Vintage New Car Test: 2015 Ford Mustang GT: 435 HP, No Waiting

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NOTE: Here’s one of the last columns I did for the Curbside Prune. My God, was that only eight years ago? Seems like twenty, ha ha! -TK
Yes. Four Hundred Thirty Five horsepower. Wow. That is only 15 horses shy of the 2001 Dodge Viper my mother once owned. And, I mean, it was a VIPER. This is a Mustang–yes, a GT model, but still attainable for most folks who really want one. It really is amazing how the horsepower race has been racing sky-high over the last decade, has it not? Oh, and the 2015 Mustang itself? Well, I like it.

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Thirty Years of Progress?

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Reviewing your own cars is usually a big no-no. When a person plunks down their own hard-earned cash, it makes things personal. And when things are personal for a reviewer, there are usually just two outcomes. They either love their car with all their heart or they hate it with such a passion that they want it, and all others like it, excised from the planet. Extreme examples, of course, but even when they do their best to moderate their passions, self-reviewers still tend to skew one way or another. That leaves it to the reader to sort fact from fiction. But hey, no problem! Americans are good at spotting spin, right?

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(Last) Weekly Roundup: Up In The Air Edition

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It would be dramatic to call it a nadir, but that moment seven weeks ago where I found myself fish-flopped over a Galapagos-ish boulder on Angel Fire Mountain’s “Hungry Hippo” trail — very recently unemployed, attempting to continue a vacation with my son despite said unemployment while also freaking out about how I was going to get my new house finished, and the owner of at least three newly broken ribs — well, that certainly felt like one of the lower points in my adult life.

Thankfully, a low point is what it was. The positively luminous response to my Substack meant I could finish my house and shop. A variety of new opportunities have slouched along since then. Best of all, as of yesterday I’m back on my bike and hoppin’ to it. Can’t quite muster the two-foot hop that I had last year, but I am fifty years old, and I’ll improve once I have my own little bike park set up at the farm.

I had a couple of freelance pieces show up last week; here they are.

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