Ford Mustang Dark Horse on the Route Napoléon – the greatest driving road in Europe?
Ford’s new Mustang Dark Horse has impressed us so far, but how will this American muscle car fare on one of Europe’s most spectacular driving roads?
If really concentrate, you can almost hear the sound of a Clio Trophy chirping under ABS going into a hairpin, revs high, sniffing at the rear bumper of a Lamborghini Gallardo. That was nearly two decades ago, when the Skittles-coloured, 3479bhp parade that was eCoty 2005 descended on the N85 in southern France, otherwise known as the Route Napoléon.
I’ve never been here before, but having absorbed the words and pictures from tests in the pages of evo over the years, it almost feels like I have. I’m standing in a layby with a glorious 360-degree vista of the French Alps and a just-driven V8 keeping me warm. Drinking in as much of the scenery as I can before setting off again, the words of Henry Catchpole pop into my head: ‘The Route Napoléon is a road you need to drive twice. Once to enjoy the scenery and once to enjoy the road itself.’ This is the first run, and I can’t wait for the second.
My evo colleagues tell me this is one of the greatest driving roads in Europe. Possibly even the world. It’s also one of the longest, beginning in Cannes and snaking its way to Grenoble 200 miles to the north, tracing the route taken by Napoléon Bonaparte when he came out of exile in Elba in 1815. Napoléon was on a mission to overthrow Louis XVIII, and to avoid being detected by royalist troops, he and his men marched north through the Alps rather than taking the obvious, lower-level route to Paris. The decision helped him return to rule and also to inadvertently map out one of the most visually spectacular and rewarding pieces of tarmac you could ever wish to drive on.
The journey up here has been a bit of a nightmare. Photographer Rich Pearce and I woke bright and early to beat the traffic, but by the time signs for the N85 show up, it’s well and truly beaten us. Driving out of Cannes has taken well over an hour, the satnav has led us up someone’s driveway, and my left leg is tired from the constant push-pull of the clutch as we creep through town a few feet at a time. In the back of my mind, though, I’m happy that my left leg is doing anything at all. We’re in the new Mustang Dark Horse, a car that seems to have read Europe’s latest noise and emissions regulations and simply chosen to ignore them. It’s the only naturally aspirated V8 manual coupe sensible money can buy right now, and if my experience of the previous-generation Mach 1 (which the Dark Horse effectively replaces) is an indicator, it’ll add punch, colour and physicality to what should already be a glorious day of driving.
Rich and I breathe a sigh of relief when the landscape starts to open up before us and, one by one, the cars ahead pull off the main road – as was the case those centuries ago, the N85 isn’t the quickest route north so you don’t get many commuters up here. We’re driving through woodland and it doesn’t yet look like the Route Napoléon I’ve seen in pictures, but the signs are there. The trademark grey stone walls lining the road’s edge, tarmac that’s banked to welcome you into corners and a sense that the road is steadily climbing and will continue to do so for quite some time. Through the trees, we catch a glimpse of a car much further up the road at what looks like an impossible altitude. ‘That’s where it must get really good,’ says Rich. It’s pretty special right now, and the Mustang is in its element.
In the fiddly suburbs along the Med it felt oversized and a bit clumsy, but out here with some speed under its wheels, the Dark Horse is instantly lovable. It starts with the engine – of course it does. The 5-litre Coyote V8 has been revised for the latest-gen Mustang and the Dark Horse gets its own cams and a dual-throttle-body intake system, but fundamentally it has the same warm, cuddly personality it’s always had. It’s not a savage, biting engine but one that builds power progressively, matched by bassy tones from the exhaust that harden as it spins up to 7500rpm. With the valves open and the windows cracked I’m shocked at how loud it is, only just on the right side of sociable – just as it should be in a Mustang.
As the miles roll on and we climb level with the treetops, I’m completely pulled into the surroundings and the relentless demands of the road. The clear-sighted, wide-radius corners and smooth surface ask you to hone your precision and timing more than anything else. The breathing time between corners is sucked up by the V8’s beefy midrange but there’s enough reassurance in the steering, brakes and chassis to live with it. I’m conscious that this is a heavy car (1762kg), but there’s grip in reserve and it feels like the road is testing my commitment more than the Dark Horse is at this point. Before the balance swings the other way, it’s time to pull over for some static photos and a breather.
Heat haze is pouring off the Mustang’s bonnet and there’s real aggression to the way it sits on its 19-inch wheels, the Dark Horse’s extra aero addenda giving it a little more presence and purpose than the standard car. I haven’t felt a steely sense of focus from behind the wheel yet, it must be said. The Dark Horse upgrades are primarily designed to make it tougher and more resilient than the GT for track work, rather than turn it into an American M4 CSL. Its Tremec manual is more robust (and has a heftier shift), and there are additional coolers for the engine, gearbox and rear axle. Areas that change the feel of the car are the unique tuning for the adaptive MagneRide dampers and a Torsen diff in place of the GT’s standard limited-slip unit, which add a little more clarity and control to the driving experience but don’t alter the character much. The optional Handling Package would no doubt change that, bringing stiffer springs and anti-roll bars, Pirelli Trofeo rubber in wider sizes, and more aero. But it won’t be offered in Europe. Shame.
