The Mach-E Is Not A Mustang

To Bill Ford, Jr.:
You have committed an unforgivable sin by allowing the Mach-E to be called a Mustang. Your initial instinct of being opposed to naming an SUV 'Mustang' should have been followed. While doing so has generated a lot of discussion in the press and online you've also alienated a large and loyal segment of Ford buyers. We won't care how good the Mach-E is; we won't buy one simply on the principle that it is not a Mustang.

The brand has had struggles before. The Mustang II is not fondly remembered by most but it was still a proper pony car; a coupe with distinctive, recognizable styling that offered great looks with good value and actually returned the brand to it's roots after the bloated 1971-1973 cars. 1.1 million were sold over the production run during a time when domestic car sales were falling. Mustang II was a success because Lee Iacocca understood the brand and the buyers.

We all remember the near-disaster that ultimately became the Ford Probe. The Probe wasn't a terrible car but it wasn't a Mustang. Too much Mazda and too little styling could not have overcome FoMoCo's desire to move it to a front wheel drive platform. Enthusiasts howled and Ford wisely listened. The subsequent success of the Mustang as it soldiered on with an outdated chassis clearly shows what buyers want in the brand.

What we don't want is a vehicle that is not a Mustang; a car so far removed from what the brand means that I can't bring myself to post an image of it here. Yet another SUV-crossover thing with jellybean styling and--have you lost your grip on reality?--four doors can not be a Mustang simply by tacking on some badges and tri-bar tail lights. By calling this vehicle a Mustang you steal a heritage and brand image that has taken over 50 years to cement into the minds of consumers and enthusiasts alike. Yes, the Mach-E is probably a fantastic, leading edge vehicle that offers remarkable performance. You could easily have dug through the pile of unused Ford brands and called it anything else. Or here's an idea...maybe even boldly came up with a new name? You know, like your predecessors did in 1964.

The Ford Mustang has been a sporty two door coupe since it's inception and has remained so even through many of the darkest periods of it's history. Your approval of the name theft that has occurred with the introduction of the Mach-E will be a black mark against your legacy and that of the Ford Motor Company management. I implore you to retract this decision before the vehicle is released to the public. I would rather see the Mustang vanish into oblivion than be diminished by brand engineering that has no regard for legacy.

Untainted By Technology

A few months ago I 'scratched an itch'. I'd been wanting a vintage motorcycle to work on as a hobby. My idea was to find a single cylinder bike as it would be less complex. Though I'm pretty capable working on cars I'm not particularly experienced with rebuilding motorcycles and wanted to conquer the basics first. By accident I came across the perfect bike to tackle; antique in design but not old in manufacture date. It was a Royal Enfield Bullet 500.

The history of the Royal Enfield brand is an interesting one. I'll paraphrase here so the reader won't lose interest. Royal Enfield was a British company that made good quality and innovative motorcycles but, like most English brands, collapsed in the late 1960s. However, back in the mid-1950s they had made a deal with India to manufacture the single cylinder 'Bullet' model in a factory there. That concern has survived to this day. Though they still make a Bullet it is a complete re-design with integrated transmission, electronic ignition and fuel injection. The original Bullet, however, was made continuously from around 1955 to 2008. Essentially you could buy a brand new 1955 motorcycle in 2007, which is what the original owner of my machine did. I liked the idea of a 1950s riding experience but without the rust and hard to find parts. My Bullet had suffered a valve failure and was no longer running. In fact, the head was not on the engine and it came with a box of parts and fasteners I would have to figure out how to put back together. The basic bike was otherwise mostly complete, the paint quite presentable and the chrome mostly clean. I hauled it home on a trailer and set about my education.

It had been a long time since I undertook a project of this magnitude and I wound up touching almost every part of the Enfield before it was back together. I had lost touch with the joy of working on a machine that allowed easy access to every component and fastener. Though I had a manual to guide me, working on the various systems was fairly intuitive. There was no mystery to how it went together and even the box of mystery parts and fasteners all found eventual homes with no drama. Royal Enfield actually used "Untainted By Technology" as a catch phrase in their advertising. Though I laughed at this slogan at first, I came to respect what it meant. There were no complex electrical gizmos to control the functions that make it run. Even the headlamp switch can be taken apart and cleaned if need be. Though the quality of some of the Indian made components is low the original design lends itself well to the home mechanic...or the rider that may find himself stranded along the road with only a pocket knife and a rock to use for tools. The Enfield is a machine made to be worked on by normal folks, not just factory trained 'technicians' in white jump suits. Though I screwed up a couple things or failed to fix them right the first time it was not an anger-inducing crisis. Being so easy to disassemble I wasn't bothered to repair something a second (or third) time, a reaction markedly different than most any post-1980 device I have worked on.

