I am not yet the owner of a Cobra. I first became acquainted with the phenomenon that is the Cobra via a kit car guide that a school friend handed to me when I was fifteen years old. From that moment, the Cobra became part of who I am.
The car has a reputation. It is simply the baddest, fastest, Ferrari-eating, Corvette-slaying, fire-breathing monster of a barely disguised road-going race car ever conceived. Its like will never be seen again because safety legislation will not allow it.
That fact alone is enough for me to want one.
Then there are the aesthetic factors; the look of the car is the perfect combination of beautiful, female-esque curves and sheer aggression. The chassis is an obsolete design - it was when the car was new - but it is certainly capable. The engine and transmission are the epitome of brute force and muscle over finesse. The interior is spartan and functional, yet attractive in its simplicity.
And the noise... Well, once I heard an American V8, I knew I 'had racing gasoline in my veins!' A Cobra, once heard and felt through your ribcage and the ground, is never to be forgotten. I can still remember where I was when I first heard a tuned, Tunnel-Port FE the first time; it was in a Ford J4 (GT40 Mk. 4). And when I saw and heard a Contemporary Cobra with a 428 FE under its hood at the last motor sport event ever held at Crystal Palace, south London, that was it for me.
A Cobra with a big V8 has been my ultimate ambition since I first laid eyes on a picture way back in my formative days. Enough said.
Paul
Threaded Mode
