 through North Jersey consisted of a slightly speeding Pontiac in the right lane and rocket ships in the left. Hope they don’t decide to drive through Virginia any time soon.

• Pizza and Italian food are just better “up there.” Whether it’s the water, the flour or the ovens, it’s just better.

• Crossing the Mason-Dixon Line is quite a letdown. The historical division of the North and South, freedom and slavery, is just a border between Pennsylvania and Maryland drawn up by Englishmen Charles Dixon and Jeremiah Mason to settle a land dispute between the Calverts of Maryland and the Penns of Pennsylvania in 1763.

It’s amazing what can be gleaned observing America at 70 mph. The trip was long. The last 100 of the last 400 miles were the worst.

The dog didn’t mind. She gave up the cramped confines of the front to stretch out across the back seat.

Must have been nice.