Upon successful completion of the project (it started, ran and is even able to be ridden now) I found what had been missing from my once joyful time in the garage. Modern machinery just isn't that pleasant to work on. Things are too complex and packed together too tightly. Often I can't see what I'm working on and can only blindly feel it. The Enfield was an absolute delight by comparison and now has me reconsidering my future projects. My joy of wrenching had become tainted by technology. I am pleased to have come across an antidote.

Relationships

Your author with the second Fiat, 1984

My first car was a 1971 Jeep Commando. I don't really regard it as my first car though as it was actually what my father picked out for me. My desire to own a small convertible sports car had fallen on deaf ears. Dad bought the vehicle he secretly wanted, knowing I would have to share it with him. Much could be written about the Jeep and my relationship with it and perhaps someday I'll delve into that. Today, however, I want to talk about my first car...which in a weird way was also my fifth car. I'll explain.

Predictably dissatisfied with 'my' Jeep I continued my quest to obtain The Perfect Car which in my mind was a Fiat 124 Spider, color red. Within a year I located a truly sad example for sale for all of $300. It was awful but to me it was The Perfect Car. Requiring much work that I was completely unqualified to do, I wound up having my poor father work on it in between writing checks to a local imported car repair shop. If suffered numerous maladies including catching fire at one point. In my naive belief that anything could be fixed I disassembled it to do a restoration only to find it was rusted beyond any hope of reclamation. The parts went into storage, the body carcass chopped up and discarded and I began a search for a replacement. Ironically I would find a very solid example the same exact year and, unlike my Bondo-filled first one, had actually been born a red car. The replacement car barely ran and cost all of $450 but it's bones were solid. I brought it home and set about making it a decent car.

At this time in my life the relationship with my father was tenuous at best. We did not work well together. I set about rebuilding my new prize armed with a Made In China ratchet set and a Haynes shop manual. Out came the oil burning twin cam engine; in went the relatively healthy identical 1438cc lump from my first car. I swapped out seats, dashboard, roof, windshield and countless other parts and wound up with a car that looked decent and drove well. Though I didn't do every single thing myself I did perform the bulk of the work. I learned how to envision sub-assemblies coming apart, developed a feel for when bolts were satisfactorily tight and not twisting to the point of snapping and--most importantly--honed my ability to string together multiple colorful curse words. Eventually I had the body straightened and painted and installed new chrome. The car wound up being the beautiful vision I had long held in my head. In the process of working on my Fiat as well as several others I learned nearly everything there was to know about these particular cars. No task proved too daunting. When something broke I very quickly and efficiently fixed it.

After twenty-three years of owning a car I swore I would never sell one day I was laying underneath the rear replacing a torn exhaust hanger. With sudden clarity I realized I was no longer excited about the car. There were no new challenges to be had. I'd saved it from the scrap heap and enjoyed it for over two decades but my tastes had changed while the car had not. It was time to move on and I sold the Fiat to a new owner. Though I expected to regret the decision, I never have. Our time together was simply over.

I've had similar relationships with many other cars over the years though none have been as long. My 1965 F100 pickup was around for about ten years. I do sometimes pine for another but that particular truck was better suited to someone else. I have fond memories of the Austin Mini, Ford Fiesta, BMW E30 and Audi Coupe GT. I don't think much about the Honda CRX Si, Dodge Charger 2.2, '65 Buck Skylark Convertible or my current 1993 Ford Lightning. Though they are all interesting vehicles the latter group are ones I spent very little time working on. The first grouping I all spent many hours underneath, replacing engines or rebuilding suspensions among other tasks. The second group I've done little more than change fluids and replace brake pads. Though we had relationships they were not very intimate in a machinery sense.

When I crashed my newly purchased 1997 BMW M3 on the track last year I was annoyed with myself and dismayed by the expensive repair work I created. The one thing I was surprised by was my lack of emotion about it. At first I thought it was maturity but eventually decided that it was because I had not yet built a relationship with the car. I had merely bought it. I had not taken it apart and put it back together. It still remained 'just a car'. I had not put anything of myself into it. No blood had been spilled in the engine bay, so to speak. Having now spent many hours piecing it back together I suspect I will be more emotionally involved. Maybe that is what was needed to prevent my recklessness in crashing it the first time.

