Acura’s Integra Type-R Makes the Case for Meeting Your Heroes

“I’m thinking to myself, ‘I’ve got to have 1500 miles on it before doing anything crazy,'” says Chris Berchin, reminiscing about taking delivery of his ’97 Acura Integra Type-R. “I pull up to a red light at 1500 miles. ‘Okay, time to see it,'” he remembers saying with a smile. “I stood on it, and as soon as the cam changed and my wallet shot out of the center stack, I thought, ‘I’m gonna like this car!'”

Berchin’s passion for the Type-R started even before his earliest experiences behind the wheel and doesn’t appear to have diminished decades later when he shared his Integra with me earlier this summer. He’s not alone. As a fan of American muscle cars who’s come to love Japanese sport compacts, and as the owner of a sporty Honda myself, I’m intimately familiar with the mythical status of the Integra Type-R (ITR). Meeting your heroes isn’t always what you expect, but I’d soon discover for myself that Berchin’s enthusiasm and the ITR’s cult status are rooted firmly in reality.

Even with its fervent following, the ITR still requires some explanation for those outside of sport compact and Japanese enthusiast car circles. It’s always delivered a singular experience, but the collector market has only relatively recently begun to recognize the ITR for what it offers on the road and what it has meant to fans. If you’re wondering what the fuss is about, here’s some context.

Honda holds the Type-R designation dear—they don’t dilute it by slapping it on the back of just any car. It’s always been reserved for the brand’s most hardcore offerings, and much to the frustration of American enthusiasts, we didn’t get R-anything in the U.S. initially. First used on the NSX in 1992, that Type-R denoted lighter, tighter, faster and better balanced version of the already-athletic base NSX. Naturally, the second Type-R treatment—given to the Integra—was much the same. And this one came to our shores. While we already had the performance-oriented GS-R here in the States, the hope and anticipation for an even hotter model were palpable among Honda fans.

Berchin, an automotive engineer and amateur racer, was among that group. “In ’95, these came out in Japan,” shares Berchin. “I said to my buddies, ‘Honda never brings the good stuff to this country! If they brought that car to the U.S., I’d buy one!’ A year and a half later, they announced it. I got three phone calls reminding me of what I’d said.”

Berchin made good and put his order in right away—he figured Honda wouldn’t be sending over that many, and after its U.S. debut at the Detroit Auto Show in January of ’97, throngs of Honda enthusiasts would head to the dealer and plunk down a deposit.

What was all the hype about? First off, Acura shaved 79 pounds off the GS-R, then set about stiffening the body. A lowered, double wishbone suspension with stiffer struts, springs, and larger sway bars was fitted. A revised transmission with closer gear ratios and a helical limited slip differential put the power to the pavement. The 1.8-Liter B-series four-cylinder was warmed over, making 195 peak horsepower at a screaming 8000 RPM. As any Honda fan will eagerly tell you, this set the record for the most horsepower per liter out of a naturally aspirated engine until the introduction of the Honda S2000.

Climb into the cabin, and while it feels very period Acura, you’ll immediately notice that this is not your average Honda product. The aggressively bolstered seats hug you tight, and as you adjust the rearview mirror, the large rear wing comes into focus. Front visibility is excellent: Slim A-pillars along with a low hood and dash line provide an unobstructed view of the road ahead.

The B18C5 cranks effortlessly to life—as you’d expect from any Honda four—and you’re greeted by a low, docile burble. Start off, and it quickly becomes clear that this engine is high-strung, making all its power up at the top of the rev range. If you are used to modern turbocharged four-cylinders, low-end torque will feel nonexistent here because, well, there isn’t any.

Satisfying, communicative controls quickly acclimate the driver to the ITR’s purpose. The shift lever, though longer in throw and taller than an S2000’s, is no less precise. Gear changes come with a clear mechanical action—no mush or sloppiness.

You immediately feel the car come alive when you offer the ITR a chance to stretch its legs. Wind out that B18C engine past 5700 rpm, at which point VTEC engages, and the car goes from Jekyll to Hyde. In many other cars you’d be preparing to shift at this point in the rev range, but the ITR is just getting going. The engine just keeps on pulling as the higher lift and duration cam lobes engage, gobbling air all the way up to the engine’s 8400-rpm redline. Along the way, the intake noise transitions to a mechanical, raucous yowl, the engine’s harmonics reverberating through the car unlike anything this side of a dedicated small-bore race mill. If the word frenetic could have a physical feeling associated with it, an ITR at redline would be it.

