2005 Ford GT: Mice will play -- six hours in the GT

2:04 p.m. Karl Brauer, Editor in Chief at Edmunds, starts giving me the pre-flight checklist on his Ford GT. Walk-around. How-tos. Gearbox talk. Then he starts showing me the features of the GT's aftermarket JVC head unit. "I've got some music burned on the hard drive: Boston, The Cars..." This is where my mind wanders off. Karl and I share many interests, but big-hit 1970s and '80s bands aren't one of them.

2:23 p.m. Finally, he hands me the key, issues a best of luck and then disappears in his other car, a 1973 Saab Sonnett, the off-kilter sound of the V4 echoing off the Edmunds.com parking garage walls.

2:27 p.m. A stab at the red starter button has the supercharged V8 behind me quickly coming to life. I let it warm up a little, select what I think is reverse and let out the clutch. The GT rolls forward. Oops. What was Karl saying about reverse? Maybe I should have been paying more attention. A couple minutes of general monkeying around gets me reverse and a save from potential embarrassment.

2:36 p.m. Brent has left the building. Destination: my home, 250 miles away. But surprise! I'm first stuck in heavy Los Angeles traffic. Finally, I queue up in pole position for a left-hand turn onto my first freeway entrance. A ratty beige Corolla is next to me. It's a rolling start through the corner then wheels straight for the declined entrance. Go time.

Technically, this is the quickest non-race car I've ever driven solo. But this doesn't occur to me until after the following happens: My head snaps back and bounces off the head restraint. My lunch cooler, previously left in the passenger footwell, goes airborne. The view out the windshield hits warp speed. The Corolla is left awash in eddies of carbon dioxide. And this is just 1st gear.

The burst of speed, complete with the soundtrack of a bellowing, 550-horsepower V8 and machined supercharger whine, lasts probably 4 seconds before I have to slow down for stopped highway traffic.

2:37 p.m. The Corolla putters past in the lane next to me. The irony is as inescapable as a summer-of-2007 afternoon flight delay.

3:04 p.m. More multilane super-slab travel. I happen to notice that in the lane next to me are the following cars lined up: a new Rolls Royce Phantom, a yellow Ferrari 355 and a black 997 Porsche 911. Only in L.A. can a 911 become a wallflower.

3:10 p.m. The 911 and Roller are gone but the Ferrari remains. I sneak a glance. The 355's driver is a woman. Blonde hair pulled in a ponytail, fashionably oversized sunglasses. She's petite, probably early 40ish and certainly attractive. The GT and 355 pull even. On TV, this improbable encounter would lead to, well, something. A 140-mph race, a passionate love affair or maybe just a free Geico insurance quote. But in the real world, even the GT's burly American charm is unable to persuade Ms. Italia to look over.

4:05 p.m. With the 355 long since peeled off, I'm heading north and clear of Southern California traffic. It's time for my first fuel-up. Parked at the gas station, I'm afraid that the GT's wide-opening driver-side door will be dangerously exposed to circling cars. So I don't fully open it before I step out and up to exit the GT.

My altruistic nature is rewarded with my head solidly bonking on the flowing overhead door panel. Given the crowded gas station and ubiquity of camera phones these days, I wouldn't be surprised if my gaffe is now circulating as a YouTube video. Title: Dumb-ass Ford GT owner.

5:07 p.m. Even though it's been out for years, the Ford GT still attracts plenty of attention from the masses. On the highway, a black Jetta does a slow, circling drive-by. Other motorists twist their heads.

5:08 p.m. Meanwhile, I'm trying to scribble notes on the back of a gas receipt because I forgot a voice recorder. The GT's bouncy ride over freeway expansion joints makes this a humorous challenge.

6:30 p.m. I'm in need of a fuel top-off and exit the highway. As I come up to the red-lighted left-hand turn lane for a U-turn, I spot a man standing on the median. Presumably homeless, he's wearing shorts and a crumpled shirt and holding a faded-out cardboard sign.

"My" $150,000 GT is the only car at the intersection. The socioeconomic disparity is something that not even Simon from American Idol could be cruel enough to overlook. I can see homeless guy already talking as I power down the window and start to fish a wad of bills from my wallet. It's probably 100 degrees out.

"Man, this is a Ford GT500, isn't it?" he exclaims. "Erm, yes, yes it is," I find myself saying, not wanting to break the spell. Then he turns around and yells, "Dang, told you, it's a Ford GT500!" I can see he's talking to a buddy of his on the other side of the street. He's excited, so much so that he never thanks me for the money. The appearance of a GT on a hot summer day, it seems, is enjoyment enough.

6:45 p.m. I'm home and have parked the GT in front of my house. My mom, visiting for a week, comes out to see it. "What's that?" That's the engine, mom. "So what's up front?" Nothing. "What are these holes for?" Air for the engine. "And what are these red things in the wheels?" Brake calipers. "But why are they red?" Because they look cool that way. She moves to the back. "Enzo Butter. What's that?" Erm...

7:25 p.m. An acquaintance of mine spots the GT. He knows what I do for a living and occasionally drives by my house after work to see what's in the driveway. He wants a ride. Well, OK. He's looked at the cars before but never asked for a ride. He hops in and we head out.

I get on the throttle a little but I'm hesitant to do more. I should probably mention at this point that my acquaintance is a police officer. This mention is because, after 5 minutes of not much going on, he says: "I brought my badge with me." Oh. Briefly, I wonder if he means "slow down" or if I have a living Get Out Of Jail Free card sitting next to me. I decide on the latter.

7:43 p.m. We get to the outskirts of town and the GT is free to play. Through the gears -- 1st, 2nd, 3rd and 4th. It's hot out, but the GT is pulling strong. The speedo shows 120 mph on one burst, then 125 mph on another. Just like Vin Diesel, we're living our lives a quarter mile at a time. And my acquaintance loves it.

8:15 p.m. We get back to my house. The acquaintance thanks me and it's time to put the GT to bed. I pull my Mazda Miata out of its comfortable place in the garage and park it on the street. So sorry, my friend. The GT burbles into the garage. It looks fantastic.

Thanks, Karl.

Epilogue: I drove the GT as part of acquiring some baseline acceleration times we ran the next day. Our times were zero to 60 mph in 3.7 seconds and a quarter-mile pass of 11.8 seconds at 124 mph. But apparently, this isn't enough. Coverage about making Karl's Ford GT even quicker will be coming soon.

Brent Romans, Senior Automotive Editor @ 9,650 miles