Simply Beautiful Loaded 1955 Ford Thunderbird Convertible P.s,p.b,p.w,drives New on 2040-cars

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Ford Mustang GT500 successor spied near SVT

Details about the next-gen Ford Mustang are scarce, and there's even less information out there about the upcoming replacement for the Shelby GT500. Previously rumored to drop the Shelby name and wear the GT350 moniker, the highest-performance Mustang has just been spotted testing near Ford's SVT operations.
Despite being cloaked in heavy camouflage, we can instantly tell this prototype is different from other Mustang spy shots we've seen in the past. Aside from the Shelby-spec wheels, quad exhaust outlets (previous spy shots show only two) and beefier brakes, this car also has air intakes on the hood and front fenders. These elements help to neither prove nor dismiss rumors that the next SVT Mustang will be naturally aspirated. It also looks like Ford is may be planning some changes to this car's rear suspension, as there is some extra camouflage added beneath the rear end of this prototype.
As a bonus, these spy shots also give us our first look inside the new Mustang, revealing a new steering wheel (with more buttons) and a glimpse of the dual-pod instrument gauges. Check out past spy shots of the 2015 Mustang showing off its new face and driving around town.

Riding along in Ford's bonkers Fiesta ST Global RallyCross car [w/video]

The Mountune-worked Fiesta ST GRC does 0-to-60 mph in 1.9 seconds.
On any given day, and every single weekend, there's at least one parking in the country invaded by manufacturer and team trucks. The be-chromed beasts and their 53-foot trailers are slotted into rows, men and women decorate the lot with orange cones to mark the invisible tracery of a temporary track, cars get unloaded, crews fret over them. The ritual can be as beautiful as the sunrise to those with enthusiast hearts, but it's just as common.

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.