Taming the Mullet

Call them whatever you want to: mullet mobiles, American iron or pony cars. The Ford Mustang and also Chevrolet Camaro have an image about them. The stereotype of a Mustang or Camaro driver is one of someone who likes their large gold necklaces and still sports a mullet for an haircut.
I have never been a huge fan of the American muscle car. Yes I completely understand their raw appeal but have never been able to wrap my head around the appeal of wanting to drive one everyday or in anger on a race track besides the great big engine. The Chevy Corvette always seemed like the much better choice for either of those uses.
The cars I grew up on are commonly referred to as rice burners as they generally have 4 cylinder engines and hail from the land of the rising sun. This did not stop me from taking the opportunity to race my friend’s 2007 Ford Mustang GT a couple months ago.
I was searching for a ride for the next local race as I was short on race rubber for my Honda and wanted to participate. My friend generously stepped up and allowed me to run his car at our club’s annual Jimmy V Never Give Up event.
The most experience I have had with any vehicle like this was driving my 1974 Dodge Challenger around my neighborhood during my phase of wanting to restore an American classic. So in short I had no idea of what to expect from this behemoth of a car. My normal race car weighs under 2700 lbs and has a fully independent rear suspension. This monster weighed a solid 600 lbs more and had a huge hunk of iron out back, also known as a live rear axle. You know the suspension design that most car manufacturers ditched back in the 70s and 80s.
I took the car for a spin around the paddock to get a feeling for the steering along with throttle and brakes felt before taking her out on course. I would get 5 runs on this day against the clock to pull every bit of performance out of a car that I have never driven before.
To put it lightly my first run was an eye opening experience. The car accelerated with the ferocity that I expected from a decently tuned V8. What I didn’t expect was how she felt as docile as a pussy cat as I flung her about the course in a slight tail out drift. This behavior kept up all day with the car only getting away from me once when I led her to close to the edge and didn’t rein her in when I needed to.
By the end of the day I had a new found respect for the genre of vehicle known as the mullet mobile.