Cy Schmidt’s 1969 Mercury Cyclone CJ has spent decades doing exactly what it was built for, cruising the backroads of Ohio instead of sitting under a cover. Mercury built the Cyclone as its answer to the Mustang, and the Cobra Jet engine under the hood gave it a reputation gearheads still respect today. Petrolicious caught up with Schmidt for a late-afternoon drive that shows why this often-overlooked muscle car still turns heads. Watch to find out why.
Most muscle car origin stories end at a dealership. This one starts on a two-lane road in Ohio, decades after the sale, with a man named Cy Schmidt behind the wheel of a car he never let go of. Mercury built the Cyclone to answer a question Ford had already answered twice, first with the Mustang, then the Torino, and somehow it still doesn’t get the credit either of them does. Under that hood sits a set of letters that, even now, makes gearheads stop mid-sentence. What exactly did Mercury put in this car, and why does Cy still take it out for a drive on quiet afternoons instead of trailering it to shows?
Two Letters That Changed Everything
The badge reads CJ, and for anyone who came up around Detroit iron in the late ’60s, those two letters carry more weight than most full model names. Cobra Jet started life as a Ford performance package before it found its way into Mercury’s lineup, and putting it in the Cyclone turned a mid-size cruiser into something genuinely dangerous at a stoplight. Petrolicious profiled this particular car as part of its Made to Drive series, and the choice says something: this isn’t a trailer queen pulled out for Instagram, it’s a car that earns its keep on real roads. Schmidt’s cruise through the Ohio backroads is less a photo op and more a demonstration of what these cars were built to do.
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Named After a Storm for a Reason
Cyclone wasn’t a marketing accident either. Mercury named the car after a fence-ripping, cow-tossing fit of nature, and paired with a Cobra Jet engine that combination promised more giddy, tire-smoking fun than most badges of the era dared to claim. The Cyclone never carried the cultural weight of a Mustang or a Charger, which is exactly why cars like this one matter: they’re proof that some of the fastest, most interesting machines from Detroit‘s muscle era never became household names. Collectors who know the CJ badge understand what they’re looking at; everyone else just sees a pretty blue coupe rolling down a country road.
Petrolicious built its Made to Drive series around exactly this kind of story, cars that earn their reputation through use rather than through auction results, and the Cyclone CJ fits that mission better than almost anything else in the archive. Ohio’s backroads aren’t a glamorous backdrop, but that’s the point: this is a car doing ordinary things extraordinarily well, decades after Detroit stopped paying attention to it.
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