Richard Hammond
It Must’ be love
This article was first published in April 2009.
A moment can be a big thing. It probably took a guy called al-Jazari just ‘a moment' in 1206 to cook up a nifty idea for turning the round-and-round motion of a water wheel into the reciprocal, back-and-forth movement of a piston in a chamber. But in doing so, he invented a concept that lies at the heart of every car engine, bicycle, motorcycle and steam train in history. I had a similarly huge moment in my Mustang this week, albeit not of quite such importance to the world at large. But it was a whopper for the car and me.
The Mustang and I have, over the years, enjoyed a relationship as laid-back and easy-going as the driving style required to keep it on the tarmac. I have abandoned it in workshops and car parks for months on end, only to arrive one day, keys in hand, to ask some task or other of it that would be of little consequence to a modern car with its ECUs etc., but is to a 40-year-old American car positively Herculean in its scope and ambition.
Nevertheless, the Stang has always stirred from dusty slumber to wake with a gentle cough and do whatever I've asked. There has been neither complaint nor hesitancy, and it has never, ever let me down. This week, I had assumed, would be the same. In an unheard-of piece of good fortune and convenience, I was working with a TV crew just 20 miles from home. The weather was fine, the roads clear and this was, I reckoned anyway, the perfect opportunity to dust off the Mustang and actually use it for work. It started, of course.
“The Mustang started, of course. And then made it to the end of the road. And to the end of the next road. We had a moment then, but not THE moment…”
And then made it to the end of the road. And to the end of the next road. We had a slight moment, pulling out onto a main road; I was a bit liberal with the right foot, and the tail end made a break for it. It was a moment, but not the moment.
The limited-slip diff helped the tyres find traction on the greasy tarmac and bring everything under calm control with a flamboyant but containable little flourish. And then, pulling up to a roundabout seconds later, we had the moment. The Stang stuttered. It wasn't a massive lurch - there was no smoke, no drama. But as I dipped the clutch and braked at the junction, the big 7.0-litre V8 slowed and stalled. It was going to die; I was convinced of it. I decided that my job must come before messing about in my ridiculous old car, so I turned round to make a dash for home in the limping Mustang and swap it for my modern, fully functioning, reliable Porsche. We got back, and I shut the engine down. And I sat for a moment.
The early morning sunlight slanted across the little Stang's dash, catching on the gaudy, chromed instruments and the steely Hurst gearlever. In the silence, punctuated only by the soft ticks and clicks of the cooling exhaust, I knew that we were at another crossroads, only this one was more significant. If I climbed out now and abandoned the Mustang for another, modern car, there would be no turning back. We would never return to where we once were. Trust would be gone forever. But I climbed out all the same, closed the door and walked to the garage to collect the 911.
Working next to the garage was David, a builder employed - I suspect forever - to rebuild our broken house. He'd parked his wheelbarrow when the Mustang burbled up the drive, and was now admiring the car as it cooled by the wall. He didn't really say anything, but the intensity of his gaze as his eyes raked the Mustang's flanks was enough. I turned and walked back. This was too important. I climbed in and set off once more. If the car was going to fail, we would fail together.
But I would allow no room in my heart for the concept of failure from now on - we would set off together in absolute confidence that we would get where we were going. And we did. Not surprisingly, the crew looked up when we arrived and chorused the usual rousing approval of the car's pretty looks and mighty exhaust note.
I was late, and I needed an excuse. I looked at the director, his raised eyebrows demanding an explanation. I considered explaining how I had decided that preserving my precious relationship with the car - by demonstrating to it my faith in its ability to transport me to work - was more important than getting to work on time. Instead, I told him that I had decided halfway there that I was wearing the wrong shirt and had gone back to change it. He believed me; well, he would - I'm a telly presenter. And we got on with the job while the Mustang sat in a corner and waited to take me home that evening with not a flicker of trouble. We've weathered the storm.
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awwww thats soooo sweet
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Becareful, Oliver might get jealous that you are not driving him/her and writing long articles of your admiration for him/her!! Hell hath no fury like an opel scorned !!!
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wow!! sweet, i wouldn't do that with my seat!!!!!!!! or the ford focus
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true love ? :) wonder what Jeremy would do... ¬¬
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Oliver is better...ha just kidding, but I prefer Japanese cars. At least you can control them. But I like Mustangs too.
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So should I trust in my 21-year-old Mini to start in the winter then?
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one word SWEEEEET there must b alots of love and trust there.I would agree oliver is better.
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Let this be a lesson to you, Richard - don't abandon it in workshops. Treat it with the love and respect it deserves. Park it in your garage, give it a good wash when needed, take it for a good Sunday run (if you ever have time to kill), and it will treat you with the same love and respect back. Kinda like a dog, really. Treat it well and it becomes man's best friend. Treat it badly and it'll tear the wallpaper, dump in your shoes, maul your guests and generally make life a bugger for you.
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yeh that waas a beatiful story but i hope your director dosen't read this.
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Lovely piece of writing, but Richard, if you're getting along so magnificently well with your Mustang, surely you will give your mouth-watering Porsche to me. It's perfect, right down to the colour.
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Really sweet article...I can say I fell in love with my Mini Cooper 2008, I absolutely love it and wouldn't change it for any other car!!! =D
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i saw a car on my paper round and it said opal kadett on it but it like oliver it looked too young
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I had this relationship with my old Scirocco. Then it's heart broke (that is, it overheated horrendously and the block cracked) and I died inside. Love her, Richard, love her for all you're worth. I still want to cry a little when I think about my Scirocco... I'm not a woman.
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Mustang is the car you can rely on!
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Aaaah so sweet!
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Ahhh thats lovely and as Jeremy Clarkson sometimes says 'SWEEEEEEEEET' lol xx
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I recon i love my 1979 Aston Martin V8 vantage even more... looks even more lovely than the Mustang... and it's british (which dose mean it brakes more)... but it's still british.... and an aston martin... and so very nice looking...british by the way...
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Wonderful story! Modern society demands the reliability of an appliance from its vehicles, and so, modern vehicles are appliances (even the sports and super cars). However, these modern appliances don't have souls, and refusing to abandon the machine for the appliance (the 911) is to be applauded!
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Very nice story.. I allready had the same issue with my Maserati Biturbo - well.. the end of my story was, that if i would have driven any further than to the workshop, the biturbo would have burned down (engine seal falure...)
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For a reason of some sorts i may not drive a car, but have always thought of a mustang, one of the first convertibles types though, to be my one car garage.
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Good on ya' Hamster. If I could afford one (The only 428CJ here in the UAE costs 80 grand) it would be the only car I'd use. 40 years old and totally reliable, able to put put a smile on your face and even make you laugh like a mental as you rumble along. Agghhhh....
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i luv mustangs!! saw 1 this mornin.
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i luv mustangs!! saw 1 this mornin.
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Goldfinch61 commented on this article
23 April 2009
I almost got a tear in my eye when you said you turned around and drove it home! And you were going to take the 911. But rallied when you got back in and drove it!!! That's the true spirit of a Pony Car lover! I can't tell you how many times I've limped my pony home, been stuck at a light or on the side of the road...but it always got me home (ok, once it had to be towed...shhh, don't tell anyone). I hope mine looks as pretty as yours someday! She's a work in progress.
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