Clamorous rallies were juxtaposed with quiet moments Monday in the final hours of his presidential campaign.

He mused optimistically about the Cabinet he would appoint. "I've been a part of creating the most diverse administration ever. I'd like to break that record."

But he also stood awkwardly in the chilly rain outside a John Deere plant while an aide asked, to no reply, "Anybody who'd like to shake the vice president's hand and hasn't yet?"

A red pickup slowed in the street. "Give George Bush hell tomorrow," the driver yelled, restoring Gore's grin.

In St. Louis for a rare rally with his spotlight-shy son Albert III, 18, Gore strode toward the crowd to a new instrumental theme -- the sort of dramatic movie-score arrangement that accompanies Oscar awards for lifetime achievement.

"You know it makes a difference whether or not you have a president who's going to fight for you instead of just making it sound good," Gore told Missouri supporters.

From Iowa, where retail politicking and party caucuses 10 months ago launched him toward the Democratic nomination, to Missouri and Michigan and Florida and then home to Tennessee, Gore reached out to the coalition of union workers, senior citizens and black voters whom he's counting on to lift him into the White House.

"It comes down to the size of the turnout now," he said.

A steady supply of souvenirs for his staff -- each T-shirt, hat and tote bag embroidered with the date -- convey the sense they're building to something momentous. But no one was sure. They quizzed each other and the journalists trailing them:

What do you think's going to happen? What does it feel like to you?

The election eve mood rose and dipped and rose again, seemingly in sync with the anybody's-guess state of the race against Republican George W. Bush.

Outwardly, Gore was wired, tireless. He delayed Air Force Two's midnight Sunday takeoff by more than an hour while he mingled with the overflow press corps on a nearby charter plane. He promised the crowd of 700 waiting for him in Waterloo that he'd be brief, but his fiery speech stretched between 10 and 15 minutes.

Throughout Monday's marathon, he tiptoed through Air Force Two with files tucked under his arm, checking on his napping staff.

He and wife Tipper huddled under an umbrella on an Iowa sidewalk to give interviews by telephone and satellite to TV and radio stations nationwide.

Watching it all, top strategist Carter Eskew said Gore had privately expressed "a serenity born of giving it everything he's got."

Other aides monitored the tick tock of poll data transmitted to their pagers. "We're up 2," adviser Greg Simon announced as the party headed toward Flint, Mich.

Campaign manager Donna Brazile pinned to the back of her jacket a Frisbee-sized campaign button emblazoned with the faces of Gore and running mate Joseph Lieberman. "Public display of affection," she called it.

Gore refused to acknowledge any threat from Green Party candidate Ralph Nader, who some Democrats worry could help elect Bush by siphoning liberal and environmental support.

"I think by tomorrow, particularly with the election this close, most people are going to want to participate in the main choice," Gore said.

He redeployed the family members keeping him company in recent days: brother-in-law Frank Hunger to Nashville, Tenn., to schmooze VIP supporters descending on campaign headquarters; son-in-law Drew Schiff home to New York to vote.

Mrs. Gore split off briefly to cover separate ground in Springfield, Mo., before meeting up again in Miami for the Florida finish.

Gore spoke of "the long journey" with a hint of wistfulness. As he expressed it to a recent audience, "Running for president around this country is one of the greatest experiences and one of the greatest honors that any individual could ever have."