We’re hurtling through the Scottish moors at healthy clip, the 22-inch wheels wrapped snuggly in their winter tires on the new Bentley Flying Spur often finding themselves airborne, these twisted and gnarled roads never intending to have something of the proportions of this British limousine careening down them, and most certainly not at these speeds. This third-gen verdant green Spur packs heat: a burly W12 engine that can crank 626 hp and 664 lb-ft of torque—though impressively with the low revs we’re seeing, the engine is often barely working up a sweat, a light trot hardly indicating what it’s truly capable of. That capability, however, and the 3.7 seconds it takes to hit 60 mph from launch we will get to see, and quite soon.
Normally, I’d have half a moment to appreciate the upmarket Naim stereo system or the dual-tone cabin finished in buttery porpoise and beluga leather or the dark stained burr walnut wood over a grand black veneer—all just some of the finery you get when you shell about $225,000. Normally, that is. At the moment, though, I’m focused on the new Flying B ornament that graces the hood and the narrow band of asphalt stitched inaccurately into the uncultivated countryside, the patchwork of greens and browns a quilt of nature’s glory in this, a confused flirtation of a season between the coldest and warmest periods of the year.
All of this makes for a glorious drive I’ll recall decades from now, but it all almost wasn’t so. In fact, everything was a bit tenuous from the get-go.
Originally, the plan was to drive from England, Bentley’s home turf, on a European grand tour en route to Geneva for the annual motor show. The day before I flew from California to England, Feb. 26, coronavirus, which causes COVID-19—something that has since upended our world—was just beginning to crop up outside of Asia. Information surrounding the virus was inconsistent, to say the least: There were reports of an outbreak in some of northern Italy’s towns, and a few cases had sprouted throughout other countries in Europe. In the U.S., the highest official in the land reported we had 15 cases and would probably soon have zero cases. Switzerland had just recorded its very first positive case.
There was much discussion and uncertainty within the industry. Would the show go on? Would journalists go? Would any automakers pull out at the last moment? The organizers and board members of the Geneva motor show had met and discussed the situation and had decided the show would go on as scheduled. Sanitizer stations were being installed throughout the Palexpo center, and new protocols were being discussed. Reps from Bentley, to their credit, recognized the air surrounding everything and assured us that whatever we decided—to go or not to go—would be fine and that in the event the show was canceled at the last moment, there would be an alternate plan for us.
“Have you heard the news?” I was asked by the driver that was going to shuttle me away from Heathrow Airport and on to join the rest of our grand tour group. Oddly, I hadn’t switched on my phone, something that occurs almost simultaneously with the screeching of the airplane’s tires reconnecting with land. But it was morning in England, and some small dark blurry hour back home, and I was in that autopilot confused state when you first get to a new place on little sleep after defying gravity in a metal tube with wings through magic that still makes little sense, no matter how many times you’ve done it.
I indicated I hadn’t heard the news, now very curious. “It’s canceled. It’s all been canceled. Just came down from the Swiss government this morning, no gatherings of more than 1,000 people.” As I write this, in hindsight, it was an exceptionally wise decision by the Swiss officials. At the time, it was pretty dramatic news—this was all before social distancing, before all of the subsequent countries had put in restrictions, eventually lockdowns, before all of it. And though at the time they had just one confirmed case that we knew of, as I write this just over a month later, Switzerland has seen more than 18,000 cases and, most horribly, 500 deaths.
In the car, on the way to meet the rest of the group huddled at Leeds Castle, part of which was built by the Normans 900 years ago, I mulled over this development. While the Geneva show is normally an annual highlight on the calendar, there was undoubtedly a bit of relief; in the days leading up to the show, I’d already decided to limit my plans. And even then I was a bit uneasy about all of it, all of these things I’d normally be excited about.
For one, I opted out of the VW Group preview night; held before press days open, it’s a chance to get a first peek at new Bugatti, Porsche, VW, Audi, Lamborghini, Bentley offerings—even cars we’ll never see in the U.S. But it also takes place in a packed hall, one without any air conditioning, where you’d be crammed in along with journalists from dozens of countries, who also just passed through airports and got off of packed planes. Even before the full scope of the pandemic became apparent, it seemed like not so good an idea.
As consolation, however, I knew Bentley would still have the slate of alluring cars waiting for us, including the Continental GT V8 and its drop-top convertible sibling, a Bentayga Speed, and the newest addition, the Flying Spur. And, to top it off, a Mulsanne, in order to examine Bentley’s outgoing flagship one final time.
We’re briefed on the new plan, which, in my estimation, is about as desirable as the original. We were already in the southeast corner of England, a strategic decision that would have made crossing the Channel into France a little easier. But now, we were looking north, to Scotland. The idea was to pilot ourselves through the length of England, north to Edinburgh. From there we’d drive back to England’s famed Lake District, and on to Crewe, the home of Bentley.
