Sept. 4, 2003

I have never been in a hardtop Mustang that was made after 1972. But I have seen them around and wondered about them. So, I was determined a few weeks back to rent one and report my findings here. Unfortunately, as I have been in the past, I was thwarted by a clever Hertz representative who, by using mind-control mojo, got me to take a convertible instead. She did this by saying, "Would you like a convertible instead? It's only $7 more a day."

Seven dollars? That's absurd! OF COURSE I would take it.

I'd been duped, but felt pleased with myself, regardless. Ms. D failed to feign surprise when she saw I'd secured a drop-top model. She simply slung her bag in next to mine in the Mustang's tiny trunk (I say this, respectfully, as a Miata owner) and shrugged her shoulders. "You always get a convertible one."

She was doggin' me—she's a fan of the old '60s-era Mustang, but dislikes the newer ones, writing them off with a single word: "Plastic."

I put on my game face, messed with the seat to try and get comfortable and then pulled away from the curb. (It wasn't until later that I found the power adjustment on the driver's seat—after a hundred miles or so I finally got the seat right and settled in.) Our plan—head out I-20 toward a little known getaway out west called "Shreveport."

Why Shreveport? I was curious to see the downtown revival that some well-placed folks interested in Jackson's downtown renaissance—Mayor Johnson among them—had led me to believe was happening in Shreveport. As we got into town and crossed from Bossier City, however, I suddenly realized that whatever comparisons to Jackson one might make regarding Shreveport, one would be forced to ignore the towering casinos on the Red River that, er, sort of affect downtown development.

Not that you could stay there. They also affect one's ability to get a reasonably priced motel room, so Ms. D and I ended up in Texas for the night.

Tooling around downtown Shreveport, the Mustang was certainly a pleasure to handle, as we looked at the old stock of buildings and sidewalks and cafes that, for the most part, seemed to be headed in the right direction. The development was a little focused on those casinos, and I'd prefer to see more small businesses in the historic storefronts, but I could see where some progress had been made.

What I couldn't shake about the Mustang was the impression that the interior materials were literally mocking me—the AC controls look like something out of a 1976 Pinto, and I'm always alarmed by the textured plastic that presents itself to the Mustang's occupants. I know Ford makes a killing on these things, but they've got to have something from the Mazda parts bin that will look a little better than the current knobs and buttons.

The 'stang is still USA-proud, so the doors close with an impressive thunk. We climbed out into the heat and started roaming the Red River District, a paved pedestrian mall near the water and casinos. We ended up having an impromptu brunch at Peaches and Kream, a wonderful old-fashioned-feeling ice cream and candy store. Peaches, the proprietress, happened to have just finished a private party brunch, so she served us from the leftover eggs, grits, sweet breads and coffee for a flat $3.

With a vanilla iced coffee from Keoki's Surfin Ass Coffee (that's the name), Ms. D was sweetened up enough to walk into the Hollywood Casino, and allowed that we could walk around and look at the various costumes, scripts and effects that the casino has under glass. I'm a sucker for movie props, and Hollywood Casino reminded me just a bit of Universal Studios Hollywood a few decades back, before it became an amusement park. I loved that place back then.

A new place that has drawn my affection is Natchitoches, La., where Ms. D and I ended up after zipping around Bossier City for a while and, eventually, buying ourselves Coke-flavored ICEEs. (Think about it—the classic Coke flavor is actually sort of tough to come by in Jackson, although we saw it in Video Library the other night.) The Mustang felt kinda at home gliding through lush Natchitoches, which offers a beautiful downtown streetscape on the Cane River and is, reportedly, Louisiana's bed-and-breakfast capital. My thoughts turned, as they often do, to real estate. Perhaps our getaway town has been revealed to us?

When Ms. D was sick of looking at front-lawn signs, we pointed the Mustang east and headed back through forests and swamps and rivers and old bridges until we found ourselves crossing the extraordinary Mississippi into Natchez where we caught the sunset and slipped into Bowie's Tavern for a cold beverage and an appetizer plate.

Of course, the Mustang held up fine with the top dropped, the tunes playing, the full moon overhead and the lights of Natchez dropping behind us as we headed out onto the Trace. I thought again that a mid-sized convertible isn't a bad idea. Maybe I'd bring it up with Ms. D at some point in the future.

Then again, I could hear her giggling at me. Maybe I should wait. I happen to know there's a retro-styled Mustang that may be out by next summer …
Todd Stauffer is the publisher of the Jackson Free Press.