The Death of Styling

When automobiles first meandered onto the roads their designs were purely mechanical. Car bodies were designed simply to fit over the running gear and provide rudimentary protection for the passengers. Aside from some high-end European luxury cars, most automobiles were simple and bland. Henry Ford famously offered his working man's Model T in only black paint to further simplify the manufacturing process of something that was regarded as an appliance.

In America, General Motors is usually credited with being the first mainstream manufacturer to embrace the idea of 'styling' with the formation of the "Art and Colour" division, headed by a talented young man named Harley Earl. With some successes and a few flops this new department catered to the notion that, in a sea of competing brands, the implementation of attractive and unique visual impact could help sell more cars. And it did.

The pinnacle for automobile styling to me were the 1950s. Earl, Bill Mitchell, Raymond Loewy (who designed the Coca-Cola bottle) and others embraced the 'jet age' with not just tail fins but creatively creased body panels, cheerful two-tone paint schemes and lots of chrome--sometimes to excess. Even the much-maligned Edsel of 1958 showed creativity and uniqueness, but it's failure ushered in an era of more conservative styling in the 1960s.

The decade of the Corvair and Mustang still embraced styling as a means of distinguishing one car from another. Suspension and drivetrains had progressed only marginally from  the preceding decade but the monocoque 'unibody' was slowly taking over from the traditional body-on-frame type of construction that harken back to the buggy era. Though some homogenization between similar brands started to take hold, the designs were still unique and few would confuse a Chevy with a Pontiac.Cars of this era today still mostly look fresh, appealing and distinctive.

The troubled 1970s brought us a flood of imports all bearing their own unique twists (or clever copies) of design. While American cars stumbled about trying to retain buyers by utilizing gimmicks such as 'opera windows' and half vinyl roofs, Japan, Inc. brought in cars like the Toyota Celica, Datsun B210 and 240Z. BMW showed us what a proper sedan should be. Volkswagen introduced us to the Rabbit, a genius take on what was called the 'hatchback'. Where the domestic designs showed desperation, the imports showed us another way to look at simplicity in design without resorting to total blandness.

Where things went wrong, in my opinion, was the 1980s. With the implementation of CAFE standards and continued emphasis on fuel economy the wind tunnel began to dictate car design. The Audi 5000 was the first of the cars that begat the Ford Taurus, a design that catered to smooth lines over attractiveness. Though these cars were highly successful I don't think most buyers bought them because they had eye appeal. The 'euro' look brought us the 1979 Mustang, a car that was ultimately successful but was the first to depart from the design elements that brand had carried from it's inception in 1964. The SN95 Mustang of 1994, though a clumsy design by today's standards, returned many of the Mustang's design cues such as the side scoops and return of the pony emblem to the grille. Most other vehicles continued as slaves to the wind tunnel, becoming ever more egg-shaped in their need to eek out another .1 mile per gallon. To distinguish one car from another designers took to creating 'brand' specific grilles. Audi and Lexus are the two most visual offenders in this, with ridiculously large air inlets that detract rather than enhance the look of their cars. Unable to crease sheet metal solely for the purpose of appearance designers now give us panels creased to work with the passing air as the primary goal. The results are rarely truly appealing and often become quickly dated.

All of this contributed to the popularity of the retro styling craze we recently enjoyed but is now sadly waning. In a sea of egg-shaped pods with side creases that swoop to oblivion the retro look stood out. The Challenger, Mustang and (to a much lesser extent) Camaro may be regarded as copies of old designs...but they were good designs that have stood the test of time. The blandness and occasional offensiveness of current automobile styling is just one factor in the demise of the car as we know it. An over-abundance of technology and sterilization of the driving experience also contribute. Though cars today may perform better than ever before I am finding it more difficult to care.

Less Is More

In an upcoming entry I'll discuss my belief that automotive styling is, for the most part, dead. I believe the success of the retro craze--which has now mostly dissipated, it seems--was a response to the uninspiring designs of a majority of today's cars. A modern take on a classic look proved to be a sales success, yet some persist on taking classic looks and making them barely recognizable.

