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Neglected Rolls-Royce Phantom may be the saddest of all time

Rolls-Royce prides itself on exemplifying the pinnacle of automotive elegance. The brand is synonymous with quality and luxury. However, in the end even a Rolls is still just a car, and if you don't keep it up, it's bound to fail. That deterioration can be seriously fun to watch, though.
This 2005 Rolls-Royce Phantom might now be one of the worst cars on the planet and only has a little over 95,000 miles on it. The video claims that the original owner in New Jersey didn't make payments on the car for three years but rented the sedan out to people and used it for a livery service. Now, it's repossessed and would probably cost more to fix than it's worth.
This Phantom has had a hard life. We don't want to spoil too many of the broken pieces because they pile up to become increasingly absurd. However, the pièce de résistance must to be the broken Spider-Man umbrella in the door.

Rolls-Royce Wraith convertible spied sliding in the snow

Rolls-Royce may be on the verge of producing its first crossover, but it's a different prototype we're looking at here, frolicking in the snow. It's the convertible version of the Wraith, which Rolls-Royce is preparing to join the existing fastback coupe and the Ghost sedan in its "entry-level" lineup. Only we don't expect it to be called the Wraith Drophead Coupe like its larger counterpart, the Phantom DHC, but to go with an entirely different name (just as the aforementioned fastback took to distinguish itself from the sedan). Expect Goodwood to pull another suitably poltergeist-related nameplate from its archives (or from the netherworld) to slap on its new drop-top. Otherwise, we can expect the Wraith convertible (or whatever it's ultimately called) to closely mirror its fixed-roof counterpart, complete with suicide doors and a 6.6-liter twin-turbo V12, when it arrives sometime in the middle of next year. Related Video:

Navigating the road time forgot in a Rolls-Royce Cullinan

The Rolls-Royce Cullinan glides evenly over the rutted single-lane dirt road, barely unsettling its passengers. Nobody is speaking in the lush cabin, not even my normally chatty 7-year-old.  All eyes are turned to the Delaware River gliding by, a dozen feet away, through a skim of skeletal hardwood trees. There’s no sign of humanity or habitation. ItÂ’s almost a scene in a movie. The Last of the Mohicans, perhaps.  Today we are exploring the Old Mine Road, and it is making us think of ghosts. Its 104 miles of asphalt and dirt make up one of the oldest continuously-used roads in America, stretching from New YorkÂ’s Catskills to the Pennsylvania Delaware Water Gap. The Lenape are thought to have first threaded a path here in the 1300s.  It is also a pathway wending its way through the NortheastÂ’s violent history, from bloody skirmishes between the original Native American inhabitants and European settlers to the Americans and Brits in the Revolutionary War. Little wonder that out here in the quiet, that history — and those ghosts — feel close. Amazingly, the 40-mile section in New Jersey that follows the eastern banks of the Delaware looks much like it did a hundred years ago. There are million-dollar views, but as part of the Delaware recreation area, no development is allowed.  Instead of the gated McMansions youÂ’d expect less than 1.5 hours from New York City, we are greeted by silent forest and twin lanes of bumpy or shattered asphalt. ThereÂ’s a section of dirt and gravel, narrowing to a single lane. Easy to imagine hundreds of years of horses and mules stamping down the thin path.  It is early spring and like everyone else, we have cabin fever. My wife, son and mother-in-law are sheltering-in-place at our country house in the Poconos. America is locked into a struggle with an invisible enemy. It seems a good time to get some historical perspective. If our ancestors lived and endured under harsh conditions, so can we.  There is nothing inherently unsafe or socially unacceptable about taking a short road trip on a virtually unused road, so we pack a lunch of cold pizza and snacks, and pile into the leather-bound, environmentally-controlled cocoon of the Rolls. We make our way to Kingston, N.Y., where the road begins. IÂ’m finally going to drive the entirety of the Old Mine Road.   Our Barney-purple Cullinan is a rolling sanctuary, a movable fortress of social isolation.