Bentley Boy

I freely admit that I do have a preference for carbed front engine V12 cars, but I also was not born as a sultan’s son, so I’ve limited my purchases to only one proper example as God and Enzo intended. I think my family came close to disowning me when I did purchase the 365 GT/4 2+2 while in graduate school. They made due with only suggesting that I seek professional help. I did, and ended up turning wrenches on a 360 Challenge car under the tutilige of ex-F1 mechanics, but that is a story for another day.

So with that as a brief background, I recently made a very unlikely purchase when a Mulsanne S showed up at our home to share the space with the three Ferraris we currently have. I joke that the main reason that I bought the Bentley was simply that Karen stated that we would not be getting any more Ferraris. She didn’t say anything about products from Crewe, premission in my book. I do admit to being a closet Bentley boy from some time lomg ago and still get a smile when reading about the exploits of Woolf Barnato, Tim Birken or Dr. Dudley Benjafield. I may not have as many Bentley tomes on my shelves as those dedicated to Ferraris, but as a percentage of those in print devoted to the subject, I do fit in the obsesive compulsive end of the spectrum.

Altogether a different class, as Klemantaski might say.

One thing that most Italian and French car owners need to understand about British cars is that they are different, and there is nothing wrong with that. I view the addition of the “Limo GTi” as not something that competes with any of the other cars, but compliments the fleet. Previously when I owned my M3 or my Carrera 4, I always felt that those cars were designed to be in the similar space that Ferrari was designed for, and while both were competent, maybe even brilliant cars when judged singularly, but when compared with the Ferarris, both were große Scheiße.

The Bentley doesn’t suffer from the comparison, in the classic sense of the phrase, this is a town car. Sure BMW and Mercedes may make “better” cars for the well heeled masses, there is still something special about a Bentley (or a Rolls for that matter). All that they share with Ferrari is a sense of exclusiveness and ususally a price tag that keeps them out of the hands of the vast unwashed. Although the car we ended up with is circa 1988, it does one thing better than any Ferrari we currently own, it has an air conditioner that can throw ice cubes at you if you get the settings right. But like getting into one of the red cars, you really do feel like taking it out is an event, something special, a sense of the perfect tool for the job. This is not a car for the twisties, or for a random drive to Montana with no set agenda. This is just a wonderful motorcar for going out of town for the weekend to that little bed and breakfast that you found where they still call you sir or ma’am, even wearing jeans.

But still outnumbered by the reds.

The other thing I have really enjoyed with this car is the degree of contrast it provides to the Ferraris. Whereas the Italian cars have a sense that they were designed to go fast and be as light as possible, the Bentley still feels like it harks back to W.O.’s first real job, locomotives. Everything is bigger, oversized and over spec’ed. Don’t worry about over rev’ing the motor; it likely will not get that far up the tach to worry about breaking it.

One thing that I’ve found with owning Ferraris is there tends to be an idiot magnet effect associated with them, too many kids (even older ones) in M series BMWs, 5.0l Mustangs or more often than not, Civic owners with ground effects and a rear wing that more closely resembles my ironing board than a functional aerodynamic device that want to see if they can beat you to the next traffic light. The Bentley gets you none of that, there is the quick head turn to see if the driver is someone famous (or infamous), but never “wanna race?” And that’s fine with me.