Time to catch the 302, and we're not talking Amtrak.
In the course of its rather assertive advertising, BMW shows us the tail end of a 533i and promises "a decompression chamber for the highly motivated."
Maybe. But wouldn't you rather have a V-8, particularly if that V-8 has the refinement we've always associated with the Germans' fours and sixes, and the go power the Germans can only dream of in their exports to America?
It's easy to get the wrong idea about the Mustang GT. You can thumb back to this road test's spec page, glom onto the 6.4-second 0-to-60 time, and conclude we've finally found the pavement burner of our adolescent fantasies.
Wrong. This is a car for adults. It's okay if you're highly motivated. It's okay if you can afford a whole lot more than the test car's $9885 base price. It's even okay if you're currently driving a German decompression chamber. In fact, it's probably better if you are, because then you'll be in a position to appreciate how close this Mustang GT comes to the German definition of a serious car.
A serious car starts with a look, and Ford, maybe because it has more international blood pumping through its engineering veins than any other Detroit automaker, seems to understand the difference between what is German and what is Atari. If you're not careful with the options sheet, the inside of your Camaro or Firebird will look like Tokyo by night, but the Mustang GT has real gauges with black faces and white markings. The outside is restrained as well. Apart from the blackout hood treatment, "GT" is the only proclamation you'll find anywhere, unless you count the 60-series gatorback Goodyears that fill the fender openings. And even they say "German": they're moderate in their profile, which is the German way. Detroit, in contrast, tends to get carried away and lower the profile down to rim-protector height, never mind what it does to the handling.
The black-rubber protective strip that runs around the perimeter of the car looks rather German, too. And rather sensible, we think, given the way parking lots eat up good cars these days.
There's yet another aspect of the Mustang GT that suggests German, and that's the seating position. Detroiters are low—you have to sit on the floor—and they have solar-cooker windshields that bake your lap and tumblehome side glass that drops rain on your ear when you crack open the window. But not in the Mustang. The extra 2.4 inches of height (compared with the IROC Camaro's) allows you to sit up. The headroom soars overhead like a cathedral—or a BMW.
Of course, none of these German suggestions would matter—we probably wouldn't even have noticed them—if the Mustang GT didn't have a German way of getting down the road. And here again Ford has done the un-American thing. Lusty Detroiters roar and rumble: their air cleaners honk, and their exhausts say 1967. But the GT is refined. The air intake is muted, and the pipes issue only a minor-key blurble, just enough to leave no doubt that there are eight cylinders hooked to the other end. The engine is a delight, eager as any German and remarkably responsive. Lug it down to 1200 rpm in fifth, and it just goes when you push the pedal. Lug it down to 800, and it falters for a fraction of a second (not to be confused with a stumble) before it goes. Just a little reminder that this is a real American V-8 under the hood, one that hasn't succumbed to total homogenization yet, one with a Holley carburetor. The engine is fully up to date—all the electronics an ignition could ever ask for, roller lifters to eliminate friction, and, later in the year, a two-speed accessory drive to cut another 5 hp in parasitic losses—but all the driver notices is that it seems to produce a bountiful harvest of horsepower with no ruckus. You have to be of a certain maturity to appreciate this.
So you're sitting head high, all German-like in the front bucket of this Mustang, the engine whirring easily instead of grumbling, having a pretty nice time motoring down the blacktop, when you notice that the white-on-black speedometer says 80 mph. The road is neglected-infrastructure rough, and you're not even gripping the wheel. In fact, you hadn't really noticed the speed, just that everything was copacetic and fun. And this, finally, blurs the last differences between Dearborn and Deutschland. This car has dynamik. Call it road sense. Call it German aplomb. Call it good. For sure, Mustangs have never possessed it before, and neither did the spoilered-and-skirted offerings from across town. No one advancement can be cited, just as size isn't the only difference between a kid and a grown-up.
http://www.caranddriver.com/reviews/1985-ford-mustang-gt-review
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