A large part of it is the desire to personalize one's own car. When Detroit (or Stuttgart or any other factory) cranks out tens of thousands of a model they are often differentiated only by color. In the 1960s manufacturers assisted owners in creating an individual car via the long option list. Ticking certain boxes while ignoring others could result in a car being "one of one", or at least one of very few. The chances you would encounter an identically optioned car in your area of residence would likely be quite small. These unique build sheets of equipment today make some cars more valuable and interesting than others. Unfortunately in the quest for cost containment the option sheets have typically shrunk to a few 'packages'. Though a Pony Package S197 is rare-er they are hardly rare.

Today's solution lies with the aftermarket. For any moderately popular model of vehicle there will be catalogs and web sites teeming with personalizing accessories for your vehicle of choice. When I first picked up a catalog for S197s I was astounded by the myriad of 'billet' aluminum doodads one could screw or snap onto their car. Having attended a fair number of shows I've observed some cars that appear to have rolled through the Mustangs Unlimited warehouse with a super strong magnet in the trunk (of course, billet aluminum doesn't respond to magnets but you get the point). Little dress-up items like door lock knobs are nothing new and have been around since J.C. Whitney first put out a catalog. I succumbed to adding an aluminum shift knob and door lock pulls to my own S197 to replace parts that were worn or cheap looking. These little touches move it slightly away from production line and make it my own along with the dual exhaust conversion, GT rear bumper, GT500 rear spoiler and little plastic chin spoiler I added under the front bumper. I'm not certain I'm done sticking things onto the car as the blackout rear deck panels beckon along with tail lamp trim to match. But my endeavors to change the car's appearance are held in what I believe to be strict accordance with the spirit of the original design. S197 harkens back to the 67-68 Mustang, and to a lesser extent the 69-70 models. Most of my changes are in keeping with that specific style of vehicle and thus look like 'factory' options to my eye.

Where I often cringe are seeing the addition of an array of scoops, spoilers and skirts that significantly change the appearance of the base vehicle. Though I like and respect the changes someone like Chip Foose may make to a classic production car it often seems that these 'catalog' parts do little to improve upon an original design. The featured car above has an 'Eleanor' kit which is an assemblage of parts that try to make a classic car look like...I'm not sure what. It isn't really modern. It isn't mimicking a race car. The Eleanor package seems to have a purpose of simply making the car 'different' and I don't think it works at all.

Side note:  bad enough the car is--to me, anyway--hideous; that it isn't a real Eleanor (which is a 1973 Mustang and a topic for a future entry) adds further insult.

Changing up a car so drastically has me beg the question:  If you bought a classic or retro Mustang because of the way it looks then why are you so intent on changing how it looks? But...do my own changes/additions to my S197 then make me a hypocrite? I suppose this comes down to "It's your car; do with it as you like". Just don't expect the rest of us to like what you've done. If your motivation to personalize is to make it more pleasing to yourself I suppose I have no quarrel. If customizing your car is done simply to get the attention of others then I think you need to review your thinking.

The artists that penned these cars had great vision and talent, no different than the engineers who designed the engines under the hoods. Perhaps some things are best left to the professionals. Sometimes less is more.

Is "Roadkill" Saving The Old Car Hobby?

When I was coming of age in the 1970s with a rabid interest in cars of all types my parents frequently took me to antique car shows. I always had an interest in old machinery of all kinds and developed a healthy respect for history and preservation. One of the unintended consequences of being exposed to the world of restored cars was that I developed a single-minded view that historic vehicles should remain as originally built and--with rare exceptions for 'survivor' cars--returned to as-new condition. To allow a vehicle to languish with signs of age and neglect was nothing short of a crime.

With the completion of my first--and only--restoration of my Fiat 124 Spider I found myself with a very pretty car that replicated perfectly the feel of a 1970 inexpensive Italian sports car. It also had it's share of shortcomings as a result. The bright red paint and new chrome was beautiful but it came with a burden; the constant worry of damage from a flying stone or too-close jacket zipper. Worse still was my paranoia of water and salt that might reignite the ever-present rust lurking beneath the surface of any old car. Though I enjoyed the car for two dozen years the constant pampering to preserve it's appearance detracted somewhat from the joy of using it.

As adulthood brought increased drains on time and finances subsequent 'projects' often became simple tasks of preservation. My 1965 F100 was a delightful truck but with a slowly failing repaint and small blossoms of corrosion. I had to accept that I could not give it the proper restoration it needed in the near future and sold it on after ten years. Too nice to keep outside but with too many body issues to ignore, it fell in-between usable classic and show-worthy collectible. I distanced myself from old cars and trucks, choosing instead to buy S197 and relish the classic look with modern durability and no ill effects from fifty or more years of having lived in the world.

