I shaved a few hundred minutes off my commute this morning. My stomach hurts. I used to be totally irresponsible, but now that I have a husband who reminds me every day when I leave for work that the insurance company wouldn't give us an umbrella policy until I cleaned up my driving record (which I finally did), I try not to drive over 80 mph.
How can a car that weighs so much go so fast so quickly when you merely breathe on the accelerator? Sigh. The jump from 80 to 100 mph happens with the teensiest bit of pressure on the accelerator and in the blink of an eye. All that lane jockeying that happens every morning instantly recedes in the rearview mirror, as if Lieutenant Sulu had set the controls for hyperspace. I'm in love. Except for the resonant buzz that shoots through the roof when the hammer goes down over 80 mph. Otherwise, the ride is as silken as it is swift.
There is so much leather in this cabin that it smells like you're in the middle of a tannery. The seat and door inserts are thick black suede, diamond quilted with cream stitching and piped in cream leather. What isn't leather is carbon fiber and chrome. It's lush in a very different way than a Rolls-Royce interior, and powerful in a different way than a Rolls-Royce. But this is the first Bentley I've felt wicked in.
Jean Jennings, President & Editor-in-Chief