Ghosts of Mustangs Past (Part 2): The Senior Trip

Perhaps I've gotten a little ahead of myself. Let's start with the story of my first Mustang, seen here next to Rustang 1.

While I'd heard plenty of stories about the mythical pony car, I wouldn't have a chance to own one until just before my high school graduation, when my mom presented me with her 1996 Mustang as a gift. At the time, I'd been riding around town in an old 1992 Saturn SC2, the same car I'd taken my driver's license exam and, after two years of 16- and 17-year-old driving, was well beyond the ability of most mechanics.

Thus I was given my first chance to own and drive my very own Mustang. It was an automatic, it was clean, it was black, it was quick, and most importantly, it was mine.

And it was there and then that the trouble started.

Sometime in March of 2005, I came up with the notion that one's high school career could not be concluded without a "Senior Trip" with all my closest senior high school friends. And being the 18-year-old would-be worldly traveler that I envisioned myself, my excitement blinded me to the key factors I failed to understand before we departed on our wayward trip to the pristine beaches of Gulf Shores, AL:

• Vacations are not meant for those with less than $50 after gas has been factored in.
• Getting a hotel in Mobile, AL is cheaper than staying in Gulf Shores. It's true. It is also about 1.5 hours away from the beach in heavy traffic.
• Our high school's "Spring Break" occurred during the second week of March, or as I have come to know it better, "the dead of winter." It would later snow during our time in Mobile.
• Speaking of meteorological events, there was a rather large one that occurred just six months prior: Hurricane Ivan. And in my teenage stubbornness to go on this trip whatever the cost, I remember saying to myself, "Six months is surely enough time to repair billions of dollars worth of damage to oceanfront properties and businesses. The beaches will be just fine." Five months later, Hurricane Katrina would lay waste to New Orleans.
• The hotel itself was put on a friend's parent's credit card, my portion of which I had only a half-intention of paying back. This would later become a debt that damaged my reputation as a responsible young man, and one that would plague me with much guilt for years to come.
• My Mustang was not the snarling GT model with the 5.0L V8. No, it was the infamous 3.8L V6 model, which had become well known for its penchant for overheating and blowing head gaskets.
• And lastly, I'd committed the cardinal sin of long-distance road trips: I didn't check the antifreeze, and I didn't check the oil.

Away we went.

(To be continued)