1965 Mustang Fastback, Pro-Street

Every so often, you come across a car that is so spectacular that it causes all passersby to scramble for their phones in an attempt to take in and remember her vicious beauty once she rolls from their line of sight. One such car, is Shawn’s 1965 Mustang Fastback, pro-street. I met Shawn one day many years ago, and we had an instant bond. This bond would cause a father-son relationship to blossom for the rest of our lives.

One day not too long ago, he called me up and asked me to come over. Unbeknownst to me, he had purchased what I called him a traitor for. Seriously, he had gone to the “dark side.” After all, we were both die-hard Chevy guys. Or, so I thought …

As I pulled up to his house, I rolled the window of my black Toyota Sienna minivan down and yelled, “You Traitor!” (which in and of itself is sort of ironic because I’m the one in the foreign-made minivan). Of course, I was mostly kidding with a grin from ear to ear. I knew at first sight that he had bought something that was one of a kind.

She wasn’t street ready at first, so I had to settle for the usual revving along with some drooling. But, a few months later, he called me up and asked if I was ready for that ride. I’m never one to hesitate at the wheel, so I jumped at the opportunity to see what this blown 351-powered Fastback could do.

He took me down the street and, with a smile on my face, I held on for dear life as I felt the ponies rush this beast forward with each green light launch. We made it to our destination, where he asked if I wanted to drive back.

Duh, dude!

We swapped spots, and I left a 50 foot stretch of rubber behind us as I mashed on the pedal with all of my weight. Interestingly enough, in most cars, burning out means standing still or just lurching forward a bit. Not this time. I hit the gas and, as I did, I was instantaneously planted firmly into the seat back as the Pony bucked forward with a purpose I had not felt before.

In fact, had I not seen the black strips of rubber behind me as I turned the 1965 Ford Mustang Fastback around, I never would’ve known the wheels spun so fast.

I got on it a few more times on the way back to his house, each time my smile grew larger. At first, I was a bit sad that the fastest car I’d ever been in was a Mustang (remember, I’m a bow-tie guy). But, she is a vicious beauty.

There’s just something about the Candy Tequila Lime Gold paint scheme that causes a stir, and forces cell phones from their resting places. Then again, maybe it’s the sound with a cam, or the whine of the 144 blower beneath the hood. Maybe it’s the tubbed rear with over four feet of rubber under the rear fenders. Wheelie bars? Tilting fiberglass hood? Roll cage? Maybe it’s the whole package working together …

I’m not sure what it is, but during that short drive back to his house, people stopped their cars in the middle of the street just to take pictures. Some asked us to us to burn out—as if this vicious beauty was capable of any normal burn outs. A couple people even patted their chest, as if to signify that this car, this Mustang by itself, was the Heartbeat of America—not Chevrolet.

I digress …

This car’s history has a bit of mystery to it. Much of the work was done by the previous owner. Sadly, each “for sale” ad I saw for it listed different parts. One of them said it had a 302 engine. And I nearly lost my breakfast when I read one ad which said that it had a Boss 302.

But, after some research we concluded that it was in fact a 351W, 302 heads, and a 144 blower sitting on top. The blower was not connected properly, and the carburetor was tired. In short, while this old combo seemed to work just fine, because I drove it like this, it wasn’t mating up properly. After weeks worth of adjustments, and several new parts this Pony runs free.

Several other things were wrong in the listings, down to the transmission it had and the amount of disc brakes it sported. Speaking of the brakes, Shawn has every intention to remedy that this winter as the rear drums do not help this Pony Car stop once it’s been moving with the speed of the P-51 for which it was named.

Either way, this car is about as wicked as they come, fast as can be, and sexy as hell. Listen to what I’m about to say very carefully: I do not like Mustangs (or any Fords, for that matter). But I like this one, and I’m proud to say I know the owner.