Yaz
Member
I read this last week in the New York Times Auto. Section, thought it was an interesting article.
It seems to be very popular around here in Manhattan. One of them was actually involved in a four-car collision the other monring in my neighborhood. It looked like an easy $10,000+ damage to the front.
I wasn't able to take pictures 'cause the NYPD was there and the owner and passengers were sitting in the car.
Personally, I will take the S600 in a heartbeat if I were to choose.
By TED WEST
Published: May 12, 2006
EXCESS takes various forms — righteous, wretched, divine — and comes in many sizes. The newest Bentley packs its excess into XXL formal wear.
Before we go an inch farther, let's get the complaining out of the way. The Bentley Continental Flying Spur does not have great cup holders. They will secure a cold Pimm's Cup No. 3 when you're parked on the corniche, looking down (in all conceivable ways) upon the principality of Monaco, but they spat out our empty plastic soda bottles like watermelon seeds in summer.
There is more.
The Flying Spur has no DVD video system to deliver "Fawlty Towers" reruns while your 23-gallon fuel tank is being filled. (At an E.P.A.-estimated 11 miles per gallon in town, and 18 on the highway, such pauses are frequent.) The Flying Spur's sunroof is not complemented by a see-through moonroof, evidencing a complete disdain for yin and yang.
And you are obliged to accept two separate layers of legal bulletins (don't drive like a twit; life ends with death) before being permitted to adjust the Bentley's audio system, climate control or Swedish massage.
The navigation system is a triple threat, combining poorly detailed maps with irritating controls and a database contained in a stack of CD's instead of a single handy DVD — or, in the latest twist, on a hard drive in the car.
So this is hardly the perfect luxury sedan, though the engineers at Volkswagen have come tantalizingly close.
What, you didn't know that VW owns Bentley? Yes, it does, and apart from ruffling a few feathers along the shore in Greenwich, this is not a bad thing. While VW has striven manfully and womanfully to retain the British tone of this very big, very fast sedan, the Flying Spur benefits from the best German engineering. Just look under the hood.
Well, no, don't look. All you'll see are injection-molded plastic lid covers; they look like battle-hardened Tupperware designed for Operation Desert Storm. But underneath — if you could see underneath — lies a 6-liter W-12 engine, essentially the same 12-cylinder power plant that was used in the costly, sales-resistant Volkswagen Phaeton, recently withdrawn from these shores for lack of suitors. This distinctive engine is two 3-liter V-6's joined at the tuchis, and in the Bentley it gets a goose from twin turbochargers to yield 551 take-no-prisoners horsepower.
Relatively compact as monster engines go, the W-12 is wider than a conventional V design but only slightly longer than a V-6, front to back. This allows Bentley to slip an all-wheel-drive differential in front of the engine without mimicking the look of an old Citroën.
And what could be more reassuring in a megasedan than all-wheel drive? If you face the prospect of forcing the Bentley's 2¾ tons up a twisty, snowy mountain road on a late February night, you will be thankful for having traction at all four wheels.
Bentley claims an understated zero-to-60 figure of only 4.9 seconds — understated because Aunt Vanessa's Flying Spur routinely achieves that figure pulling out of Food Giant. Car and Driver magazine horsewhipped the Spur to 60 m.p.h. in just 4.6 seconds, a feat that rivals the performance of all but the most superlative supercars. What makes this utterly impossible to accept is that the Spur goes from 0 to 60 in 4.6 seconds while weighing 5,456 roast-beef-and-Yorkshire-pudding pounds.
With such avoirdupois, the Flying Spur has none of the mallet-in-the-back-of-the-head suddenness of a Porsche Carrera; the Spur's acceleration is majestic. Visualize a mile-long freight train powered by a Saturn 5 moon rocket. Your progress is unexpected, forceful and, for once, the word awesome applies. If you're on an unrestricted autobahn and you keep your foot down, you'll achieve 198 m.p.h., neck and neck with the latest Porsche 911 Turbo.
