Bark's Bites: Welcome to Our 24-Month Long Fiesta

Mark "Bark M." Baruth
by Mark "Bark M." Baruth

When we last saw our hero, he was debating between keeping his Boss 302 or selling it and downsizing to a little pocket-rocket Fiesta ST for a year or so until the Shelby GT350 hits the showrooms. Wait, let’s leave that writing-in-third-person nonsense to NFL wide receivers and people with delusions of grandeur. Reset.

I spent much of last week crunching numbers and trying to figure out what I wanted to do. Like our fearless leader (Obama, not Derek)—to those of you who voted in the comments section, I heard you. For those of you didn’t vote, I heard you, too. I read all of the reasoned opinions. I calculated. I planned. I schemed.

And then I said, Eff it. Let’s do both.

.

The more visually astute of you will notice that the above is a picture of my driveway/garage. You’ll also notice that this driveway/garage has both a Fiesta ST and a Boss 302 residing in it (the Flex steadfastly refused to vacate its well-earned spot on the other side of the garage, as did the mountain of children’s toys and Cozy Coupes). Dafuq happened? Sit back, relax, adjust the resolution on your monitor on this Monday morning, and let me spin a yarn of excess for you.

I had been in communication with the Internet Manager at Paul Miller Ford in Lexington, Kentucky all week, explaining to him that I would coming in that Friday to look at the Fiesta ST that they had on their lot, which was the only one in Kentucky dealer inventory at the time. The terms of the deal I laid out were easy—I wanted $37K for my car, and I would gladly pay X Plan minus rebates for theirs.

It wasn’t exactly the car I wanted—it was Performance Blue, and I wanted Molten Orange. It had full SYNC navigation/entertainment and a roof, neither of which I was particularly excited to pay for. My dream Fiesta would have had neither of those options, but would have had Recaro seats. One of the commenters in last week’s post said something about Baruth boys being, ahem, plus-sized. As Gershwin would have told you, it ain’t necessarily so. I’m scraping the botton of 5’9″ and I tip the scales just south of 160 pounds, so the Recaros are no problem for me.

However, I was prepared to drive the Fiesta they had and order the Fiesta that I wanted. When I arrived at the dealership on Friday, I was surprised to see it totally swamped by sub-prime customers wearing Kentucky blue. Turned out that Julius Randle, the former UK Wildcat and current resident of the Los Angeles Lakers’ injured reserve list, was in the house to sign autographs. Much to the chagrin of the sales manager on duty, Randle rolled up in an A8 to the dealership, not an Expedition. The circus-like atmosphere of the store made it a little difficult to conduct business, but that was fine with me. I just wanted to drive the little hatch and be on my way.

There was one small snag—I was coming directly from the airport, so I wasn’t driving my Boss. I rolled up in my Legacy Wagon, which impressed exactly nobody at the dealership.

“So, uh, what’s that car you’re driving? Is that a Subaru?” asked the new car manager upon greeting me, undoubtedly trying to see if his only sales prospect of the day was a 520 beacon score waiting to happen.

“That’s my airport car. No worries, dude. I work for (redacted).”

“Oh, okay.” He was visibly relieved. “Let’s go find that great little car!”

He introduced me to the Internet Manager, who introduced me to the salesman. As per usual, the salesman knew next to nothing about the car, but that was okay by me—I actually prefer it. I’d much rather spend my test drive focusing on the driving dynamics of the car, not hearing about crumple zones and airbags.

The test drive loop wasn’t exactly the Grand Prix Monaco course. I didn’t have too many opportunities to scare the salesman—he only asked me to slow down three times. But what a car. The statement I’m wanting to make may seem a tad ridiculous out of context, so I’m going to save it for a tad later in this post. Instead, I’m going to focus on some of the complaints that people have about the Fiesta, namely the interior.

