MY DAUGHTER has a heart for preciousness. At four years old, her little hands and pockets are often full of the treasures she finds in a day. Tiny river pebbles polished smooth with time. Scraps of bright construction paper or herds of minuscule giraffes and cows and cats all rendered in plastic. It’s an urge I’ve forgotten, to hold on to the things that you find dear but the world finds worthless.

Standing in the RealTime Racing Collection Hall, looking at a 1975 Honda Civic RS, I understand. I want nothing more than to put it in my pocket, squirrel it away for later. Officially, the first Honda Type R was the 1992 NSX-R, but this Japanese-market first-generation Civic wears all the hallmarks that we now associate with those factory-tuned performance models. And it was built 17 years earlier. Engineers pried every last ounce of reliable horsepower from the single-overhead-cam 1.2-liter four-cylinder engine, using tricks learned from years of building high-performance motorcycles. There are dual Keihin CV carburetors in place of the single unit on the base car and a free-flowing intake manifold. It also has a more aggressive cam, high-compression pistons, and a unique exhaust header. The result is around 75 hp at 6000 rpm. The base North American Civic made 53 at 5000.

LUCY HEWETT

As a percentage, that is a massive increase, but it’s only part of what makes the RS special. In 1974, this hatch came with Honda’s first five-speed transmission in a passenger car, replacing the standard four-speed. The U.S.-spec Civic would get the extra cog a year later. The engineers behind the RS also reworked the suspension with stiffer springs and dampers, though the brakes remained unchanged.

The RS is exceptionally rare. Of the 20,000 or so that Honda built between 1974 and 1975, only around 50 still exist. This is the only known example in North America. Rarity happens either by design or abuse, and even with its stack of exotic parts, the RS was still just a Civic to the people who bought them: no more worth preserving than a pencil or a scrap of construction paper. The majority rusted away, used up, crushed, or recycled into something else.

Exotic parts list and scarcity aside, this is a spectacular example of an early Civic, with fewer than 10,000 kilometers on the odometer. Peter Cunningham is the man behind RealTime Racing, the Milwaukee-based team that’s piloted Honda and Acura vehicles to 19 motorsport titles over 32 years. He found the RS at a Japanese vintage-car dealer. “It was the kind of place that didn’t barter,” he says. “The price was the price, and that was it.”

LUCY HEWETT

Cunningham sees worth where others do not. His Collection Hall is packed to the ceiling with clean, low-mile Hondas, cars built to weather the thankless abuses of a working life’s commute, the indignities of parenthood. Seeing them there, flawless and unblemished by grime or ding, is an absolute trip. We’re accustomed to seeing spotless exotics, but a factory-fresh late-’80s Accord with its original hubcaps? That is rare. The Civic RS is the latest addition to Cunningham’s fleet, and despite the low miles and original tires, he’s not shy about letting me behind the wheel.

The car’s size takes some adjustment. At 150 inches long and 52 inches tall, it is dwarfed by everything else on the road, like you could snug it inside a modern Fit. Yet the interior is astonishingly roomy, a hint that Honda has always excelled at making the most out of a small space. It’s also what conveys just how perfect this car is. The door cards are still shrouded in the factory protective plastic. The seats, RS-specific cloth/vinyl units with stainless-steel grommets that seem to take inspiration from a Ford GT40, are intact. A factory Pioneer cassette deck hangs beneath the dash. The cabin is loaded with special RS touches that set the car apart from its more common kin, including a gorgeous wood-rimmed steering wheel and shift knob. There’s also a unique pedal set, complete with steel dead pedal. A factory tach, unheard of in all of Civicdom at the time, dances in sync with the four-cylinder’s uneasy idle.

LUCY HEWETT

The engine is cold, and its natural state over the past 44 years has been dormancy. It’s as unhappy as I would be about being roused from such a long sleep. It initially demands choke and a tip of the throttle to keep from stalling, but once we’re moving, it feels bright and alive. First-generation Civics are always fun to hoof around in, in part because they weigh nothing, at 1700 pounds, but this is different. The power is, for once, perfect. The engine begs to spin, reaching for that 7000-rpm redline with the glee that’s now a Honda calling card. There’s not so much as a hint of torque in the lower octaves, but I cannot pry the smile from my lips. It is a joy. The transmission is tight and precise, the clutch light. I briefly wonder what it would take to get all remaining 50 of these things on a track at once, or if the universe would simply buckle under the hilarity of that kind of stunt.



It takes all the restraint I can muster to resist any antics, and we make it to our photo location without drama or stern looks from Cunningham. The RS shines, unrestored, the orange paint as pretty as a wet stone on the Milwaukee waterfront. From a glance, the car doesn’t look all that different from a standard Civic, but the RS wears wider fenders and rolled rear quarters to accommodate the larger 13-by-4.5-inch wheels and their corresponding tires. There’s also a rear wiper, another first for the Civic.

LUCY HEWETT

The whole package, from engine to suspension, bodywork to interior, seems so above and beyond for a mere Civic. The mid ’70s weren’t kind to performance, and most manufacturers were already fully involved with the stripe-and-chrome school of implied speed. Look no further than the ’75 Mustang Cobra II to see what I mean. No one would have batted an eye if Honda had slapped some decals on a hatchback and called it a day. No one but the guy with his name on the building, it seems.

Near the water, low fog turns the sky dull. Cunningham steps out of the passenger seat for a few photos, and I’m alone with the car, the city skyline and traffic obscured by gray haze. For that moment, it’s easy to imagine myself in 1975 Japan, taking the long way to some bleak salary job. Glad for the willing little four-cylinder in front of me. Glad that someone cared enough to build it better than it needed to be. It’s then that the car’s name makes sense. Brochures at the time said RS stands for “Road Sailing.” It is a perfectly Japanese phrase, one that neatly sums up the feeling of a good car on the right road. That is what hot Civics have always been about. Not stiff springs and loud exhaust. Not street racing or autocross glory. An escape. A taste of the best that driving has to offer at a price anyone can afford.

LUCY HEWETT

Honda has never been content to leave well enough alone. We tend to think that the modern Civic Type R and Acura NSX are outliers, quirks of engineering fancy that slipped past the company’s legion of lawyers and accountants, but the RS points to Honda’s long history of reaching past the veil of tidy commuters to produce truly joyful cars. That unnecessary engineering excellence helped vault the company to success, full of the kind of quiet brilliance that has set the Civic apart from its rivals for nearly 50 years.

I make a few passes before the engine breaks up, stuttering, stalling, and refusing to start altogether. Very un-Honda. We pop the hood, taking a moment to marvel at how even the engine bay is unmolested. Every last piece of wire, every kanji-laden label is right where it should be. Cunningham’s team drained the fuel system before our drive, but the filter’s clogged, and a moment’s wrenching reveals gasoline the color of chocolate milk. There’s rust and water in there, and it’s gummed up the system. I’m half thrilled to see it, proof that the thing didn’t drive through a wormhole straight from 1975. Traffic drives by, oblivious of the little orange rarity with its hood up. Just another old Civic.

It’s more than that to Cunningham. He calls for a truck and trailer. We load up the RS and haul it back to the Collection Hall, where it’s unloaded for static photos, pretty as ever. There, among Cunningham’s other treasures, it’s clear that he sees something special where others do not. Like my daughter, he has a heart for preciousness, and he’s filling his hands with scraps from Honda’s past. Some, like his 1975 Civic RS, are brighter than others.

This content is created and maintained by a third party, and imported onto this page to help users provide their email addresses. You may be able to find more information about this and similar content at piano.io