Rolls-Royce Phantom. The Ultimate Test

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This speed differential can be tricky to judge. With the ambient temperature sitting well above 40 degrees and the road a good few higher, there’s an omnipresent heat haze across the horizon. Trucks appear as smudges of colour in the centre of the windscreen, but before you know it, they become very big issues to contend with. Thankfully, the brakes on the Phantom are more than man enough for the job of shedding 100kph in a matter of seconds. I wouldn’t make a good chauffeur.

Considering this is the main trunk road that runs the length of Oman, you’d think it would be better maintained. For the first 300 or so kilometres it’s not in bad shape, long straights are interspersed by the occasional corner and rumble strips to keep truckers awake. However, the road soon deteriorates – fast. Out of the blue a sign tells us the road is under maintenance and it starts to fall apart.

The surface looks like the world’s largest crème brûlée that’s been attacked by a thousand tea spoons. It’s cracked and lumpy, with crevices from the incessant pounding of overladen trucks in each direction. Overtaking takes on a new level of fun as we have to crest a large hump of tarmac in the middle of the road.The Phantom shrugs off the poor surface though, it’s not going to let anything get in the way of rapid process.

But then the road becomes really bad, the authorities have decided to dig it up but to keep everything running have created temporary stretches of road running alongside through the desert. However, they’ve been built quickly so there are dips and crests to contend with, but the Rolls just soaks them up without any bother. Though one hump’s a little steeper than the rest and the Phantom parts company with the tarmac for a brief moment at 160kph.

It’s remarkable just how easy and comfortable the Phantom is to drive. When we pull over at a desert-side kids playground of all things, I feel as fresh as a daisy. The big steering wheel needs the most delicate of touches and with the cruise control set, I’m able to kick off my shoes and bury my toes into the deep shagpile carpet. I struggle to think of another car that could do a journey like this quite so fast and in such comfort. A supercar might be faster on the good sections of road, but would be seriously painful on the broken stretches. A Range Rover might be as quick, but it wouldn’t cosset its occupants anywhere near as well.

After yet another fill of the 100-litre tank, the road is empty in both directions as far as I can see. I decide to find out quite what the Phantom’s capable of. I plant the throttle into the carpet and watch the needle on the power reserve meter (there’s no rev counter here) swing round from 100 percent to 0 which tells me that the big lazy V12 is using every one of its 453bhp for forward motion. There’s a distant chirrup from the rear tyres as they take purchase on the dusty road surface and the Phantom launches itself towards the hazy horizon.

There’s something ever-so-slighty unbecoming about gunning a Phantom – if Sir was in the back he’d surely spill his Moët (kept chilled in the inbuilt fridge, naturally). But as the speedometer’s needle swoops past the 100kph mark in just six seconds, I can’t help but admire the engineering that’s gone into propelling a 2.5-tonne bluff-nosed car to such heady speeds. There’s no hesitation as the speed continues to climb – the ZF automatic ’box might have six gears but it’s impossible to tell when they’re shifted. As we breach 200kph, I find myself gripping the wheel a little tigher as winds buffet the slab sides of the Phantom. At an indicated 220kph the bonnet open warning chime sounds and I lose my bottle and settle back down to a 160kph cruise. The last thing I need is the bonnet whipping open and taking the windscreen out – and likely us with it.

After 750km the desert shows signs of abating and some mean looking clouds loom ahead – this is what we’ve come for. Every year from July to September is the Khareef season in Salalah. Moisture-rich clouds travel over the Indian ocean and meet the warm dry air of the Dhofar desert over the Jibal mountains which fence the town in. A thick fog settles over the area and brings with it much-needed water which turns the surrounding countryside green. That’s what I’d heard anyway, but nothing could have prepared me for the truly inspiring scene that unfolds in front of us.

We’d left nine hours earlier – numerous breaks and photography stops hampered our progress – and had spent most of that time looking out on a barren vista. But as I glide the Phantom through a drawn-out hairpin that sweeps through the rockface, the sheer technicolour of Salalah hits. Rolling hills of green spread out before us, with a heavy fog hanging in the sky. Imposing dark green Frankinsense trees stand proudly at the side of the road. We had arrived. It was a long and very dull journey, but we’d made it. And it was well worth the trip.

We pick our way down through the hills towards the town – traffic which had been amazingly light on the run down now bunches up on the route in. We find our way to the beach and dip our toes. It’s quite something to think that 10 hours earlier we’d been looking out across the Gulf of Oman towards Iran. Due south from Salalah is the small Yemeni island of Socotra and then nothing but ocean until you hit Antartica.

Away from the spectacular scenery, there was another reason I wanted to come down to Salalah – the hairpins on the road to Yemen. I’d sampled them first hand last year – after flying down via Muscat– and knew I had to return. The road was built in the 1970s after Oman and its neighbour Yemen had settled its disputes over the Dhofar region. It’s an absolutely mega stretch of road – much like the famed Stevlio pass in Italy, this thin ribbon of tarmac works its way through the steep mountains. It’s an amazing feat of engineering as the road switches back on itself countless times.

After numerous runs up and down the hairpins the next morning, time was running out fast. We picked up a map from the local tourist office and chose a ‘scenic view’ to be our final destination before starting the long journey home. As it was marked on a map of the ‘main road network around Salalah’ we thought it would be easy to find. After providing excellent company all the way down from Dubai, the Phantom’s sat-nav had given up trying to locate us ever since we’d left our hotel.

We speed back along the coast through Salalah, skipping numerous sights and points of interest until we reach the busy village of Taqah. The fog begins to close in around us and visibility was reduced to just a few metres. We moved gingerly along the road, avoiding errant pedestrians, cows and creaking trucks en route. We passed through a small village, the road beginning to crumble away to little more than a gravel track. It was feeling less and less like the Middle East and more and more like India the deeper inland we went.

However, after a few minutes of slow progress along the ever-increasingly rutted track, a land slide puts a halt to our search. Feeling somewhat dejected we turn the Phantom around and head back towards the main road. But then a small track at the side of the road presents itself, so I gently swing the Phantom along the track.
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It wasn’t meant to be. After a few minutes and rather too many close calls with jagged rocks – we’d raised the air-suspension just to be sure – the road stopped at a small farm. We got out to admire the view – nice, but not spectacular – when a bright green camelion appeared at the side of the road. It was a truly amazing sight to behold and a fitting end to a journey of discovery in the Phantom.

The run back to Dubai passed in a blur – we reached the Hatta border after nine hours and eventually made it back to base at midnight. All in, I’d driven 3428kms in three days. But there’s no better car to do such an journey in than a Phantom. I’d happily do it again next year.

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Tom Bird

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