First of all, if you’re complaining about the interior materials of this car, you’re an idiot. You’re completely missing the point of the Fiesta. The interior is more than adequate—in fact, it’s a major upgrade from a Boss 302. The SYNC MyFordTouch system is exactly the same one that you’d get in a Flex Titanium, complete with 2 USB ports, SD card reader, and audio input jack in the center console. It synced up easily with my iPhone 5s, no questions asked. The Sony eight-speaker sound system is quite acceptable. I wouldn’t call it “good,” but neither is it terrible. Again, I’m coming from a Boss 302 most days, so I’m easy to please. I much prefer the spooling turbo whine that is pumped into the cabin from the sound symposer, anyway.

The test drive was more than enough to convince me that I wanted the car. A few questions remained, however.

  • Should I do a 60 month buy at 0%, or a 24 month lease?
  • Should I order exactly the car I want and wait three months, or get it today?
  • What the hell am I going to do with my Boss?

Taking them one at a time:

  • The sales manager was likely staring at a terrible February. The weather in Kentucky, like everywhere, has been awful for car sales. On a 24 month lease, he was willing to do X Plan plus all rebates plus a little bit more, and then also give me 12K miles for the same price as 10,500. Done.
  • I suck at being patient. The discounts pretty much wiped out the additional cost of the navigation system, which meant that for the next two years I wouldn’t have to do the dreaded “I HAVE TO HANG UP ON YOU RIGHT NOW BECAUSE I HAVE NO IDEA WHERE I’M GOING AND I’M USING MY PHONE FOR GPS” that I often have to do in unfamiliar cities. And I had been driving a yellow car for 32 months—maybe a subtle color wouldn’t be so bad for once.
  • Fuck it. I ‘m keeping the Boss.

The last one was the tough one. In order to explain, let me introduce you to Kevy.

Kevy is the little boy on the left in this picture, standing proudly next to his little sister. He’s a smart, talented, warm-hearted kid. He’s a pretty good goalkeeper. Most importantly, he also happens to be my son.

Kevy loves the Boss 302. He asks to be picked up in it from school daily. He brags to his friends about it. He tells them that his daddy’s car is the fastest car in the parking lot, and that Daddy will beat any of their daddies in a race. The day I bought the Boss, on June 9th, 2012, Kevy asked to pose for pictures with it all day. As you can see in the picture, his favorite color is now Yellow, because Daddy’s Boss is yellow. He loves it. How could I disappoint him?

After I figured out that I could afford to have both cars in the driveway, it was a no-brainer. The Boss has entered a realm known as the “993 Zone,” where depreciation no longer has any real meaning. Case in point: The Boss stickered for $45,240 32 months ago. It now sells privately with 30,000 miles on it for at least $38k. That’s insane. My financing rate is good enough that I’m essentially paying 98% principal with every payment, so I will likely get back nearly every dollar I pay on it for at least the next twelve months. One could make the case that the Boss will be devalued by the launch of the GT350, certainly, but one could also make the case that the Boss could become more popular as people realize that the additional dealer markup on the Shelby isn’t going to go away any time soon. There’s also this: neither the Boss nor the Fiesta can do what the other can do. Neither is a replacement for the other. If you love one, it doesn’t necessarily mean you’ll love the other.

So I signed some papers, left the Subaru in the dealership parking lot overnight, and immediately went canyon carving.

There’s a stretch of road in Kentucky that’s a favorite among the buff books for road tests. Route 52 from Richmond to Morehead, as well as some of the lesser arteries that wind off of it, is one of the best driver’s roads in America. The Fiesta ST is perfectly suited for just such a jaunt, stretching out its 202 lb-ft of torque and power-to-weight ratio of an E30 M3 along the banks of the Kentucky river, making elevation changes of a nearly a hundred feet around every corner.

It’s one thing to hoon around in a press car. It’s entirely another to do it in a car that you just signed paperwork for less than an hour ago. In some ways, it’s more confidence inspiring. In others, much less so. Nevertheless, on this Friday afternoon, the Fiesta and I became one as we traversed the hills of the Bluegrass.

