Ford Mustang delivers power, style and an irresistible sense of freedom
puts his foot to the floor of the Ford Mustang - a car with the kind of muscle power most drivers will find hard to resist.
The Ford Mustang should carry a warning sign, a little health and safety notice for anyone lucky enough to get behind the wheel of one.
Nothing too alarmist, maybe a little sticker on the dash, an occasional flashing light, just to keep the driver in check.
Not that there’s anything too wrong with the iconic muscle car. If anything, there’s a little too much to like about it. And that’s still a problem.
People love this car — and not just car enthusiasts and petrolheads — everyone.
Its appeal knows no gender or age barriers, no socio-economic boundaries, no geographical or badge bias.
It enjoys the kind of universal appeal that very few global brands can boast of — building a cult following ever since another US icon, Steve McQueen, hopped behind the wheel of a 1968 GT390 for one of the most famous car chase scenes in cinema, a 10-minute nail-biter through the streets of San Francisco, in Bullitt.
Since then, most of us have wanted to own one, or at least get behind the wheel and cut loose on one of America’s greatest roads.
And that’s where the warning comes in. It’s only when you actually get to drive one, that you begin to feel that scale of appeal.
Everyone wants a part of it. Everyone has an opinion on it. Everyone has a story that they want to share — and since you have had the opportunity to realise many of their dreams by spending a few days in one, you feel obliged to listen.
But listening is only part of it. I did so much waving during my week, so much nodding, I really felt like an estranged member of the British royal family.
Acknowledging bus and truck drivers was straightforward enough; rolling down the window and shooting the breeze with perfect strangers, a little more complicated; entertaining groups of fawning schoolchildren anxious to get a
selfie, annoyingly time-consuming given my time with the Mustang was limited (but try telling them that).
And then there were the nutjobs — guys who went completely over the top with their reactions — but that’s a story for another day.
But back to car. The first thing that you will notice about the Mustang once you sit in is the size — it’s deceptively big — 4.8m long, and 2.1m wide and a 1,743kg weight.
The raised bonnet, married to low flung seats, takes a little getting used to, with over-the-shoulder visibility a little limited.
Inside is a nice blend of old and new, retro buttons, (wasn’t mad about the circular air vents), brushed metals, all built around the eight-inch touchscreen infotainment system with Ford’s SYNC 3 which features voice activation.
The Mustang is pretty well equipped out of the box, but again extras that you’d expect as standard in a car of this class, come at a cost — reverse park assist (€500), premium navigation pack (€1,500), and climate control seats (€900), driving the €55,500 asking price over €58,000.
Inside is nice and neat, if not as plush as some of its rivals.
But you forget all that once you push the start button and the 2.3-litre, 310 bhp turbocharged four-cylinder rumbles into life. To be honest, the sound effects from the V6 weren’t as dramatic as I’d hoped — less of an angry rumble, more of a muscle car with manners.
But while it’s quieter than the five-litre, 500bhp bigger brother, it’s still so much fun to drive.
As you’d expect from such a performance machine, the six-speed manual transmission (thank God for old traditions) is short and sharp and even though the top speed is limited to 145mph, it’s still impressively quick.
Around town, the ride is hard, with the adaptive suspension struggling to cope with the appalling conditions of Irish roads. But on the M8 Cork to Dublin motorway, it’s a different story.
It just eats up the road, feels very solid, and with an impressive sound system to play with, a very nice place to while away a few hours.
But at the end of the day, would I buy one?
The short answer is yes. But if I was seriously considering owning one, I’d want the real deal — the five litre, no holds barred, grumbling and growling V8. Sure the 2.3 litre makes more sense for day-to-day living, but if you’re going to go, you might as well go all in.
When my week was up, I handed back the keys with a mix of regret and relief.
Regret that I had to give the Mustang back and bring to an end an end a rock n roll week in one of the world’s most iconic cars. Relief that I was, once again, out of the public limelight.
