Each February I go to Palm Beach, that’s in Florida for you Geographically-challenged, with my wife and kids to thaw out from the northeast winter. While my in-laws take the kids to the beach, my wife and I go for a run around the island. We usually split up because a) I can’t keep up with her, and b) I stop every ten feet to take a picture of some car. One of the cars I saw this year was a Bentley Continental R with Washington D.C. plates of the “taxation without representation” kind. Cute.
The plate was cute, but not the car. The car was huge, even by modern day huge car standards. It was also handsome, graceful, and not exotic car flashy. It was confident, rich, and it was telling others that it doesn’t give a fuck. It wasn’t a veedub with lipstick like the current run of Bentley Continentals. It was the kind of a car that we will see at concours shows in thirty years or so, and will spend a few minutes absorbing it.