Every turn was perfect. Each gearshift executed perfectly, the gearbox easily the best I’ve ever driven. The tires never slipped. The wickedly short wheelbase meant that the nose never plowed. I nearly forgot that I was driving a FWD car. The turbo never lagged. The torque-curve never flattened. I simply couldn’t push the car hard enough—each time I thought I had reached a limit, the Fiesta nudged me. Come on, Bark. We can go faster. We can turn harder. We can tempt fate on this next blind hill. It will all turn out okay. And you know what? It always did.

Journos throw around the term “usable speed” somewhat casually, normally in reference to some slow car that’s supposed to be fun to drive “at the limit.” Most journalists would piss themselves “at the limit.” In my mildly capable hands, the Fiesta’s limits are almost unreachable on a public road. Every ounce of its speed is not only usable, it’s capable. As I closed the gap between myself and other cars on the road, occasionally a Fox Mustang or Miata out for a spirited drive would attempt to keep me from overtaking. It was an exercise in futility. The Fiesta artfully absorbed them, lifting a rear wheel almost as if to wave goodbye on the next corner entry. The fingers extended by my fellow road-goers wasn’t a middle finger—it was a hearty thumbs up.

Road tests seem to suggest that the Fiesta does zero-to-sixty in roughly seven seconds. I suggest it doesn’t fucking matter. No more fun can be had for this amount of money. No more fun can be had for twice as much money. So here’s the ridiculous statement that I wanted to make earlier:

The Fiesta is the best car I’ve ever driven.

Maybe not the best car for sitting in or for taking to a dragstrip or for showing off how much money you make, but for driving? No question. It manages to do the impossible—it inspires nearly endless confidence while keeping the nannies and electronics out of the way. My only wish would be for a slightly higher rev limiter—it’s quite easy to find yourself bouncing off it.

As I flew along State Route 388 up towards Fort Boonesborough State Park, I finally came to a rest at the intersection of 388 and 627, where the hooning would be forced to subside as the road became a straight line all the way home to Winchester. I could smell a little tire and a little brake, but I mostly just sensed pure driving nirvana.

So stick with me for the next 24 months. We’ll see if the driving dynamics of the Fiesta manage to keep the snarling Boss in the garage, or if my lust for power eventually proves unquenchable. But for now, let’s do both.




Mark "Bark M." Baruth
Mark "Bark M." Baruth

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  • Chan Chan on Mar 03, 2015

    I'm not in a position to own 2 fun cars, but I totally get this. Props for being able to keep the Bossstang. Like your 302, I have a special sports car that is my childhood dream come true. Also like yours, it's supposedly very capable and has stopped depreciating. But it's also very needy and shouty, and driving a rolling occasion for too many days in a row becomes a chore. Adding too many miles results in prohibitively expensive maintenance and repairs. Driving it to its abilities on public roads earns you a quick ticket to your choice of the local jail, the local hospital or the local morgue. So I still want a fun little MT car like a Civic Si or a Fiesta ST. Something that's a blast at legal speeds, yet useful enough to be my DD and occasional baby-schlepper. Looking forward to your canyon carving journals and "fun"-related comparisons with the Boss. Safe travels and happy motoring! And yes, 0-60 time doesn't matter when you're having fun in any car.

  • PeriSoft PeriSoft on Mar 04, 2015

    "No worries, dude. I work for (redacted)." They pay well at (redacted) I take it? I wouldn't have been terribly pleased if salesmen had given me the stinkeye based on what I drove to the dealer. When I was shopping for my Sonata I rolled up to a few different places in a beat-to-hell '02 Forester, dressed to the ones, and never had anybody bat an eyelash. I inquired about Audis and Volvos while wearing a ripped up old work sweat shirt and was treated fine. Plus, the car you were inquiring about wasn't exactly 1%er territory, anyway. It'd be interesting to know if that dealer was in a particularly wealthy (or particularly poor) area...

    • Mark "Bark M." Baruth Mark "Bark M." Baruth on Mar 06, 2015

      There is a misconception among some car dealers that my employer pays in gold bars. The dealer is in a pretty middle-of-the-road area, but they're the biggest dealer in KY. It's entirely possible that I was overly sensitive to it.

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