Don't Stop Me Now
Bentley Continental GT
The man from Budleigh Salterton Council was adamant. ‘Of course it’ll be all right,’ he said. ‘People take their cars on to the beach all the time. Don’t worry, it’s surprisingly firm.’
Beaches are never surprisingly firm. If anything, I’d say they’re surprisingly un-firm. It doesn’t matter whether they’re made of shale, shingle, grit, sand or big slabs of volcanic rock, they’ll munch you up and hold you fast until the tide can come along to finish you off.
Over the years I’ve had to dig countless cars off various beaches around the world. A Corrado in South Wales. A Saab Turbo in St Tropez. And, most notably of all, a massive Lamborghini LM002 on Hayling Island.
But I never learn. So I drove the £110,000 Bentley Continental GT on to the shale at Budleigh Salterton, thinking that its four-wheel-drive system would get me off again. And with the words of the man from the council ringing in my ears: ‘If it does get stuck, we’ve got a man with a tractor.’
Great. Except, when it did get bogged down, the man with the tractor had gone home.
Welcome, then, to the joys of filming for Top Gear which, incidentally, returns to your television tonight. Albeit without the Bentley, which – when I left the scene in the dead of night – was still buried in stones up to its axles.
Happily, however, before Mother Nature intervened, I did have plenty of wheel time with what is probably the most talked-about new car of the year. David Beckham is getting one. Elton John has bought one for his boyfriend. But I hear that the first to roll off the lines will go to Gordon Ramsay.
Bentley, then, will be supplying the wheels to the kind of people who get their diet from Atkins, their frocks from Versace, their Botox from Harley Street, their tans from Barbados and their friends from the pages of Hello!
So what kind of car is it? Well, the first thing you need to know is that it’s fast in a wholly new and exciting way. Normally, a quick car introduces you to each one of its horsepowers and torques with a lot of shouting and growling.
Ferrari even invented a new type of exhaust that gets louder the faster you go, and now everyone’s at it. Hit 3,000 rpm in an Aston Martin Vanquish, for instance, and a little valve diverts all the waste gases away from the catalytic converters and silencers and into what sounds like the room where God practises shouting.
People who claim in court that they drove a really fast car without realising just how fast they were going are either lying or stone deaf. Or they were in a Bentley Continental GT.
It’s uncanny. You put your foot down, wait the tiniest of moments while the turbos gird their loins, and then the view goes all wobbly. There’s no increase in noise, no increase in drama. You just have time to register the speedo needle climbing at what looks like a suicidal rate and then, with barely a whisper, you arrive at wherever it is you’re going.
The secret to all this oomph is a 6-litre W12 engine which, for that little extra something, has been garnished with two turbochargers. The result is a set of figures that looks more like Swiss bank account numbers. And the result of that is a top speed of 198 mph. This is a very, very, very fast car.
It is also very, very heavy. In fact, it weighs very nearly the same as a Range Rover. So if your right foot fancies a workout, you’d better stand by for a wallet-shrivelling experience at the pumps. How does 10 mpg sound? Well, forget it. You’ll only get that if you hop out and push.
The reasons it’s so heavy are twofold. First of all, it is immensely well engineered. Shutting the door requires teamwork, and it comes with the biggest brakes ever fitted to a road car. And secondly, it has what appears to be a couple of oak chests and 16 dead cows lining the interior. It looks like Lord Kitchener’s library in there.
Sort of. Instead of making its own dials out of ivory and fitting a nice Alan Turing-style computer with valves and ticker tape, Bentley has simply raided Volkswagen’s parts bin. There’s barely a knob or a read-out in there that hasn’t been lifted straight from the Phaeton.
And there’s more VW stuff behind the skin, too. The engine, for instance, and most of the floor and, worst of all, the layout.
As is the way with Volkswagens and Audis, the engine is mounted as far forward as possible without bits of it actually sticking out through the radiator grille, and the power is fed to all four wheels. It sounds like a recipe for terminal and dreary understeer.
But no. You arrive at the corner in complete silence, doing about 5,000 mph, dab the brakes, but not too hard because they’re powerful enough to pull your head off, and then turn in. Every fibre of your body expects the nose to run wide and the peace to be shattered by the sound of a road-going Second World War bomber hitting a tree, but it just grips and grips.
If you go really fast – and I’m talking now about ‘tired of living’ fast – the back loses traction and you are presented with an easy-to-control power slide. How they have achieved this when the layout is so obviously wrong I simply do not understand.
But there’s no doubt about it. This is not just a luxury barge, designed to whisk you and your third wife off to St Tropez for a weekend’s bloating. It is a truly wonderful, jaw-slackeningly awesome driver’s car. You could take it to a track day and spend the whole time punting Ferraris and 911s into the Armco. For a laugh.
Now shall we get to the bits that aren’t so good. For something that’s about the size of a football pitch, it is cramped in the front to the point of claustrophobia. And if the salesman tells you there’s space in the back for any human life form, laugh openly in his face.
Also, I must say that while it has presence, it’s not handsome or pretty or attractive. From the front it looks like a Rover 75, and from the back it looks like a car. But then it was designed by a Belgian.
Then there’s the rear spoiler, which pops up at 70 mph – that should make the job of the traffic cops a little easier – and the satellite navigation, which, I think, was on a work-to-rule. It was still working out a route to Budleigh Salterton when it was already there and going no further.
In addition, the glovebox lid didn’t shut properly, the armrests squeaked and the endless succession of warning bongs and beeps drove me mad before I was even out of Knightsbridge.
These, though, are niggles, and I’ll find just as many in any car. Overall, there is no single reason why you should not buy or dream about buying this car. Unfortunately, there is also no single reason why you should.
With the new Phantom, BMW seems to have captured the essence of Rolls-Royce, but I have to say that VW has failed to pull off a similar trick with the Continental. Put simply, it feels like a big, fabulous, fast, well-engineered Volkswagen.
I couldn’t help thinking, as it hauled me down the A303, that I’d have enjoyed the drive more in an Arnage. Oh, it would have been noisier and less fast and it would have fallen apart on the twisting lanes of Devon, if it had got that far without breaking in some way.
But the old Brit Bruiser has a grandeur that the Continental lacks somehow. There’s no sense of occasion when you step inside. It’s a car you can respect, but not love.
Let me put it this way: as I drove away from that beach the other night, in a rented Nissan Primera, I wasn’t saddened that I’d had to leave the Bentley behind. It had been, when all is said and done, just another car.
Sunday 26 October 2003
Don’t Stop Me Now