Jumping production cars is a highly risky activity, even on a test track, but here the roads were lined with parked cars, pedestrians and traffic. It all seemed unbelievably dangerous, but too good to decline.
“Let’s get this done,” said ace photographer Charlie Magee and with the California Highway Patrol outriding, we headed off, first on the road.
At the chosen spot, the cops cleared the roads and Charlie stood ready on the other side of the hill with his finger on the Nikon.
Charlie and I had UHF radios, the police had their own working of a different frequency. Big mistake.
After one distinctly ground-based dummy run, I backed up the car and readied for another attempt. Charlie got the thumbs up from the police and radioed me.
“I think you’ll need to put a bit more vim in it,” he said.
I gave it everything, side-stepping the clutch at about 4,000rpm and filling the road with acrid tyre smoke as the Mustang howled and hurtled forward with the momentum of a steam locomotive.
However, a guy in a huge pick-up truck had pulled out of a side turning and stopped in my landing area to ask the cops what was going on.
Meanwhile I was into second gear, the engine bellowing, the tyres still alight and ready for air…
“Move, move,” yelled the cops to pick-up guy, but he was slow to react.
On the crest, the Mustang lifted its nose and flew. As the bonnet started to tip down, I could see everything: Charlie, the cops, the pick-up, the Pacific Ocean and my one-way trip to the Pearly Gates…
The pick-up had started to move, but it was so slow.
It was luck rather than judgement that allowed the flying Mustang to land perfectly, missing the pick-up’s tailgate by a matter of inches. As the car rolled down the hill, I buzzed Charlie.
“Did you get it?” I asked. Of course he did.
After such a close shave, the police had second thoughts about the whole business and no one else got to jump the Mustang in San Francisco on that or any other day.
A cause for celebration
The 60th anniversary is being celebrated all round the world with owners’ club meets and Mustang-themed get-togethers. The British Motor Museum at Gaydon in Warwickshire saw an estimated 700 owners attending a two-day festival earlier this month and, on April 27 and 28, the Classic Car Boot Sale will welcome a cornucopia of Mustangs and parts at Granary Square, part of the restored Kings Cross public space.
So, while it might be cheap horsepower and be viewed in some quarters as spectacularly politically incorrect, when you climb behind that deeply dished steering wheel and press the red starter of a Mustang, you’re driving a very special part of American history which is even more redolent in these times where the freedom of the open road seems a vanishing commodity.
As Martha sang in Nowhere To Run: “I know you’re no good for me.” But you probably still want to drive a Mustang…
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