As it stands, the Mustang isn’t a car that you guide with your wrists and a light touch; you need to get involved. It’s honest and consistent in its responses rather than being hyper-agile or alert, and as long as you don’t throw its weight around you can find a really satisfying flow with it. At the controlled pace I’ve been driving at the Dark Horse is brilliantly charismatic and entertaining, but there is a sense that the chassis is secure and a little restrained in its balance. Through the next section it’ll have a chance to show its teeth – the straights are shorter and the road has been notched out of the side of a mountain, leaving shaded areas of cold tarmac, some of it still damp from last night’s rainfall.
The surface is smooth so I pick Track mode for the dampers and the Mustang tenses up and finds a groove ducking under the rock faces and skimming close to the stone walls. There’s even more bite to the noise now that the road is more intimate with less open space, and the extra control from the dampers brings out more aggression in your driving – though still not enough to feel the car coming truly alive underneath you. Traction is excellent and you only feel the Torsen diff energising the rear if you’re really aggressive with the throttle, so rather than chasing those spikes of adrenaline, I take a smoother approach and pick off corners one at a time. This is the Mustang’s Goldilocks zone, and it allows you to focus on the really good bits: the satisfying action of the Tremec ’box, the sound and reach of the engine and the way it feels natural rather than over-caffeinated. You know what to put in and what the Mustang will give in return, which on a road like this gives you more mental capacity to absorb the experience.
I’m beginning to realise that the Route Napoléon is many roads in one. Its sheer scale and variety mean that a new landscape and new challenge is never more than moments ahead of you. Having descended into a valley, the road has been ironed flat with lush fields either side of us, the dotted white line in the centre aiming at the next summit like the sights on a pistol. There’s no traffic for miles and a chance to hold the throttle on for more than a few moments, the Mustang taking long strides between gears, allowing you to enjoy the process of acceleration without it completely blowing your head off every time you nail it. It has 447bhp so it is quick, but in the age of monster turbocharged V8s it doesn’t feel ballistic, which is fine with me. Out here, what matters most is that the Dark Horse delivers power when I need it and in the quantity I ask for, and I haven’t wished for more performance at any point.
The Mustang rests again as we trickle through the village of Escragnolles, flanked by rustic buildings with ageing yellow brickwork and crumbling window shutters. The place looks abandoned until one of the shutters flies open and some clothes are hung out to dry. The lady inside stares at the Dark Horse as it burbles past, filling its lane (plus a little more) and casting an enormous shadow compared to the Peugeot hatchbacks and Renault 5s parked on the street. In the way that it looks and sounds the Dark Horse is dripping with menace, and very few modern coupes have this kind of sense of occasion. You’re cocooned in the cabin with the bonnet reaching out far ahead of you (it’s hard to judge where it stops) and the drivetrain is a constant source of delicious sensations. The Dark Horse even gets a 3D-printed titanium gearknob, which looks a little tacky in its light blue finish but is lovely to palm around the gate.
Out of courtesy, I wait until we’re a few hundred metres away before opening up the exhaust valves and gunning it again. God, that engine is addictive. The next few miles are more technical than what came before, with slightly narrower lanes and vertical rock faces occasionally blocking my view through corners. The Mustang’s bulk makes itself felt and I’m using the full width of the road to carry speed, minimising unnecessary tweaks of the wheel and gently loading up the chassis. The scenery becomes ever more dramatic to the left as we progress but there’s no time to enjoy it, the road demanding my full attention as it loops up to higher altitudes once again. Most of the hairpins are marked with sweeps of faded tyre tracks and are steep enough to have a Clio Trophy hanging its back wheel in the air. The Dark Horse squirrels out of them occasionally but feels eminently controllable, regaining grip quickly as the rear P Zeros are squashed down under acceleration. It’s not a natural communicator but the benign balance is building trust between driver and car with every mile.
There’s a growing sense of anticipation as, later in the route, we’re high enough that the tree-lined valley below is distant and hazy, and what was once a steep descent over the edge is now a sheer drop. In places vast slices of rock reach up metres above the road from both sides and I aim the Mustang between them, the barrage from the V8 echoing as each one passes. Everything intensifies when I slot into second and the barrage becomes a blare, the Dark Horse now responding to small twitches off the throttle and being reined in more sharply when backing off. The road has reached its dazzling, heart-pumping peak, and the Mustang is raising its game, feeling cohesive, biddable and involving. The manual ’box is a part of this, of course, but long gearing means that second provides enough thrust out of corners without clipping the rev limiter between them.
I consider stopping as we reach the summit, but there’ll be time for that on the return leg and I don’t want to break this rhythm. Rich has gone quiet in the passenger seat, which I hope means he wants to continue as well. Traffic is light and there’s barely a moment that the wheel is straight – I’m leaving a little margin through every corner but setting the car up to manage the weight and carry momentum smoothly is giving me enough to think about.
On the run downhill the engine feels more fiery, ripping through the revs more quickly and allowing us to enjoy its full vocal range for corner after corner. Our silence in the car is finally broken when we catch a group of cyclists coasting into the next town. ‘That was just awesome,’ says Rich. I’m catching my breath and can only giggle in response. The Route Napoléon is sensational, and I need to drive it again in my lifetime. Twice just isn’t enough.
