It's about time that everyone caught on to the wonder that is New Jersey. Thanks to the blockbuster HBO gangster series, The Sopranos, the Garden State is suddenly the in place to be. And why not? Those of us who are lifelong residents have always known what a totally awesome place it is.
Let's take a look at the facts. This is a state that has given the world Frank Sinatra, Debbie Harry, the Four Seasons, Bruce Springsteen and Bon Jovi. The Statue of Liberty sits majestically in the territorial waters of Jersey City, getting its electrical power from that town. Where does the best Italian food come from? I'll give you a hint-it ain't Iowa.
Want to go skiing? We've got the mountains. Into the ocean? There are hundreds of miles of beautiful beaches. Hell, they're so good that MTV did a TV show about kids spending the summer "down the Shore" in Seaside (Freakside?) Heights. Sports? We've got the current Stanley Cup champion Devils, the Giants (two-time Super Bowl winners), and the once and future NFL champs, the Jets. For masochists, we have the Nets basketball team.
And if you're into cars, this place is close to heaven. There are cruise nights almost every day of the week and there are three-count 'em, three-magnificent drag strips, one of which is open 50 weeks a year, weather permitting. There's also talk of NASCAR building a super speedway adjacent to Giants Stadium.
Now things have come full circle. Thomas Edison invented thousands of things here, including the motion picture. How fitting that today New Jersey ranks third behind only California and New York in movie and television production. (In fact, HBO has recently moved taping of its violent prison drama, Oz, to Bayonne. I guess it wasn't that much of a stretch.)
But really, it was The Sopranos that put Jersey back on the map. The fictional mob drama, which I'm told I'm supposed to hate because it allegedly denigrates Italian Americans, is the most celebrated cable television show ever and is filmed almost entirely in North Jersey. It is shot on location because, for better or for worse, there's no place like home, sweet home, New Jersey.
It's not every day that Ford drops a 2000 Cobra R off on your doorstep so when we confirmed that we'd get our tester early in November, we had to come up with a plan. Originally, we were slated to do a track day with sister publication, GM High Tech Performance. It was to take delivery of a 2000 ZO6 Corvette on the same day and it seemed like a natural: a pair of 385 horsepower supercars at Raceway Park. That would be a good start. Alas, an unidentified motor-journalist wadded up the Vette the week before we were to take delivery. So much for that plan.
Of course, we had a lot more in store. We've done plenty of serious instrumented testing on the latest R. We needed to do something completely off the wall. That's when we decided-it was time for the Cobra R to become an official New Jerseyan. We'd drag strip test it, we'd dyno test it, we'd show it off to our friends. We'd take it to the shore (that's the beach to everyone west of New York City) and we'd take it to the Soprano's main haunt. We'd get a slice of pizza and say fuhgettabowdit. We'd sit in traffic and curse, we'd have some fun, which is what this car is all about. Too much of what we know about the Cobra R hasn't been about fun. It's been about greedy collectors stuffing them away in hermetically sealed garages and price gouging from dealers. Too many have never seen the streets, not enough have seen the race track. We were going to do a test like no other.
Let's Eat
If it's true that an Army travels on its stomach, we'd say another verity is that automotive journalists travel to fill their stomachs. Therefore, we did what any good Jerseyan would do-we hopped on the Turnpike pointed south and headed for Philadelphia, home of the world's most righteous cheese steaks. Following close behind in the company Windstar minivan were associate tech editor John Hedenburg and Mustang Illustrated editor Jay "My Dictionary's Bigger Than Yours" Heath. Despite the fact that Philly and Jersey are separated nothing more than the Ben Franklin Bridge, it is remarkable that you can't get a truly kick-ass Philly cheese steak in North Jersey. There ought to be a congressional investigation.
Of course, getting to the City of Brotherly Love (and home of the Rocky flicks) would not be a simple matter of just paying a toll. We counted no less than five speed traps on our way there. Doesn't the state police have anything better to do? When not dodging radar, tech editor Evan Smith and I discussed the finer points of the R and the cheese steak. Both are great, we'd love to have one every day, but they both have their downsides. No radio? No air conditioning? No back seat? Cholesterol? Sodium? Fat?