All that excitement translates to the chassis, too. Come into a tight corner at full chooch and the ITR turns in instantly, communicating every little detail of its attitude. This isn’t because of honking big sticky rubber up front like modern cars—the ITR came with 195-width tires all around. Instead, the ITR derives its capability and communication from chassis fundamentals and expert engineering execution. Light weight and a short wheelbase make it eager to pivot. Hydraulic power steering and a lack of torque steer contribute to some of the most detailed FWD steering feel around.

At a quick pace but not full tilt, the ITR’s ability to communicate reassures that the car will take whatever you throw at it. According to Berchin, closer to the limit the car’s sharpness does command some respect. “This car’s got a Torsen [limited-slip differential],” he shares. “So if you’re on power, it yanks itself into the corner. If you lift, you’re driving a ’72 [Porsche] 911. It is that tail happy.”

Apprehension about front-wheel drive as a sporting layout goes out the window when you drive a chassis as talkative and as willing to rotate as the ITR’s. Sure, you’re driving it differently than a front-engine, rear-drive car, but the combination of capability and tactility is what hooks you.

My time behind the wheel lent credence to Road & Track’s assertion that the ITR is the best-handling front-wheel-drive car of all time. It makes the argument that not only should you meet your heroes, but you need to meet your heroes.

Perhaps just as importantly, a backroad blast in an ITR lays out in crisp detail a high point from an era of cars that are just beginning to be fully appreciated. The ’90s and early 2000s represented a time when chassis and engine dynamics delivered thrilling performance without excessive computer wizardry masking a car’s inherent balance. As automotive tech gets ever more digitized, the Integra Type-R may well stand taller as a “last, best” moment in automotive history.

For all the upsides, there are a few things that bring it back to earth—most of which revolve around what the car is rather than its execution. As Acura itself put it, “The Acura Integra Type-R is not for everyone,” and its tight mission parameters mean that its appeal as an enthusiast car is pretty focused, too. The ITR is an easy car to appreciate, but you do need to enjoy peaky power delivery if it’s going to be a good match for you. It’s not going to win any stoplight drags, but not many cars over 25 years old will these days. If you expect an upmarket interior and luxurious ride, you won’t find it here. Its cabin is typical of 1990s Honda/Acura: good and durable, but not going to win any awards for luxury. It’s also not a quiet car to hold a conversation in. Look at it through the lens of what Acura had in mind—a track-honed car for the street—and you’ll not be disappointed.

Ok, so you’ve decided you need one too. We’ve covered the market for the ITR many times over, but armed with some time behind the wheel, the prices people are willing to pay make a whole lot more sense. A U.S. market ITR in excellent condition can bring upwards of $60,000, with the top end of the market reaching into the $80,000 range for cars with near-zero miles that still appear as if they just left the showroom.

A somewhat more approachable entry point to ownership is to get your hands on a Japanese Domestic Market (JDM) Honda-badged Integra Type-R (Acura being a North America-only brand). You’ll have to put up with right-hand drive, but a comparable JDM ITR comes at about a 20 percent discount to the USDM Acura. And if you don’t mind a couple more doors, a JDM sedan can be had for even less. Aside from the financial upsides, scoring a JDM ITR also gets you revised gear ratios, a more aggressive final drive, as well as some slight engine revisions.

Digging into buying trends, it goes without saying that ITR owners trend on the younger side. Millennials are by a huge margin the most interested group for both USDM and JDM ITRs. Gen-X is on the board, but at a far-reduced rate, with baby boomers registering little interest.

Perhaps this disparity of interest stems from the adage that enthusiasts are drawn to the cars they remember when they were young. Add in the polarizing effect that front-wheel-drive cars can have among older enthusiasts and the breakdown makes much more sense.

Berchin says that when he went to pick up his ITR, the dealer told him to “go drive the car, and if you don’t want it, let us know.” That wasn’t in the cards. “We hit one off ramp,” he says, “and I’m going, oh yeah, there’s no way I’m giving this car up!”

That Berchin, an enthusiast who’s engineered and raced cars for more than two decades, has kept and enjoyed his ITR all these years speaks to how it can pull at heartstrings. An inherently emotional car with an incredibly tight focus, the Integra Type-R offers all you need and nothing you don’t. It remains the front-wheel-drive performance benchmark by which all others are measured.