I talk about the Ford Mustang a lot, whether I’m referring to it fondly or otherwise. Although I was raised in bowtie vehicles, my first sports car was a Mustang. I can’t say that I’ve ever been a fan of the design of any pony made before 1969 (or 74-78) but this car has a simple, clean look to it, and the subtle choice of color only helps. I don’t think there’s a set of modern aftermarket wheels that I could say that I liked (and if you’ve followed us long enough you’ve probably to come to that conclusion about me yourself) but these are about as passable as they get.
This picture you see is one of two that I bothered to take of this car. You can’t tell from the shot, but I was too lazy to even get out of my vehicle to snap this. I didn’t even want to take the picture, my passenger suggested to me that I should. Even after taking the picture I wasn’t all too excited about the car, despite it’s clean looks and badges that said, “I have one of the greatest-sounding V8 engines ever invented under my hood.”
I may be committing career suicide by saying this, but unless it’s a particularly rare model, I feel just as unexcited about the 67-69 Camaro as do about the 65-68 Mustang. Maybe it’s because I live in the southwest, and every single car is a survivor here, but those early ponies get so much play for nothing more than the nostalgia factor that their owners wear on their sleeve.
Because of this, I ignored this car like it was another Nissan Altima, my snob-o-meter dipping deep into the red. Looking back it now, it’s a pretty handsome car, and there’s a level to detail that’s been paid to it that you wouldn’t find on some cars that I would be happy to drool over, for example, every third generation f-body that has ever existed.
So, to vindicate myself of my unjustifiable, pseudo-hipster attitude towards common classics, I’ve decided to post this picture of this simple, but well-built Mustang. Enjoy it.