During my constant browsing of all things Mustang I came across the YouTube videos for Motor Trend's online show "Roadkill". Co-host David Freiburger has long been associated with Hot Rod magazine and the cars that grace their pages. The apparent premise of "Roadkill" is to find old cars on the verge of death and resurrect them to the point of being useable without the bother or expense of fixing the cosmetics. Though some of the projects would certainly be ill-advised or bordering on the absurd they are always fun to watch as well as educational. One of the show's repeating propositions is to enter a junkyard, find an interesting car or truck and resurrect it to driving condition. Predictably my favorite of these is the 1969 Mach 1 they nicknamed 'Disgustang', a car filled with various types of animal excrement. Though a hilarious series on car repair it also resulted in the saving of a classic otherwise destined for the crusher. Donuts and burnouts were generated with glee. The car was ridiculous fun despite it's haggard appearance.

Apparently my enjoyment of the shows is not singular. Search 'junkyard rescue' on YouTube and you'll find many other videos by others mimicking the "Roadkill" script. Channels such as Junkyard Diggs and Dylan McCool prove equally compelling. The great thing about these channels is that the participants are typically young guys of a generation many of us have dismissed as not being interested in the same cars we are. It is greatly heartening to see a twenty-something guy getting dirty and resurrecting some forgotten vehicle of the 1960s or 1970s. Cars and trucks even I wouldn't have thought were worth bothering with are finding their way back onto the road. They may not ever shine brightly or win trophies at car shows but they are not getting lost to the crusher...and are teaching another generation about how great old stuff can be.

More Is Less - The Unloved 4-Door Sedan

Growing up in the 1970s it was by then generally accepted that 'cool' cars were two door hardtops. This trend had a few small steps in the 1950s from cars like the Studebaker Hawk or even the tri-five Chevys. The pillar-less look became de rigueur and even became applied to four door sedans and wagons. Into the sixties with the advent of the pony car and other sporty coupes the more practical four-door became the car for people who preferred practicality over style. In other words, people who didn't much care about cars or style bought them.

Today the four door sedan is ubiquitous, even in a sea of SUVs. Two door cars sell poorly unless they are sporty cars like Mustangs. So undesired is the two door car today that Dodge manufactures the Charger as a sedan. This is not to say that cars with more than two doors are necessarily boring. The Cadillac CTS-V, Impala SS, Taurus SHO and any number of German cars all provide performance in a multi-door package. There has been a near one hundred eighty degree shift in buyer wants and demands since the heady pony car days of the 1960s. Yet if you are a fan of cars from that period no one will understand you purchasing or restoring a sedan. They aren't regarded as cool and you will find yourself ostracized frequently in a manner familiar to any six cylinder Mustang owner.

With the popularity of sixties muscle/pony cars the prices have risen to sometimes frightening levels. Many enthusiasts are priced out of the market. If you really want a Chevelle, Satellite or Falcon but can't pay the entry fee for a two door hardtop is the four door sedan really an option? Drivetrains were fairly standardized and most anything can be bolted into any chassis. Buy-in is cheap and parts for sedans are not in high demand which should make them affordable (though not necessarily easier to find). The extra doors are practical for families or eminently useful for race cars as roll cages are easier to install and the extra space can be handy for hauling tires and equipment to the track. Lastly, for a certain few of us the uniqueness in a sea of two doors may actually be an attraction.

The Australians regard our obsession with coupes as a little peculiar. Throughout much of the muscle car era they had to make do with high performance versions of standard four door cars such as the Falcon pictured above. Dressed in appropriate muscle car wear and sporting a shaker scoop it is readily apparent what the car is built for. Respected down-under, that same car in the U.S. would likely generate snickers and heads shaking in disbelief. However, I suspect the Aussie Falcon owner is having just as much fun as the American who has two fewer doors.

As I daydream about a future build of a 1960s classic I contemplate the necessity desire to have a two door car as a base from which to work. A sedan would easily cost half as much. Collectible vehicles are often much more about vanity than the machinery itself. The same struggle I had with choosing the V6 Mustang would be repeated with the 1960s Falcon. The question is which is more important--the performance or the appearance?