Attitude takes the Bentley Flying Spur from Manhattan to Fire Island in a $300k luxury adventure

There’s a particular kind of road trip fantasy that begins in New York City: you, a set of oversized sunglasses, a playlist that veers between Donna Summer and Lana Del Rey and a car that says you didn’t just turn up, you arrived. 

And if you plan to leave this metropolis, it’s not to escape it, you understand, but to flirt – momentarily – with the idea of something slower, saltier and marginally less complicated. 

Our fantasy, made real, began on the Upper East Side, under the watchful gaze of doormen you imagine have seen everything, up to and including “our” $300,000 Bentley Flying Spur hybrid now at rest outside The Carlyle hotel like it had been born to wait, rather than run.

Finished in a dark blue metallic that caught the last of the evening light with a softness most cars can only envy, the Flying Spur Azure looked composed rather than showy, expensive without trying too hard. Inside, linen hides replaced the cacophony and drama of a Manhattan soundscape with calm, while open-pore walnut veneer brought warmth to the touch and familiarity on the eye, the kind of finish that reassures rather than asserts.

What does the Carlyle in New York City have to offer? 

The Carlyle, meantime, isn’t a temporary residence so much as a social contract. It doesn’t dazzle (how gauche) on first sight either; it ensconces and enrobes. The carpets are thick enough to swallow sound. The art feels chosen rather than curated. The rooms have hosted secrets, breakdowns, reconciliations, and probably more than a few discreet martinis. Our decadent suite of scale certainly did: the kind folk at the Bemelmans Bar had left a self-assembly tray for two weary incoming transatlantic travellers; it helped with the time difference reset no end.

Staying here has the sense of joining a lineage. Leaving it – even temporarily – feels like a decision that should be made thoughtfully. Which is exactly why the Bentley at hand mattered.

The Bentley Flying Spur review: It feels old-school in the best way

Let’s address the Flying Spur early, because it shapes the entire experience. This is not a car that shouts. It murmurs. It closes the door on the outside world as if to say: are you sure you want to let that energy in? In electric mode, it glides through Manhattan traffic almost silently, making potholes feel theoretical and congestion oddly tolerable. In hybrid mode, it delivers power with restraint – with the confidence of someone who doesn’t need to prove anything anymore.

Bentley describes this iteration as a High Performance Hybrid, a phrase that initially sounds like brochure-speak until you prod the start button and the cabin performs its small act of theatre. The rotating instrument display — an exquisitely over-engineered flourish with more than a few echoes of a James Bond number plate — turns into place, signalling readiness without drama. Starting the car never got old. It felt ceremonial, a moment of quiet anticipation before the world re-entered.

On paper, the numbers are faintly ridiculous for something so serene. A 4-litre twin-turbo V8 paired with an electric motor produces just over 670bhp, enough to launch this sizeable saloon (or sedan, as they insist in these parts) from standstill to 60mph in 3.8 seconds, and on towards almost 170mph should you find yourself somewhere wildly inappropriate to test it. More telling than outright speed, though, is the torque: 664lb/ft delivered as a single, vast shove. It feels old-school in the best way – like a huge displacement monster – rather than a modern powertrain whispering politely about its 100g/km emissions figure.

The Bentley Flying Spur interior

Inside, the cabin is a sanctuary. Creamy leather, bare wood, stitching that looks hand-considered rather than industrial. The seats massage discreetly, like a friend who knows exactly when to intervene and when to leave you alone. It’s indulgent, yes – but indulgence is the point. If you’re going to sit in Hamptons traffic for three hours, you may as well do it in a rolling spa.

Pulling away from Manhattan, the city receded with cinematic neatness. Bridges, highways, tree-lined stretches that feel like psychological decompression chambers. The Bentley didn’t just carry us east; it softened the transition, turning the journey itself into part of the holiday. Now it’s a road trip.

This is an expert from a feature appearing in the March/April issue of Attitude magazine.

To have your own Attitude style New York City break, please visit the blow:

Fly: Virgin Atlantic
Stay: Rosewood Hotels
Drive: Bentley Motors
Visit: The Hampton official website and Fire Island Travel