Note: I write up driving impressions of virtually every car I photograph, within a couple of days of the drive, so everything is fresh in my memory. Occasionally, because of the constraints of format (ie, buyer’s guide) the prepared text doesn’t run. Now, thanks to the joys of the blogosphere, it can.
We’re expecting a ride in owner Bob Blevins’ Continental to feel a bit like an isolation tank, frankly. This isn’t the kind of car you buy to be at one with the tarmac or your surroundings, it’s one you buy to coddle and cosset you as you thread your way through a cruel, inhospitable, questionable world. How it accomplishes this task is the criteria by which we shall judge.
So color us surprised to see a full complement of gauges across the lower edge of the dash! A two-door body-style, a 460ci Ford big-block beneath the hood, and that rim-blow wheel—a sporty option cribbed from the world of musclecars? Combine this with that eye-searing (factory-correct but not original to this particular car) hue—Copper Moondust according to the paint chart, but man does it look bright honkin’ orange in direct sunlight—and what are we to think?
This sporting flair contrasts deeply with both the sheer width of the vehicle itself, and the great tapered hood flanked by the twin fender-peak sentinels, establishing visual boundaries and encouraging focus on the stand-up, spring-loaded hood ornament—so far away as to be nearly invisible. The incongruities are flustering. Am I shepherding a sheep disguised in wolf’s clothing?
Twist the key—no need to pump the gas, it just turns over and settles into its low rumble. It’s smooth, but snarly, in a way that only a big-block (even one muffled behind acres of sound deadening) can hope to deliver. The belts, a two-part, three-point affair are best left alone; we opt for only the inertia-reel lap belt instead.
Pull the shifter into D—it’s a little clunky, that particular control—and let yourself go. Going is not a problem. For a 5,000-pound car that is supposedly down two full compression points and more than 150 horsepower down from the previous year’s (only some of that is due to the net-to-gross power-rating drop), acceleration manages to be both swift and smooth, with the big 460 barely making its voice known on its way up the revs. The smoothness doesn’t surprise us, but at a rated 212 net hp for ’72, the swiftness does. It simply gathers itself up and gets on with the business of accelerating. Sixty miles an hour shows up before you’re aware, and the big Lincoln remains unruffled.
The steering has a few degrees’ dead spot on the straight-ahead, though to be honest there’s so little resistance while turning it’s hard to tell what’s slop and what’s actually getting to the front wheels. It’s also a touch on the slow side—a little more sawing away at the wheel than is seemly may be needed, particularly when rounding corners at anything beyond jogging speeds. Even though the nose gets tippy in the turns, the radials track well, squealing only a little in tighter circles and at higher speeds. All of this points in the same direction: a demeanor that quietly but firmly says “don’t rush me.”
That said, the ride itself is surprisingly connected—you never quite feel floating above it, even though only bigger bumps register through the tires and suspension. The brakes are plenty strong as well, with a just a feather touch needed to engage the binders; they’re progressive, not grabby, and work without fuss, fade or drama.
Read more about the two-door Lincoln Continental in the October 2009 issue of Hemmings Classic Car.
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