Purty Car

This gorgeous Mustang was hanging out on the street in front of the Inn on the Square. Consensus among the folks who stopped to drool over it while I was snapping photos was that it was a '67. I nodded like I knew.

A Pretty Pony

Sorry to foist another snapshot of a car on you, but I don't see these on the streets nearly as often as I used to – practically never, now that I think about it – and certainly not as finely cared for as this one. Not a spot of rust anywhere! And the interior was immaculate!

Was there ever a better-looking American car? Was any American car more iconic than the Mustang? I'm not crazy about cars, but even I have to say the Mustang has a classic style that hasn't been matched.


The Mustang has a set of lines that make it instantly recognizable up close or at a distance. Designers of modern editions of "mustangs" feel that all they have to do is slap together a car with identifiable features – the tail lights, the air scoop, the gas cap in the middle of the back – and they've produced a faithful update, when all they've done is produced a poor sketch by tracing over an original.

This Mustang has benefitted from a few modifications, as most will, the mag wheels and flash rims being evident. The guys in my neck of the woods who owned Mustangs almost always pulled the original engines and dropped something really huge in its place. But even with changes as obvious as these, this is still undeniably every inch a Mustang.



As I said, I'm not crazy about cars so I don't know why I'm gushing over this one. It was built using engineering techniques not much more advance than Detroit used to build the Model T. Its tail pipe probably emits more CO2 than a coal-fired boiler. It's not even especially comfortable to sit in for very long, but I'd love to drive this little pony around town just once (it occurs to me now that, while I've ridden in a few, I've never driven a Mustang). This was truly a one-of-a-kind. Too bad more domestic cars didn't have this kind of class.

(Not a spot of rust anywhere!)

Damn, you don't see a car like this in the parking lot every day. Or more often than once a year, if you're counting.

I'd be willing to bet this little monster can go from zero to sixty in about the same amount of time it takes you to read all the way to the full stop at the end of this sentence.

I've always had a great big thang for Mustangs, but for a long time I couldn't abide white ones on account of a near miss with one while I was out cruising with a friend. As we crossed a divided highway Mike thought he had plenty of time to squeek past the Mustang coming at us in the far lane, but he wasn't in the passenger seat looking straight at the guy driving the other car. I could see every wrinkle on his forehead, and as our eyes met we both very clearly communicated the same thought to each other in a single heartbeat: We're going to die. Then he flashed past us, Mike finished the turn and he never, ever admitted that we'd been in the slightest danger of collision for a moment.

I got over that scare years ago so I can ooohhh and ahhhh over every Mustang I see prowling the streets nowadays, each sighting an especially delightful treat because I don't see that many. And I mean real Mustangs, not those posers that Ford's been squirting out for the past five or ten years. This one's obviously been lovingly cared for and garaged whenever foul weather threatens. What a wondeful toy.