The first time I drove a Merkur, it was actually a Sierra XR4i—no T. That was in England in August 1983, and I decided it was an eminently likeable car, albeit a bit thirsty at high speeds—19 miles per imperial gallon driven briskly—with great seats, utility, visibility, refinement, handling, performance, and ride. The first few swerves were a bit unnerving—the car had unexpected body roll—but it tracked surely.
I hit one of those roundabouts preceded by a “slow down now” sign, and ignored it, as years of exposure to mollycoddling Yank signs had trained me to do. This left me heeled over hard to the left, frantically trying to turn right and slow down at the same time. And the car just did it all: slowed, turned, and left me…