A simple truth

Ages ago, in 2005, Ford Motor Company did the unthinkable. They recreated the magic of GT40 in the Ford GT and won multiple accolades. The car looked like a peach, drove like a lotus and sounded like godly thunder. It fueled what I had always believed in, that Detroit was being reborn and the revival would begin with that masterpiece. Later, my first project turned out to be 2009 Ford F-150 which cemented the fact that I was a Ford person and one day would own the blue oval. I even preemptively bought a Ford GT key-chain at the Detroit airport on a work trip.

Mid West Miracle

The Focus ST is my first American car. I had such low expectations getting into that car but the Recaro seats saddled away my doubts. I was skeptical of the four spoke steering wheel but the turn in was incredible. An American OEM offering a manual and a summer tire only option was destroying my presumptions of things American. As I pulled out if the dealer lot, the spool-er spooled and the induction resonator resonated. I couldn’t but help just laugh. Here was a tiny 2.0 liter eco boost engine that pretended to be a monster and sounded every bit like it. She made me feel like a super hero. I rowed her manual transmission, stayed in lower gears and just keep revving past speed limits. It was hedonistic. I was addicted within a mile of my test drive. It was the quickest and strangest decision I had ever made. After a string of Japanese, British and German cars I couldn’t wait to own an American beauty.

Kids, that is a manual transmission. It unlocks happiness. 

Her competition was mostly German since I was having withdrawal symptoms after recently separating from my BMW 1 series. The lack of hatchback in the United States made test drive the BMW X1. She felt like a BMW. She was solid, dependent, predictable, dark, serious and ready for being my daily driver with minimal fuss. I didn’t laugh once. After that I put through a Golf GTI through its paces. The DSG transmission was nice. The motor sounded great. The interiors were sophisticated. The rear seats folded perfectly flat. It was a complete package. Grown up, fun and predictable. The Golf GTI was really all things to all men but sadly was more than 13K over my budget. I couldn’t see myself calling it, her.

Return to high school

She isn’t perfect by any means. For starters, the wrong wheels are being driven. The interior plastics have improved but if you look closely, the plastics inside the glove box are outright ghastly. The rear seats don’t really fold flat. The sub-woofer in the trunk is so ‘fast and furious’ and eats into the practicality of a hatchback without remorse. The switch gear isn’t tacky but not classy either. I am pleased with analog dials but the fonts are all wrong. They used good materials for most of the dash board but the climate control digital display looks like it is over a decade old. I love seeing the boost gauges but it seems like last minute tacky addition, as if it were designed by an undergrad in his dad’s garage. The ambient lighting offers a palate of unwanted colors and all compartments close with a plastic clack instead of a pleasing click.

The odd one out

Even the buying experience was severely different. The busyness of the business cards alone indicated how it was distinctly American. The dealership did not have a fancy lounge or complimentary Starbucks coffee. It had equally marginally honest dealers dressed either in polo shirts, khakis or very ill-fitting suits. It was completely not European in which way and that alone was entertaining, if not, convincing.

She has managed to do something extraordinary here. Every time I drive her, I smile. I love the sounds she makes. I love how planted she feels on ramps. Her tail comes around when I release the throttle. She is nimble, happy and ready to go. She gulps fuel but then again she paying a part of monster and they can’t always be frugal. I am coming around her ambient lighting and settled on a nice blue. I am enjoying her sub-woofer playing the songs I enjoy.

Ground control to Major Tom

She is a daily driver with flaws. She is not all things to all men. But she is teaching me how to not take life so seriously. She is my own barrel of laughs. She is my elixir. She is my American fountain of youth. And she is my cup of masala ST.