The 351 was a peculiar engine. Ford had made several versions of it in ’70s and saddled each with a geographic designation that did little to enlighten the consumer, less to excite the car fanatics and nothing at all for the marketing team who were struggling with losing sales of the Mustang to the more muscle-bound Pontiac Firebird and Dodge Charger. Barney had a 351 Windsor in his 1972 Cougar and had always daydreamed it was the heftier 429 Cobrajet. The 370-horsepower engine in the one he had test driven at that car show had sent shivers up his spine as he’d opened up the 4 barrels and accelerated down the highway. Barney wasn’t necessarily a car snob; he just wanted the biggest and the best. To crush all the puny and pointless competitors until they were the mere remnants of road kill left to slowly fry on the hot asphalt. And frankly, Ford had made a big mistake with with the 351 nonsense. They should have learned with the confusion surrounding the Hemi and stuck with simpler, customer friendly nomenclature. People, as Barney well knew, were stupid.
Speaking of which, the cream Cougar was currently on its way back to the farm where someone was about to get their comeuppance. It might be Meredith’s car for the moment, but that, and a few other things about this stupid relationship, were about to change. Finally.