I’m handed the keys to first car I’d drive on this trip: Bentley’s grand dame, the elegant matriarch and flagship, the Mulsanne. Before even getting inside, the Mulsanne’s analog key fob is a delight, round and weighty in hand. It’s an emblem of a different Bentley, one from before its current crop of cars was launched.
In fact, this model dates back to 2010, and the Mulsanne name has been a part of the marque’s heritage for most of its history. Used on previous cars from 1980 through 1992, it also signifies the Mulsanne Straight—a well-known section of the well-known Circuit de la Sarthe, where Bentley forged so much of its reputation for high-speed performance. Its 6.75-liter engine has likewise been around, in some form or another, for over half of Bentley’s 101 years of existence.
The size and sheer presence of the car demands attention; this stretched, sculpted mass is longer than any current Bentley. The shape, the elegant curvature of the rear, beckons the eye to take in its flowing surfaces.
Before I get going, I sit in the rear of the car, like many Mulsanne owners do. More than any other modern Bentley, this is a car in which to be driven. Everything exudes a touch of old-world luxury; there’s generous space, a seat-back tray, pillow-top headrests, a center arm rest with myriad controls. The new Flying Spur boasts of much of the same, but it does it in a decidedly more modern way, from the aesthetics to the removable touchscreen controller. But there’s also that perceptible richness, craftsmanship and quality at every turn in the Mulsanne.
A few days later, during a factory tour in Crewe (the factory has since been temporarily shut as England, like much of the world, grapples with coronavirus) we’d get a confirmation of those perceptions. An astounding 10 hides of leather on average go into a Bentley, though the Mulsanne gets 17. And learning about Bentley’s rich woodwork and treatments, it becomes clear that the finest woods and veneers are reserved for Mulsanne, as they were for Arnage prior. If all Bentleys are special, none are more so than the Mulsanne.
In the driver’s seat, depressing the engine start button, I shift into drive and roll out, getting my bearings again with a right-hand-drive car, on the left side of the road. Luckily it’s like riding a bike (though, admittedly, when I first walked up to the car, out of habit I tried to get into the left-hand side, reserved for the front-seat passenger).
A light rain falling seems appropriate for this corner of the world, and all of the surrounding greenery huddled under dark gray clouds could be anywhere in the country at the moment. Cruising through town, joggers and those seated at the window of a cafe pause to glance at the Bentley: A car this grand has the ability to arrest. The Costa is full, people getting their caffeine fix and chatting with friends, everyone likely unaware that in a few short weeks life will be dramatically foreign, the doors to this coffee house sealed, silence replacing the surrounding bustle and activity.
At the moment however, we’re all pleasantly in a fog, and I’m at the wheel of this distinguished land yacht. Wanting to gauge acceleration, I press my right foot down, and immediately, as if in a steam engine, I’m pulled ahead. There’s generous linear build-up that feels effortless. There’s a sport mode, and of course restrain loses out to curiosity; this setting hurls that elongated mass just a bit more dramatically, speed and noise cranked two dials.
But driving Mulsanne, it feels most appropriate to cruise, with that long hood stretched before you taking up half of the horizon, the Flying B ornament—the first of which appeared in 1930, on the Bentley 8 Litre—leading the way.
While the Mulsanne is the best of old world grandeur, the first car I drive the following day, the Bentley GT Convertible V8, is from a somewhat different social orbit. Fire up the engine and the raucous V8 burbles, little pops emitted from the quad exhaust pipes. There’s a 12.3-inch screen with modern graphics, the cabin is sleek and surprisingly tech-laden. I opt for a pulse massage, perhaps the best you can get while seated and driving. Should you wish it, you can press a button, a little motor will hum and in a mere 19 seconds, the GT Convertible can be in its happiest, topless form. Of course, yesterday’s light constant rain has developed into what appears to be the peak of an apparent monsoon season in the U.K. Top stays up, sogginess stays out.
But that doesn’t stop us from hustling the GT Convertible around roundabouts and keeping the throttle pressed to keep up with a bit of eye candy that is our pace car, the completely badass Bentley GT Ice Racing edition. Lifted and with a wider track, more aggressive wheel arches, bucket seats, a mounted ski rack and an LED light bar, it looks ready for off-road duty. We don’t get to drive that one (I tried), but behind the wheel of our julep-painted drop-top riding on Mulliner-spec 22s, we’re content at the moment.
A turn of the knurled-metal bezel puts us in sport mode, and unlike in the Mulsanne—and if the driving situation allows—this is where the third-generation GT is at its best. The twin-turbo V8 is capable of 542 hp and a generous 568 lb-ft. Power is on command, on demand: Spot a patch of road up ahead and in a blink, you’re there. Perhaps as a result of a shared chassis with Porsche—and despite the 5,000-pound curb weight and generous appointments—this car feels almost light and agile, ready to play.
Like the Mulsanne, there are features that speak to its pedigree, such as the diamond-in-diamond stitching on the seats. Each individual diamond boasts 712 stitches, for an extraordinary 1.75 miles of thread in total throughout the cabin; it’s an astonishing number, a cartoonish way to measure upholstery that sounds fake but we’re assured is real.
