We leave I-40 at Flagstaff and turn northeast, overnighting in the small town of Kayenta. The next morning, we're rolling through Monument Valley, beloved by Hollywood director John Ford, whose movies, such as "Stagecoach" and "She Wore a Yellow Ribbon," made the dramatic, weathered landscape an iconic symbol of the Old West for millions of Americans. The GT500 feels eager, alive in the cool predawn air, but the dim headlights simply aren't up to the car's performance. After sunrise, though, on the quieter roads in and around the spectacular desert where Arizona, New Mexico, Utah, and Colorado meet, the Mustang settles down to an effortless 100-mph cruise, arcing through fast sweepers with a precision that belies its old-school live rear axle.
Out here on the two-lane blacktop, the GT500 feels quick, quiet, and composed, everything you want a true Grand Tourer to be. The engine delivers a smooth, linear surge of acceleration every time you squeeze the gas, and while the Tremec six-speed requires a deliberate hand, the shift throws are short. The steering feel is meaty but accurate; the brake pedal is firm but easily modulated. With about 57 percent of its mass over the front wheels, the GT500's natural tendency is to push as the limits of adhesion are reached. As the road tightens, it's best to treat it like an old Ferrari Daytona--brake early and in a straight line, then turn in and accelerate past the apex, using the power to transfer the weight to the rear axle and balance the car.
We head north through the desert to join the I-70 outside Moab, then east, where we eventually climb and twist through the Rockies to 11,158 feet before we begin the plunge down the other side to Denver and the Great Plains beyond. Our destination is the Shelby American Collection in Boulder, a small but stunning group featuring Carroll Shelby's greatest cars. Although the collection is usually open only on Saturdays, curator David Murray is waiting patiently for us when we arrive around 8:30 p.m. Treasures include Shelby American's unrestored 289 FIA Roadster, the most original and valuable of the five built, the 1964 Le Mans-winning Daytona Coupe, John Wyer's personal GT40, and the GT40 Mark IV driven by Mario Andretti at Le Mans in 1967. Naturally there are Shelby Mustangs, too: three nice GT350s, and 5R002, the first and most significant of all the racing GT350s ever built, found languishing in a barn in Mexico in 1991 and awaiting restoration.
Next morning, we roll out of our hotel near Denver International Airport and point the Mustang east on I-70 again. For the first time in two days, there are no mountains on the horizon ahead; behind us, the snow-capped Rockies stretch in wall-to-wall widescreen, filling the rearview mirror. Not long after we cross into Kansas, we again dive off the Interstate, cutting northeast through the plains to Route 36, a near-empty two-lane that runs parallel to the Nebraska border and will take us right by the geographical center of the contiguous 48 states. You don't get much more heartland than this: Small towns huddle around grain elevators, every second car's a Buick, and the pickup trucks actually work for a living. Well away from the trashy fast-food joints and cheap hotels that litter I-70, Route 36 is a glimpse of how America used to be.
The GT500's cabin is proving a comfortable place for a 900-mile stint: The high-performance tires roar on coarse pavement, and you hear a faint whine from the supercharger overlaying the basso V-8 rumble if you spin the engine past 3500 rpm; otherwise this Mustang is easy on the ears. The driving position is good; the pedals are well placed, and there's a dead pedal for your left foot. The steering wheel adjusts for tilt and reach, and though the seats seem hard at first, you settle into them. One niggle: The seats feature electric fore/aft and height/tilt adjustment, but the backrest is adjusted manually via a coarse ratchet that never seems to click into exactly the right angle.
Mid-morning day four finds us at Indianapolis for a rendezvous with an original 1964 Mustang convertible. It looks exactly like one of the three Wimbeldon white pace cars built by Holman and Moody for the tragic 1964 Indy 500 (popular champ-car driver Eddie Sachs and rookie Dave MacDonald died in a fiery seven-car pileup on the second lap), but it is in fact one of 35 replicas supplied by Ford for use by senior company execs and local dignitaries during race week. After the muscular heft of the GT500, driving this original four-speed manual, 15,913-mile Mustang is like dancing with your grandma: It's light and spindly and a bit frail. The 289 four-barrel under the hood might've been the hottest engine you could get in a Ford Mustang at the time, but it has less than half the power of our GT500. You can almost hear Carroll Shelby calling it a secretary's car.
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