It’s about legacy.
I glance at the start button behind the shifter, my finger hovering for just a moment, and in that fleeting instant, I’m transported back to my childhood. There I am again, sprawled out on the floor, thumbing through the glossy pages of V8 Magazine. The vibrant pictures of American muscle cars, some pristine in their factory paint jobs, others reimagined with elaborate modifications, flash before my eyes. And then, right in the centerfold, like some forbidden treasure, a poster of a girl in the barest of clothes. It’s funny how time changes things—I’m certain that would be illegal now.
I shake my head slightly, letting go of the nostalgia as I press the brake, check the shifter is in “P,” and—without further hesitation—push the start button. A simple motion, but somehow, in this age of electric whirs and silent sedans, it feels almost like a defiant act. Shouldn’t this be illegal too?
The 5.0L V8 engine roars to life. It rumbles, and I mean it really rumbles—like an animal waking up from a long, peaceful slumber. For a second, it’s almost too much, too bold. It shakes the air with a deep growl, and I can feel the weight of its power, its presence. People glance, but it’s not judgment or disdain they’re offering. No, it’s something else. Something far more respectful. They’re probably wondering if it’s still acceptable to relive the world that existed before the 1973 oil crisis—a time of big blocks, big hair, and rock’n roll. A time when everything was just… bigger.
And then, in case you’re not yet reeling from the audacity of it all, here’s a little something to chew on: Ford has announced that the Mustang will go all-electric in 2029. Yes, you read that right. The same Mustang that has, for decades, defined the very essence of American muscle is about to swap its iconic growl for the hum of an electric motor. Some will mourn. Some will cheer. But let’s face it—this is the future.
But for now, I’m not thinking about 2029. I’m thinking about the roar of this beast beneath my feet. The 2022 Ford Mustang Mach 1, 453 horsepower thundering from the 5.0L V8. Sure, it’s a little tamer than its US counterpart, but who cares? It’s still more than enough to leave a trail of rubber in its wake and put you on the next viral crash compilation. And of course, it’s raining. Perfect conditions for something dangerous. It’s easy to drive, almost seductively so—provided you don’t let your foot get too heavy. Keep it cool. Control the power. Because, let’s be honest: play stupid games, win stupid prizes. And in this car, those stupid prizes come fast and often.
But when you’re in the safe confines of a track, with the rain slicking the asphalt and the air thick with adrenaline, the Mach 1 becomes something else entirely. It rumbles for the stupid games. Tires squeal, smoke rises, and rubber burns like it’s still the 1960s, the golden age of muscle. You’ll have so much fun doing burnouts and carving the tightest donuts in town that you’ll soon find yourself wondering if you need a new set of tires—or if you’ll need to make a pit stop at the nearest gas station to take out a loan for the next set.
Ah, yes. The Detroit Flat Rock assembly plant did its part in making sure you had an excuse to do exactly that. There’s a little quirk they intentionally left in the design—an odd little hole in the gas tank, a design feature, they say, to remind you of your limits. Or maybe it’s just a clever way to keep you from going too fast and doing too many stupid things. Call it a safety feature, if you will, one that doesn’t save you from yourself, but at least reminds you of the consequences. It’s the kind of thing that keeps you alive long enough to regret your next set of burnouts.
And yet, as I sit back and listen to that V8 continuing to purr its deep, thundering song, I can’t help but smile. There’s something undeniably thrilling about driving a machine like this. It’s not just about speed or power—it’s about the feeling of the world bending to your will, of being in something that, despite all its rawness and excess, feels like an extension of yourself.
In the end, I guess the true etiquette of driving a car like this isn’t just about speed, or even skill. It’s about staying alive long enough to appreciate the ride. Because that’s the trick, isn’t it? Keep your wits about you, have fun, and remember—some games are worth playing, but only if you’re smart enough to live to tell the tale.
I glance at the fuel gauge—full tank. The road opens up as traffic eases, and I find myself in the perfect lane. A car overtakes me, the driver flashing a thumbs-up. I can’t help but wonder: if I floor it now, would this turn into a scene from “Gone in 60 Seconds”? Eleanor, the iconic Mustang, tearing through Laguna Beach, California.
Knowing it’s a wild idea, I weigh my options: ZZ Top or Hurricanes? Some rock ‘n’ roll will harmonize perfectly with the throaty growl of the V8 engine.
It’s road trip time, and adventure is calling.