I own the night. I have heard all of the hype about the 707-hosepower Hellcat and all I say is, “Here kitty, kitty”, because I own the night. I am the 2015 Galpin Ford GTR-1 that prowls deserted freeways, sleepy industrial areas, and department store parking lots crowded with onlookers and I have but one phrase on my lips — “Here kitty, kitty.” If this innovative new Chrysler is a Hellcat, as I am told, then surely I am a ravenous pit bull that attacks without provocation and assails without regret leaving every opponent a mere heap of nuts and bolts because I own the night.
Seriously, I am the baddest thing to come out of Detroit this year or any other. I was designed to eliminate Ferraris, engineered to dominate track and street, and then modified by Galpin Auto Sports to exceed all expectations. Henry Ford II himself demanded my conception after old man Enzo Ferrari hurt his feelings over a car deal gone wrong. I dominated the 24 Hours of Le Mans during the entire last half of the 1960s, winning the crown four years in a row. I own the night.
You may remember me from the 2013 Concours d’Elegance, when I was but a shell of my current self. What appeared to be a stock Ford GT from the outside hid a twin-turbocharged powertrain capable of producing over 1,000-horsepower and 700-pound feet of torque. That inferior version required approximately 12,000-man hours to create and had a price tag of $1-million.
In my current mutated state, I am called a 2015 Galpin Ford GTR-1. The cumbersome and noisy twin-turbocharged engine has been replaced with a 5.4-liter V8 topped with a 4.0-liter Whipple supercharger combined with a massive intercooler to deliver an incredible 1,058-horsepower and 992-lb.-ft of torque using pump gas. I can accomplish 0 to 60 mph in only 2.9-seconds with a top speed of 225 mph.
I am lightweight, aggressive, and nimble; still my abundant power far surpasses my diminutive girth. I accelerate with the fervency of a stampeding buffalo. I stop and change direction with the poise of an elite running back headed for the goal-line. I inhale the pavement as I exit the turns with an appetite for black-top that cannot be satisfied as I seek my prey, all the while chanting “Here kitty, kitty” but the Hellcat is nowhere to be found.
I am built for speed and not necessarily for comfort. My cockpit is driver friendly with tight seats that seem to grip you in all the right ways. Slide the seat into place and take hold of my small steering wheel; now, notice the long horizontal row of gauges that extend nearly halfway across the dash. Turn the ignition key to the on position and depress the red start button, located in the center convenience stack.
Hear my engine roar to life with a loudness that got me expelled from the Mazda Raceway Laguna Seca because of the track’s restrictive noise limitations. My engine roars loudly; loud in a good way. It is loud enough to scare a Hellcat back from whence it came.
I have no electronic stability control and no traction control so be prepared to exercise your driving skills to the fullest. Though my power is impressive my clutch, shifter, and accelerator are as smooth and effortless as any luxury coupe. My shifter throw is short and my accelerator is certain without being overwhelming. Smooth, legal starts are easily achieved with the brunt of the supercharged engine’s power kicking-in deeper into the throttle curve.
Here kitty, kitty.