Growing up, I knew that I loved loud, brash V8-powered things. I loved pickup trucks with glasspacks that sounded mighty. I loved musclecars and 1970s poser cruisers that were loud enough to get my grandfather spooled up to the point of unabashed verbal abuse – that kind old man was without a doubt the first person I ever heard use the phrase “that noisy f*cking thing”, and he used that line to describe the ’77 Camaro Type LT that I fell head-over-heels in love with as a kid. IROC-Zs, the ’73 ‘Cuda that the neighbor had, the demolition derby cars that were beat on mercilessly…loved them all. In fact, there was only one real negative in the world of the automotive kingdom. Okay, two…but I’ve waxed on enough about how much I can’t stand mid-1970s Ford Granadas and their corporate cousins.
No, the other negative was Hondas.
I liked Honda when it came to powersports. I had everything from a 50cc Z-series mini motorcycle through a fleet of three-wheelers, and had experience with their two- and four-wheel-drive quads and even the oddball Fat Cat bike, with it’s chunky tires. But their cars fell into two forms: purposeful daily driver stuff, which was boring but fine, and loud, low, colorful things that sounded like ten thousand bald-faced hornets flying in unison, enraged and ready to stab anything they saw at will with their stingers. Call it what you will: the Fast and Furious crowd (even before the films), the tuner culture, ricers, whatever. I looked down on it back then. I figured that it was cheap-shit hot rodding: Mom got tired of driving her Civic around, so she handed it down to Junior, who made it louder, lower, and ten times worse. I didn’t mind a stock Honda. But a CRX that left the light like making a noise I last heard after a bad night of drinking and “$2.50 All You Can Eat” night at Pancho’s just annoyed me. Chalk it up to irrational emotions of a young mind.
Over the years I’ve mellowed on the hatred. I still can’t stand the full-fat, body kit and neon stuff. But I can appreciate why these cars got popular, and that centered around having to drive one. My former high school flame had a Honda Prelude in the early 2000s, and when I came to Colorado on leave from Fort Hood, I took the chance to drive it. The seating position was great. The suspension, great. The way it pulled as I sent the tach to the moon, as fun as any of the off-road toys I had used. I still wasn’t a fan of the front-wheel-drive, but I could see a Prelude tracking around a road course at full chat. I could see it being a fun daily driver.
When was the last time you saw one of these cars around, either the second or third generations? There’s one that runs around locally, real clean, with just tint and wheels taking away from a stock look. They were performers by late 1980s standards, competent by today’s standards, good for a 9-second 0-60 MPH run and a 17-second quarter. But the feel was almost like a go-kart, it was fun to drive and they provided solid fuel mileage. If the teenage version of me ever saw me write those words, he’d be apoplectic with anger, feeling betrayed. But the ultimate retort would settle the issue: “Go drive it.” Trust me, kid, you’ll understand once you drive it.
Bring A Trailer Link: 1988 Honda Prelude 2.0Si 4WS
Privileged to old enough, that I bought a first gen Acura Integra new. Not fast, not furious. Not even modified, unless you count a subtle Dynomax muffler. It was the Golden Age of Honda. Just like this Prelude, that Integra was light, tossable, and revved to the moon (pre-VTEC, but DOHC). The polar opposite of today’s Camaro or Challenger.
I miss those days, just like the guys who miss the era of low and elegant Cadillacs or LS6 Chevelles. (We’ll say the same thing about today’s cars in ten years, when most every new car will be an EV.)
*be old enough.