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 Scooters are just one of the...  Scooters are just one of the pesky obstacles in the Tokyo streets. |
 Spoons own blue man...  Spoons own blue man group: the mean machine team behind the company. |
 Rich thought about asking...  Rich thought about asking for the Spoon S2000, but something told him that it would be off-limits. |
They said yes, and I couldn't believe it. I thought I'd just throw the idea out there. "It never hurts," is my theory. But not in a million lifetimes did I think that they would agree. There are many logical reasons for them to refuse. I have never driven from the right side of a car on the left side of the road; I'm not a terribly good driver in the first place; and most importantly, I don't have a license. Well, not for this part of the world anyway.
I was at Spoon Sports, which is in the Ogikubo district of Tokyo (which probably means little to you,it meant little to me). And after a brief tour of the three-story tuning facility, incorporating manufacturing showroom and garage,and while fawning over the polished championship white of the Type R, my desires got the best of me. "Mind if I take it for a spin?"is what I wish I had said. In retrospect, it was probably something more along the lines of: "Can I drive it? Please, please, please?" (Cut to Wes with his palm to his forehead.) Had I recalled what traffic was like during the earlier walk from the Ogikubo train station to Spoon, I might have been a little more restrained. Nah, not likely. Here was the Type R to end all Type Rs, and my drool was difficult to contain well, more difficult than usual.
For those of you unfamiliar with the population density of Tokyo, here's a little primer. Japan is the size of the state of California. Within its borders resides a population that is half that of the entire United States. And within the borders of Tokyo is a metric shitload percentage of them. Right now, it seems as though they're all walking, riding their bikes, or driving around the Spoon facility. And as I pull out of the Spoon garage, each touch of the gas brings me that much closer to manslaughter. Nobody but Wes and me know it.
Mieko Sekiguchi is my guide along these bowling lane-sized streets that are barely wide enough for three bicycles and a short, thin businessman. This is what's in front of me. Behind me is a truck urging me to squeeze through the congestion. Meanwhile, I'm inching along in First gear and Mieko cringes every time I pass a parked car, clearing it by millimeters, if not less than that. Not the optimum environment for a coupe that wants nothing less than to stretch its legs near redline on the tach.
Clearing the live matter feels like a tremendous chore because the reward is so enticing. Then again, just sitting behind the wheel of Spoon's own Type R is something special in and of itself. The B18C powerplant under the hood is a fantasy to end all fantasies. It has been outfitted with all things Spoon, from the exhaust manifold to the aluminum radiator cap. There is precious little that can compare to this under the label of peak Type R tuning for the street. The suspension has been shored up a bit with Spoon coilovers, and the Spoon wheels are made up of ultralight magnesium, so the car is more nimble at the corners and lighter on its feet. All this I discover firsthand when we eventually hit the less congested (relatively speaking) main streets.
I never thought VTEC could sound as voluptuous as from inside the 2.2L Accord Type R. I was wrong. The Spoon B18C has been massaged in all the right places and offers the comforting coo to prove it. As the rpms rise, I don't want to let go. I'm tempted to stay in gear forever. But with each reluctant shift, I know that I'll get to go through that feeling all over again. This is the truly definitive pleasure of driving a fully-tuned car. No kinks anywhere, other than the crowded Tokyo streets, which is the oxymoron here; the Spoon Sports Integra Type R isn't meant for Tokyo. And if my wishes weren't all used up after being granted permission behind the wheel, I'd ask for one more; to take this car to the mountains, and maybe never bring it back.