Accordingly, Bentley has taken certain measures. Lurking behind my test Spur's 7-spoke 20-inch sport wheels (a $3,440 option, but what the heck), are the world's largest brakes on a production car — 15.9 inch discs in front, 13.2 inches at the rear. Tromp on these at speed and the monsters have enough force to stand the Santa Fe Super Chief on its nose. Nothing succeeds like excess.
Speaking of excess, the Flying Spur's twin front seats offer not 6, not 8, but 24 adjustments and features. These include four-way lumbar support, heating, cooling and, when you choose, a lumbar massage that sends magical mechanical hands rolling up and down your back as you drive. Imagine pressing your lower back against the blob in a lava lamp from the Grateful Dead era and you have the gist of it. Groovy.
And unlike the massage chairs at the mall, in the Flying Spur, three teenage girls won't be pointing at you and snickering.
Consider opening the boot. (That's the trunk to you.) Touch a button and up it swings, automatically. Having stowed your case of Grey Poupon, you may manually swing the trunk lid down like a grunt laborer, but it is far better to touch the button inside the lid. It swings down on its own, seals and latches, saving you untold drudgery.
The Flying Spur is so user friendly, you don't need a key to enter. With the key fob in your pocket, this discerning car recognizes you automatically and unlocks the doors. Climbing in, a fogbank of rich leather fragrance flares your nostrils — every surface that is not gleaming burr walnut veneer is coated with flawless leather in navy blue or biscuit, 11 hides' worth. (For all we know, they upholster the pistons.) The key fob still in your trousers, you press the start button. Immediately, the baritone W-12 croons in the distance: Thrummm... Thanks to the key fob, you literally radiate power. This is why you drive a Bentley, no?
If you are a traditionalist from Colonel Poon's yacht club, of course, you can simply revert to putting the key into the ignition. You have no need to prove yourself.
Shifting the Spur's six-speed automatic can be done with a lever of such elegance and delicacy that the Scarlet Pimpernel himself would gush. But Formula One racers will choose the shift paddles behind the steering wheel — flick the left one to downshift, the right one to upshift. (Aunt Vanessa lets the transmission shift automatically, while enjoying her lumbar massage.)
You are invited to select from four shock-absorber levels with settings from comfort to sport. Touch a button and you raise the entire chassis, should the undergrowth be unclipped at your cottage in Newport. From the driver's seat, you can monitor tire pressure. With the Spur's weight distribution of 56 percent in front, 44 at the rear, inflation should be 44 p.s.i. in front and 36 in back. To confirm this, merely consult the infotainment screen. (Really, meine Herren, would W. O. Bentley call it that?)
The tariff for all this automotive grandeur starts at $171,285. Add 20-inch wheels, the Sport gearshift lever and a few other details, and the grand total is $179,185 — including a $3,700 gas-guzzler tax. For exactly the same starting price you can buy the Continental GT, a sportier two-door version of this elegant sedan.
There was no charge for the gorgeous Dark Sapphire paint, which contrived to be black and sapphire at the same time, depending on how light hit the car.
Only one issue remains — the Flying Spur's singular name. Does it refer to some martial-arts skill? To a domestic dispute between cowboys who don't carry guns? Hardly.
In 1967, Bentley was introducing a new model, the coachwork of which was to be produced by H. J. Mulliner, the distinguished British coachbuilder. As the managing director of Mulliner cast about for a name for the new car, his eye came to rest on his own family crest. There, emblazoned in its center, were two crossed — in heraldic usage, "flying" — equestrian spurs. Not much later, the first Bentley Flying Spur was introduced.
Now a whole new generation of spurs is being flung, which I say is just fine. We can be thankful that the good gentleman's crest didn't contain pitchforks. Or fishhooks. Or false teeth. With these possible variants in mind, Flying Spur has just the right ring.
Source: http://www.nytimes.com/2006/05/12/a...d=1&ei=5070&en=cfb8dd2507edd818&ex=1148356800
It seems to be very popular around here in Manhattan. One of them was actually involved in a four-car collision the other monring in my neighborhood. It looked like an easy $10,000+ damage to the front.
