Destination Dawn: An All-Night Patrol in the Rolls-Royce Spectre Black Badge
How best to evaluate the Black Badge Spectre, the most powerful Rolls-Royce motorcar ever built? This was our conundrum when the sleek, 659-hp electric coupe glided into MotorTrend HQ. Our usual modus operandi is to flee Los Angeles for the curvy canyons of Malibu, but for a Rolls, that feels a bit undignified, like King Charles having to plunge his own toilet. Best to leave such blatant vehicular aggression to the commoners in their Bentleys.
Perhaps the answer lies not in space but in time. New York may be the city that never sleeps, but L.A. is the land of sunshine, and when the sun disappears, so do her denizens. Every weekday night, her traffic-clogged streets empty out like an elevator after a particularly noxious fart. With Angelenos tucked snugly into their beds, the Black Badge Spectre could roam this massive city like a panther on patrol, free to make use of all the power her software-enhanced motors could deliver. I called Billy Rehbock, MT Buyer’s Guide staffer, night owl, and ever-ready candidate for my misadventures, and asked if he’d like to spend the night with me in a Rolls-Royce.
Silent Gateway to Another World
It took me 15 minutes to drive the 10 miles from my home in the San Fernando Valley to Billy’s place in Mar Vista, which in and of itself is an L.A. miracle. That’s a half-hour trip in daylight and half a day at rush hour. Billy, groggy from an afternoon nap, dropped into the Rolls, his eyes rolling to take in the Spectre’s interior. The color, I gleefully informed him, is called Peony Pink, perfect for a couple of peons like us.
“We’ve got five hours and 58 minutes,” I said. “Where to?” Billy didn’t hesitate: “The 110 freeway up to Pasadena. It’s going to be epic at this time of night.”
Off we wafted, next stop downtown L.A., via streets I’m used to seeing clogged with daytime traffic. Now they weren’t just empty but desolate, like veins devoid of blood. It was an otherworldly experience, but then again, so is driving the Spectre, a car so quiet its occupants can practically hear themselves breathing at highway speeds. Seeing the slumbering city through the Spectre’s acoustic glass was like watching a postapocalyptic movie with the volume muted. We’ve grown used to the smooth power of electric vehicles, but the Spectre is in another realm. Billy daily drives our long-term Blazer EV, and even he was taken aback. “It’s shocking how much more refined this powertrain is,” he said.
“Check this out,” I said, pressing the button on the shifter that engages the one-pedal driving mode. I lifted off the accelerator, and the Spectre did its limo-stop party trick, bringing itself to a halt so delicately that it was nearly impossible to detect the instant its motion ceased.
Token Rebellion
Minutes later we were in the heart of Los Angeles. That it was nearly devoid of moving vehicles wasn’t all that shocking; like most downtowns, L.A.’s is hardly a hub of activity. We sped through the 2nd Street tunnel (you’ve seen it a billion times in movies) and concluded it was a lot less thrilling without a volley of exhaust echoing off its glazed tile walls. We stopped for a quick driver change; the 110 was Billy’s idea, and I figured he should have the helm.
Opened in 1940, the Arroyo Seco Parkway was L.A.’s first freeway, a job for which it is now delightfully inadequate. It’s narrow, twisty, and huge fun, and driving it always fills me with the childlike delight of token rebellion. We weren’t really breaking the law—65 in a 55, no big sin—but it sure felt fine, particularly as Billy scooted past a homeward-bound Pasadenan on the right, approaching cautiously to make sure the big Roller would fit through the gap and then letting loose with a 792-lb-ft sucker punch.
