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 The subsequent success of the Mustang as it soldiered on with an outdated chassis clearly shows what buyers want in the brand.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.