I wasn't able to take pictures 'cause the NYPD was there and the owner and passengers were sitting in the car.
Personally, I will take the S600 in a heartbeat if I were to choose.
By TED WEST
Published: May 12, 2006
EXCESS takes various forms — righteous, wretched, divine — and comes in many sizes. The newest Bentley packs its excess into XXL formal wear.
Before we go an inch farther, let's get the complaining out of the way. The Bentley Continental Flying Spur does not have great cup holders. They will secure a cold Pimm's Cup No. 3 when you're parked on the corniche, looking down (in all conceivable ways) upon the principality of Monaco, but they spat out our empty plastic soda bottles like watermelon seeds in summer.
There is more.
The Flying Spur has no DVD video system to deliver "Fawlty Towers" reruns while your 23-gallon fuel tank is being filled. (At an E.P.A.-estimated 11 miles per gallon in town, and 18 on the highway, such pauses are frequent.) The Flying Spur's sunroof is not complemented by a see-through moonroof, evidencing a complete disdain for yin and yang.
And you are obliged to accept two separate layers of legal bulletins (don't drive like a twit; life ends with death) before being permitted to adjust the Bentley's audio system, climate control or Swedish massage.
The navigation system is a triple threat, combining poorly detailed maps with irritating controls and a database contained in a stack of CD's instead of a single handy DVD — or, in the latest twist, on a hard drive in the car.
So this is hardly the perfect luxury sedan, though the engineers at Volkswagen have come tantalizingly close.
What, you didn't know that VW owns Bentley? Yes, it does, and apart from ruffling a few feathers along the shore in Greenwich, this is not a bad thing. While VW has striven manfully and womanfully to retain the British tone of this very big, very fast sedan, the Flying Spur benefits from the best German engineering. Just look under the hood.
Well, no, don't look. All you'll see are injection-molded plastic lid covers; they look like battle-hardened Tupperware designed for Operation Desert Storm. But underneath — if you could see underneath — lies a 6-liter W-12 engine, essentially the same 12-cylinder power plant that was used in the costly, sales-resistant Volkswagen Phaeton, recently withdrawn from these shores for lack of suitors. This distinctive engine is two 3-liter V-6's joined at the tuchis, and in the Bentley it gets a goose from twin turbochargers to yield 551 take-no-prisoners horsepower.
Relatively compact as monster engines go, the W-12 is wider than a conventional V design but only slightly longer than a V-6, front to back. This allows Bentley to slip an all-wheel-drive differential in front of the engine without mimicking the look of an old Citroën.
And what could be more reassuring in a megasedan than all-wheel drive? If you face the prospect of forcing the Bentley's 2¾ tons up a twisty, snowy mountain road on a late February night, you will be thankful for having traction at all four wheels.
Bentley claims an understated zero-to-60 figure of only 4.9 seconds — understated because Aunt Vanessa's Flying Spur routinely achieves that figure pulling out of Food Giant. Car and Driver magazine horsewhipped the Spur to 60 m.p.h. in just 4.6 seconds, a feat that rivals the performance of all but the most superlative supercars. What makes this utterly impossible to accept is that the Spur goes from 0 to 60 in 4.6 seconds while weighing 5,456 roast-beef-and-Yorkshire-pudding pounds.
With such avoirdupois, the Flying Spur has none of the mallet-in-the-back-of-the-head suddenness of a Porsche Carrera; the Spur's acceleration is majestic. Visualize a mile-long freight train powered by a Saturn 5 moon rocket. Your progress is unexpected, forceful and, for once, the word awesome applies. If you're on an unrestricted autobahn and you keep your foot down, you'll achieve 198 m.p.h., neck and neck with the latest Porsche 911 Turbo.
