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The future of the planet, and of human life on it, may depend on how rapidly the auto industry can reduce tailpipe emissions. (Tesla delivered close to a million electric vehicles worldwide in 2021 Ford dealers sold only about forty-three thousand E.V.s globally last year.) When Ford’s electric truck goes on sale this spring, the future of mobility will meet America’s favorite ride-a momentous encounter not only for Ford but for all of us, whether we drive, bike, or walk. The Lightning, together with the Mach-E, and an electric Ford Transit, its cargo van, collectively represent the hundred-and-eighteen-year-old automaker’s best and perhaps last chance to catch up with Elon Musk and Tesla, the dominant company in E.V. In a good year, Ford sells on average nine hundred thousand gas-powered F-series trucks, and earns about forty billion dollars annually from the line. The star of the show was the F-150 Lightning-an electric version of the pickup that belongs to the best-selling vehicle line of any kind in the U.S. in 2019, in keeping with the company’s move away from muscle and toward family vehicles with cargo space. The Mach-E is a battery-powered version of the sports car that Ford introduced at the 1964 New York World’s Fair Ford unveiled it as an electric S.U.V.
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As of 2020, Ford no longer sells sedans in the U.S., a development that might have horrified my cousin, a confirmed car guy.īut, instead of the nitrous roar of the Englishtown pits, the most compelling sound I heard in Austin was the silence of Ford’s Mustang Mach-E as it zipped along a short track, to show off the rapid acceleration that electric vehicles, or E.V.s, are capable of. I thought of Charlie, who died in 2016, and the Jersey Jimmy recently, at the opening of a pop-up theme park that the Ford Motor Company created in downtown Austin, Texas, in mid-October, to display its 2022 lineup of S.U.V.s, trucks, and vans. The pits were a mechanical Pamplona of nitromethane bulls, their belching tailpipes and fiery exhaust wrinkling the air, and their pit crews almost feral with the oddly fruity aroma of the fuel and the acrid stench of the smoking, treadless tires that the guys called slicks. Top-fuel dragsters run largely on nitromethane, a volatile fuel that contains oxygen. Hall of Fame, was racing, and I got to go with some friends and stroll through the pits.
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Charlie, who was eventually inducted into the N.H.R.A. That year, the National Hot Rod Association’s Summernationals came to Englishtown, New Jersey. Dreaming of one day having that kind of power and independence myself, I built plastic models of the cars that decorated my walls alongside their drivers, a gallery of petrol gods I knew chiefly by aliases: the Snake, the Mongoose, the Flyin’ Hawaiian, and “Big Daddy” Don Garlits, King of the Dragsters. But I was more interested in car guys-the engineer cowboys who raced their “suicide machines” on weekends. My cousins tried to teach me about how the power train delivers torque to the wheels.
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On Saturdays in warmer weather, Charlie and his brother Larry would work on engines down the road from my family’s farm, and I would hang around and watch, in love with the words they used-which showed up a few years later in Springsteen lyrics like “Chrome-wheeled, fuel-injected, and steppin’ out over the line,” in “Born to Run,” and “Fuelie heads and a Hurst on the floor,” from “Racing in the Street,” a song about guys like Charlie, the “hot-rod angels / Rumbling through this Promised Land.” My older cousin Charlie Seabrook and his car, the Jersey Jimmy, were well known on the East Coast drag-racing circuit. When I was twelve, in 1971, the walls of my bedroom in southern New Jersey were covered with full-page photographs of rail dragsters and “funny cars” with swollen engines which I carefully razor-bladed from hot-rod magazines. This content can also be viewed on the site it originates from.