Long before people started lining up for days to buy an iPhone, people were lining up outside showrooms across America, even going so far as sleeping on the dealership floor, just to be the first to get their hands on another consumer icon.
It was April of 1964; and by the end of 1965, over 1 million units were sold in the U.S. alone. May not sound like much for a smart phone, but for a car, and a muscle car at that, it was about as big as Elvis. And now, 50 years, 5 months, and 3,000 songs, TV and movie appearances later, the sixth generation of the original American Idol once again takes center stage.
Ladies and gentlemen, please rise for the all-new Ford Mustang.
Pardon the late night talk show introduction, but as I pulled into Mel’s Diner on Sunset boulevard for the International media ride and drive, it felt like I was about to meet a Hollywood star. I mean, lets face it, there are cars, and there are icons; and for as long as I can remember, the Mustang has been the ambassador for freedom, power and good ole’ fashioned American muscle. So what better place than Hollywood to mark its golden anniversary.
There she sat, in all her splendor, with that signature shark bite grill and tri-bar tail lamps, shamelessly bathing in every last ounce of attention from the star struck passers-by that had gathered around to pay homage. Rarely have I seen such a public display of affection for a car, yet there it was, all 23,600 dollars of her, pulling in more looks and thumbs up than cars costing ten times as much.
Tasked with one simple directive: “Don’t screw up an icon,” Moray Callum, the brother of Jaguar designer Ian Callum, has done an incredible job with his modern interpretation of a classic. With it’s squinted HID and LED eyes, strong character lines running down the hood, resting against the backdrop of the sixties diner belting out Chuck Berry and Elvis, it couldn’t get any more Rock n Roll if it tried.
Now sitting lower, wider, with a longer hood, this thing looks like if it flexed, it would blow the fenders off. To put it bluntly, if a Ferrari is poetry in motion, this new Mustang is sex on wheels. Simple. It doesn’t get any manlier than this. I half expected to see a patch of hair sprouting out from that beefy hood when it started up. But wait. The spec sheet says it is a 2.3 liter 4 cylinder. Surely it’s a typo.
Apparently not, I’m told by one of the experts on hand. “Just wait till you try it.” One of the Ford guys tells me, as if reading the disappointment on my face. “Then talk to me at the lunch stop.” He trails off confidently.
It takes a while to digest. Kind of like a soy burger. You know it’s good for you, but, it’s, well, soy.
I fire it up by pressing the start stop button. The rumble is replaced by a more responsible growl. Sort of like a responsirumble. I whack it into drive, pull out of the driveway, and inch my way through LA traffic. There’s more power than I can use around West Hollywood, so I keep it in the bank for now and just soak up the stares from people who look like they’ve just spotted a movie star.
Only in Italy, when I test the latest Ferrari, do I see such national pride among the locals. Just then, a big burly man on a Harley passes me, then throw me a thumbs up. I’ve lost count of the amount of times we were stopped and asked about the car. In fact, I don’t think I once walked back to the car without seeing people around it or palm prints on the windows; one cop even followed the group to the lunch stop just so he could have a look at the car.
The Ecoboost engine may have been introduced to meet the tough new emission laws in California, but so far, the only emissions I’m seeing from this are the smiles it spreads across people’s faces. Mine included.
As soon as I hit the freeway, I bring myself to a crawl, and then floor it. It peels good. So good in fact, that Ford actually developed a very juvenile Line Lock system that actually locks the front brakes and releases the rear ones so that you can pour enough smoke out of the rear tires to get the surgeon general to issue a warning. It is all part of their track apps that you control through a steering mounted menu that allows you to record your 0-60mph times, quarter mile and other performance figures.
Speaking of which, 0-60mph is dealt with in just 5.6 seconds. I need to pull back because the ‘stang is piling on enough speed to make the last generation V6 green with envy. The pull from this 2.3 liter engine is just wild. It feels something in between a WRX and an STi. And once all three hundred and ten horses start to gallop, it introduces a soundtrack that has been carefully composed by way of canceling out the noises you don’t want and amplifying the ones you do.
It doesn’t take long before you stop mourning the loss of the extra 4 cylinders. Much like the day you wake up and realize you’re completely over your ex. Something just happens. In my case it was the fact that I realized that it took half the cylinders to do 9 tenths of the job. And I’m still only talking about straight line speed here. Once we hit the canyons, and you experience the effect of shaving 98 pounds from the nose, you no longer feel that you’re in a muscle car but in a proper sports car.
With completely independent rear suspension and a completely redesigned front suspension, the Mustang carves through the corners like they were named after it. It feels right at home on these breathtaking roads, which much like my word count for this column, ran out far too quickly.
For the complete review, including the 5.0 V8, visit www.jamesdeakin.ph