The Arnage T's traction-control system is programmed such that, per Bentley, "you can drift the car with some wheelspin, but it never lets you get in any trouble." Attaching this statement to a 5700-pound, nearly 18-foot-long cache of burled wood, Connolly leather, and handcrafted pomp is reason enough to make us like it. Bentley's sales have increased sixfold in the past three years, due largely to the success of the new Continental, a car sold mostly to first-time Bentley buyers. "Old" Bentley buyers, however, are less interested in a 198-mph top speed than in an ownership experience similar to that of their father and father's father. The Arnage remains the classic Bentley sedan, available as the "standard" 450-hp R, the long-wheelbase RL, or the more-spirited 500-hp T. The T starts at $250,985, but if you throw in a champagne cooler and choose custom interior and exterior hues and perhaps some factory grenade proofing, plan on fiddling with the number in the leftmost column. If it helps paint the picture, whereas the average Continental buyer possesses a net worth of $3 million, the average Arnage buyer is worth some $30 million, and a popular option in the Queen's country are sill plates emblazoned with the family crest.
Afraid to Fly?
Speaking of flight, the Arnage T might be the closest thing to a landborne Learjet, where your passengers can sip Taittinger from hand-cut crystal glasses while you haul all sorts of ass. The first time you exploit the T's "power in reserve," an understatement with 500 horsepower and nearly half that again in torque, you ask, "Damn, really?" Large displacement and a roller cam provide the torque backbone; the added fillip is provided by two modestly sized, quick-spooling Mitsubishi turbochargers. Thrust without the forced induction would be, per Rolls parlance, "sufficient"; with it, even our jaded right foot is satisfied. The 6.8-liter engine (6.75 if you indulge Bentley's Britishness) has its roots in 1959, but all-aluminum construction makes it still relevant. New for '07 is a six-speed automatic ZF transmission—a welcome departure from the GM-sourced four-speed it replaces—that can be operated in sport or manumatic mode. Disable the traction control, mash the aluminum throttle pedal into lamb's wool carpeting, and 738 pound-feet of torque begets twin lanes of smoldering Pirelli until you lift. Leave traction control on, and the T should sprint to 60 mph in 5.2 seconds. Once you've set its heft in motion, acceleration is ardent, and prosecutable speeds are reached quickly. Business clients with a fear of flying can be ferried to meetings at light-aircraft speeds, although we don't relish the thought of attempting to arrest nearly three tons of luxury from its 179-mph top speed.
Three Tons of Fun
The T communicates its various mechanical goings-on with enthusiasm without intruding on the experience of luxury. An exhaust rumble worthy of 500 horsepower issues when the T is prodded—and expands with boost. Just as much fun is the sound of the blow-off valves recirculating pressurized air when the throttle snaps shut. Balance the car with the throttle through a long sweeper, and the T snorts and burbles in reply. Few cars communicate with as broad a vocabulary. With the big Germans firing continual volleys from their largest horsepower cannons at one another, we've become used to huge, seamless, refined speed in luxury vehicles. An unequal-length control-arm suspension front and rear does an admirable job of making significant tonnage ride smoothly and hustle well. Depress the sport button on the center console, and the electronically controlled dampers firm up noticeably, sharpening turn-in and reducing body roll. We dispatched rolling, twisting two-lane roads far faster than any vehicle that large (longer than a Chevy Tahoe and almost as heavy) ought to. In our world of radical mechanization, few products of any complexity are assembled by hand. One Bentley craftsperson spends 12 hours stitching an Arnage steering wheel with a single piece of thread. Could it be done more quickly, and maybe more precisely, by a machine? Perhaps. It's the slightest deviation from true on a hand-laid piece of leather, however, that affirms you are helming the fruit of a skilled, willfully laborious process instead of just another appliance from another automated assembly line. Bespoke for exclusivity's sake is so new money; the many prideful hands involved with each Arnage T help animate a machine of unique charm and unexpected character, however large the buy-in this is the definition of true luxury and money well spent.
The stickers on the side can be removed without any harm to the paint. They are for promotion use only.