Accordingly, Bentley has taken certain measures. Lurking behind my test Spur's 7-spoke 20-inch sport wheels (a $3,440 option, but what the heck), are the world's largest brakes on a production car — 15.9 inch discs in front, 13.2 inches at the rear. Tromp on these at speed and the monsters have enough force to stand the Santa Fe Super Chief on its nose. Nothing succeeds like excess.
Speaking of excess, the Flying Spur's twin front seats offer not 6, not 8, but 24 adjustments and features. These include four-way lumbar support, heating, cooling and, when you choose, a lumbar massage that sends magical mechanical hands rolling up and down your back as you drive. Imagine pressing your lower back against the blob in a lava lamp from the Grateful Dead era and you have the gist of it. Groovy.
And unlike the massage chairs at the mall, in the Flying Spur, three teenage girls won't be pointing at you and snickering.
Consider opening the boot. (That's the trunk to you.) Touch a button and up it swings, automatically. Having stowed your case of Grey Poupon, you may manually swing the trunk lid down like a grunt laborer, but it is far better to touch the button inside the lid. It swings down on its own, seals and latches, saving you untold drudgery.
The Flying Spur is so user friendly, you don't need a key to enter. With the key fob in your pocket, this discerning car recognizes you automatically and unlocks the doors. Climbing in, a fogbank of rich leather fragrance flares your nostrils — every surface that is not gleaming burr walnut veneer is coated with flawless leather in navy blue or biscuit, 11 hides' worth. (For all we know, they upholster the pistons.) The key fob still in your trousers, you press the start button. Immediately, the baritone W-12 croons in the distance: Thrummm... Thanks to the key fob, you literally radiate power. This is why you drive a Bentley, no?
If you are a traditionalist from Colonel Poon's yacht club, of course, you can simply revert to putting the key into the ignition. You have no need to prove yourself.
Shifting the Spur's six-speed automatic can be done with a lever of such elegance and delicacy that the Scarlet Pimpernel himself would gush. But Formula One racers will choose the shift paddles behind the steering wheel — flick the left one to downshift, the right one to upshift. (Aunt Vanessa lets the transmission shift automatically, while enjoying her lumbar massage.)
You are invited to select from four shock-absorber levels with settings from comfort to sport. Touch a button and you raise the entire chassis, should the undergrowth be unclipped at your cottage in Newport. From the driver's seat, you can monitor tire pressure. With the Spur's weight distribution of 56 percent in front, 44 at the rear, inflation should be 44 p.s.i. in front and 36 in back. To confirm this, merely consult the infotainment screen. (Really, meine Herren, would W. O. Bentley call it that?)
The tariff for all this automotive grandeur starts at $171,285. Add 20-inch wheels, the Sport gearshift lever and a few other details, and the grand total is $179,185 — including a $3,700 gas-guzzler tax. For exactly the same starting price you can buy the Continental GT, a sportier two-door version of this elegant sedan.
There was no charge for the gorgeous Dark Sapphire paint, which contrived to be black and sapphire at the same time, depending on how light hit the car.
Only one issue remains — the Flying Spur's singular name. Does it refer to some martial-arts skill? To a domestic dispute between cowboys who don't carry guns? Hardly.
In 1967, Bentley was introducing a new model, the coachwork of which was to be produced by H. J. Mulliner, the distinguished British coachbuilder. As the managing director of Mulliner cast about for a name for the new car, his eye came to rest on his own family crest. There, emblazoned in its center, were two crossed — in heraldic usage, "flying" — equestrian spurs. Not much later, the first Bentley Flying Spur was introduced.
Now a whole new generation of spurs is being flung, which I say is just fine. We can be thankful that the good gentleman's crest didn't contain pitchforks. Or fishhooks. Or false teeth. With these possible variants in mind, Flying Spur has just the right ring.
Source: http://www.nytimes.com/2006/05/12/a...d=1&ei=5070&en=cfb8dd2507edd818&ex=1148356800
He he -- yes yes .....I know what you think about it Merc1 ...but, although not beautiful, the Flying Spur still does have some "class" ....for want of a better word.
