The Mustang

It is a beautiful Saturday morning and I have just finished waxing my 2009 Ford Mustang Cobra GT. I feel a great sense of pride as I admire its vibrant deep green hood as it sits gleaming in the sunshine. As I start up the engine and it purrs to life, the combination of the 351-425 horse power and the red hot duel exhaust system make me smile inside.

I quickly put away my cleaning supplies in the garage and then race into the house for a quick shower. I know that I have to hurry because I promised to pick up my friends, Colby and Brandon by 10:00 o’clock because we are taking my Mustang to the drag strip in Miramichi. It’s my first race with this baby so I’m a little anxious.

The drive into Miramichi goes by as if I’m in a daze. When we arrive at the racetrack it is only 12:30 but there are already hundreds of excited fans making their way to the bleachers for a good seat. My friends and I chat with some of the other drivers but I have to admit that I have trouble concentrating because of the butterflies in my stomach.

It feels like forever before it is my turn at the starting gate. I am relieved to find out that I am racing against a faded red 1970 Cheval SS with a 396 motor. My baby has a 351 motor with cold air intake, a positive traction rear end and a performance chip to give it that little extra juice.

As I pull up to the starting line I take one quick glance in my rear view mirror. I see Colby and Brandon grinning from ear to ear and giving a thumbs up to wish me luck. In my heart I don’t really think the old Cheval will be much of a challenge but I can still feel tiny beads of sweat forming on my forehead and upper lip.

With a skilled movement of my sweaty right palm, I shove the clutch in, rev the RPM’s to 4200 and then pop the clutch. I leave my opponent in a cloud of white smoke with nothing but the aroma of burned rubber to keep him company. My Mustang takes off as if old faded red is sitting still. With my heart pounding still harder in my chest I check my tacometer. It reads 4400. Suddenly, with practiced precision I jump the clutch to 2nd…3rd… 4th. It’s over and I smoked him (in more than one way).

When I reach out for the black and white checkered flag my adrenalin rush continues as I see hundreds of people clapping and hear the wild cheers from the bleachers. I guess Ford said it best when he said, “Ford Mustang, built for the road”.