After lunch and a coffee, we head into an increasingly beautiful stretch that will take us to The North, as road signs indicate, and on to the border of Scotland, before ascending to Edinburgh. In what is a greater departure than switching from Mulsanne to GT Convertible V8, I move from Conti Convertible to Bentayga Speed. This version of the Bentayga is billed as the world’s fastest SUV: Despite its ride height and four doors, it can hit 190 mph, just enough to be officially quicker than the Lamborghini Urus, with which it shares its architecture. Bentley opts for a decidedly more stately approach for Speed, as this Bentayga features the 6.0-liter W12 engine, whereas Lamborghini employs an aggressive twin-turbo V8.
Sliding into the driver’s seat, you immediately feel the comfort and ergonomics of the SUV. You notice the steering is lighter, visibility is fantastic, and truly, if you’re going to be on a multiday grand tour, you might just feel freshest on arrival if you’re driving a Bentayga. Still, in its current form, the brutishly fast SUV will never have the old world class and stateliness of Mulsanne, nor embody the Bentley aura quite like the new Flying Spur. But if the market is any indication, Bentayga seems to have the right mix of appeal for today’s customers.
As we near the border, passing through pastoral quilted landscapes and towns that have watched history through the centuries, a light flurry of snowflakes gives way to a blistering, cold wind and fierce impromptu snowstorm. It’s only occasionally that I’m reminded the narrow strips of road are intended as two-way traffic; generally, our group of grand and wide Bentleys dominate most of the paved surfaces in sight.
Eventually, we find a stretch of road created by the Mad Hatter himself, and it’s hard not to feel a bit like Alice after she took the pill that makes you larger. Here the Bentayga’s agility is stress-tested as we shuffle through the curvy and unruly roads of the moors, the blind summits not made for the faint of heart. Our wheels and suspension are thankfully well-suited for the potholes and the ceaselessly uneven camber of the road. The wide, almost panoramic quality of the windows ensures we can take in the unrelentingly scenic drive just a little more, too.
Once at the border, I hop out to document the occasion, snapping a photo of the car in front of the Scottish flag that’s blasting in the temporary blizzard we’ve found ourselves in. Once back inside, the heated and massage function on, seats earn their keep while I switch on the heated steering wheel, unsure if there’s any greater luxury. The windshield wipers keep busy, encouraging the thick, fluffy snowflakes to find respite elsewhere. Shortly after nightfall we arrived in the Scottish capital.
The following day we headed to England’s wondrous Lake District. While the mountainous region in England’s northwest corner is a sight to behold, there’s another special treat in store. Our original route to Geneva included a portion of German autobahn, a place where we could flex every liter of these engines legally. While doing so in England might end disastrously, there was a solution. Our group cascaded to the Carlisle regional airport, where they were kind enough to briefly shut down the runway—in between scheduled flights, mind you—so that we could each do a speed run down the gloriously open and traffic-free tarmac.
We could choose any car for the occasion, and I opt for the new Flying Spur. It’s Bentley’s newest and fastest, and it appears to be the next best thing for those looking for a sedan with presence once the Mulsanne leaves production. By design, it's not quite the same thing: Like the Continental GT, with which it shares elements of its appearance, the Flying Spur also shares elements of its chassis with the Porsche Panamera; the bigger, longer Mulsanne has the distinction of its own unique underpinnings not shared with anything else in the Volkswagen Group lineup.
And there’s no getting around the price difference: The Mulsanne, at north of $300,000 to start, is roughly $100,000 more than your typical Flying Spur—and while price may be a poor measure of a car’s worth, we can’t pretend it didn’t do something for the Mulsanne’s exclusivity.
Still, if the Flying Spur truly is meant to truly take over the mantle as the new flagship from the Mulsanne, I want to see what it had under the hood. Once the braking zone is established, we line up, one by one. It’s quite a thrill to be on the runway, ready for takeoff. To get a proper launch from standstill, my left foot comes down fully on the brake, while my right brings the revs up to about 2,000 rpm.
Off the brake and we are immediately, effortlessly being propelled forth, as if the car is standing still, the earth whooshing around you. I get the throttle down as far as it will go, speed coming on in waves, the linear buildup a thing of beauty as the speedometer gauge races past 100 mph, 110, -20, -30, -40, -50, -60, and a few clicks over 60 I hear the “now” as my foot comes down on the pedal hard, speed scrubbed in a flash, and we’re back down to 100, 80, 60. If there were more runway, it seems as if we could have gone on for hours. All of this on winter tires, mind you, which certainly came in handy the evening before.
It’s baffling that all of this was just over month ago, and how the world has changed so much since. It seems every couple of days is a leap, a new normal. But this is a moment in time, and like every other moment, it will pass. And hopefully, we’ll soon be hitting the road again, and things will be open and the simple enjoyment of a great drive will return in full as it’s meant to be. Then, the grand adventure at hand will once again be all we’ll have to think about, rather than some global crisis and fearful uncertainty.
Here’s hoping that day comes soon, for us all.
