2000 Ford Crown Victoria Police Interceptor on 2040-cars

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2015 Ford Focus

Sitting down at the pre-drive briefing with Ford engineers ahead of sampling the refreshed 2015 Focus, water bottles clinked as we wet our whistles before Q&A. While pouring a glass, we noticed something stamped on the bottle label: "1L." One liter. We were palming the exact displacement of the EcoBoost engine our group was about to drive. This was undoubtedly coincidence (such bottles litter every conference and dinner table in Europe) but it served to drive home just how small the total swept volume of Ford's wunderkind powerplant really is. It's tiny.
Of course, this isn't our first run-in with the little triple - we've sampled its turbocharged charms before in Ford's smaller Fiesta. At that time, we found it had plenty of poke for the subcompact, but the larger C-segment Focus carries around another 450 pounds or so and pushes a wider profile through the air. Would the three-cylinder have the stuffing to make the most of the Focus' athletic chassis, or would it be a letdown? Would it be the same as it was when we tested it in a Euro-spec Focus a couple of years ago? There was nothing left for it but to head out on the bucolic roads surrounding Versailles the day after the Paris Motor Show and find out for ourselves.

Petrolicious pays visit to tuning sensation the Ringbrothers

We caught up with a few projects from Ringbrothers at SEMA this year: a classic Ford Mustang body rendered in carbon fiber, and a De Tomaso Pantera-based concept that made us swoon.
It's with good timing then, that our friends at Petrolicious have uploaded their newest, well-crafted mini-documentary to the expansive airwaves of the Internet. Here, we meet the brothers Ring in person - Mike and Jim - and see how they've lent they're passion for craftsmanship to their business, along with their surname. A 1964 Ford Fairlane dubbed "Afterburner" and a 1965 Mustang called "Producer" star in this show.

Project Ugly Horse: Part VII

Devils, Details and Weight Reduction
There are many things I could call this exercise. A party is not one of them.
I've spent three days crammed in the axle well of this 1989 Mustang with nothing to keep me company beyond a trouble light, a DeWalt drill on the very last of its legs and billion razor sharp, red hot slivers of metal with an affinity for my most sensitive of regions. My joints are raw from crawling around on the concrete. I'm half deaf from the shriek of the spot weld cutter and the boom of the cold chisel and hammer.