As a kid, the Countach wasn’t on my bedroom wall. Nor were bright red Ferraris or streaking silver Mercedes. Instead it was Initial D, Hot Version, Best Motoring, HKS, Greddy, APEX’i, Top Secret, D1GP, Super GT, the Mazda RX-7, Nissan Skyline GT-R, Fuji Speedway, and Suzuka Circuit. Japan was my enthusiast Mecca.
After decades spent pining for that faraway untouchable place, I went to Japan on the pilgrimage of a lifetime.
But why Japan?
It wasn’t the first place to have a prominent street racing scene or the first place to go racing, period. Those were initially European and American phenomena. Nor was Japan the first to modify cars–Hot Rodders and Euro shops got there first.
If Japan wasn’t first, what it did best was democratize performance straight from the factory floor, and in fresh, unimaginable ways. A humble Mitsubishi Lancer could outperform a Ferrari for a fraction of the money; a Nissan family sedan could pack more technology than a contemporary Formula 1 car; The most focused lightweight sports car on earth could be had on working-class wages.
Japanese cars changed the world, spawning an entirely new chapter of car culture, and a new generation of enthusiasts who found Europe stuffy and American hot rodders ancient. Legends were written by those early heroes who latched on to Japanese cars and ran with them.
I wanted to see for myself the place these legends were born.
Tokyo: Landing in the heart of Japan
I’m a window seat guy. I’ll gladly exchange the freedom to urinate indiscriminately for that first romantic glimpse of the new place. And seeing the Tokyo Tower, Rainbow Bridge, and endless sprawl of Tokyo from the right side of an Airbus A330 was extraordinary.
In that city were deeply familiar places, but ones I never knew. From the aircraft I could see that the Shuto Expressway is shaped exactly as it’s rendered in Tokyo Xtreme Racer and how square, industrial landfill islands shape the Tokyo Bay.
In that sprawl sat my first targets: Route B, the Bayshore Route, known as the Wangan, and C1, the Inner Circular Route, both of the Shuto Expressway. The Wangan serves Haneda Airport, and my ride from the airport to my first borrowed car began with the legendary expressway, once a mecca of high-speed street racing.
After decades spent pining for that faraway untouchable place, I went to Japan on the pilgrimage of a lifetime.
From the back of a Toyota Alphard taxi in rush hour traffic, it’s difficult to see how the Wangan could be a place where—as the legends say—tuners did more than 200 mph in highly modified Nissan Skyline GT-Rs, Toyota Supras, and even air-cooled Porsche 911s.
Yet once night falls, and the highway clears, the old visions become abundantly clear. With one straightaway that is over five miles long, near-perfect tarmac, and plenty of guardrails, the Wangan is one of the most ideal places on the planet for a high-speed time trial.
In the basement of Honda’s global headquarters sat an FL5 Civic Type R, waiting just for me. I had just eight hours with the car before leaving Tokyo for my next destination. So I packed the CTR’s itinerary with highway driving and a stop at a special and highly significant Honda tuning house.
Whether it was weaponized neurodivergence or bizarre aptitude, driving on the incorrect side of the road in a brand-new $50,000 Civic came as easily as anything I’ve ever done. Driving in Japan was lovely. Orderly. Clean. Calm. Courtesies were observed. Drivers allowed space for their fellow motorists. Speed limits were obeyed. I even found shifting with my left hand (rather than my right) extremely logical. Maybe I’m more of a weeb than I thought.
I felt a genuine surge of emotion when I crossed the first electronic toll collection (ETC) gate and rolled onto the Wangan. It’s just a highway after all, but it was exactly as I imagined it, exactly like the racing games I played growing up. There were the highway markings that I still don’t fully understand but look deeply cool nonetheless, the familiar junction names from Tokyo Xtreme Racer, and how exactly right every section of highway felt.
Most of the highway was built in the ‘60s for the Tokyo Olympics, making it fairly old, but it remains something of an engineering marvel. It has an inner and outer loop that snake around each other and through skyscrapers, diving underground then emerging high above Tokyo’s ground level traffic.
Every corner on the highway is cambered nicely, the tarmac is well cared for, and the elevation changes make for an interesting, dynamic drive. At speed, it would have certainly been exceptional. Even in traffic, it was clear why the loop was so favored for racing, even if the fire-breathing GT-Rs or Ferraris have been replaced by box trucks and Kei cars.
Yet I still gawked like an annoying tourist. At everything. Instead of seeing these landmarks on a screen, they were projected into my retinas in real time. Meaning is largely assigned after the fact, and I’m sure a million weary salaryman have seen enough of this highway in their lifetimes. But for me, it felt like a long-awaited chapter in my life closing at last.
Spoon Sports: Honda Tuner in Aeternum
The Wangan took me West toward a Tokyo suburb called Suginami. Within Sugninami is one of the most well-known tuners and parts makers in the world, a small shop called Spoon Sports. I had time to visit just one shop while in Tokyo, and as I had a Type R for a day, the choice was clear–When in Rome.
Spoon doesn’t require much introduction, but for those who don’t know, they built the biggest and baddest Hondas of all time. Founded in 1988 by Tatsuru Ichishima, known as Ichi-san, Spoon started as a racing team that expanded into the aftermarket.
As a tuner, Spoon is best known for its prowess tweaking naturally aspirated Honda engines. As if to reinforce its credentials, Spoon’s engine building room is almost entirely glass, filled by engine builders who are visible from the busy street just outside of the shop.
I parked my FL5 in a nearby lot, then asked for Mr. Daisuke Jomoto, Spoon veteran and manager of Type One, Spoon’s on-site showroom.
Jomoto-san showed me around the shop, a meticulously clean and beautiful place. It exists over two floors: The bottom-floor workshop and top-floor showroom, storage area, and overflow bays. The two floors are connected with a car lift that feels straight out of a Hot Wheel diorama.
After staring at the sealed and climate controlled engine room, I turned around to watch the Spoon racing team preparing its Super Taikyu FL5 for the Fuji Speedway 24 hour race.
Spoon is still a race team first, but operates as a normal workshop out of Type One. It even services non-Hondas for certain items and does everything from general maintenance to full-catalog builds.
What struck me most was Spoon’s proximity to traffic and noise, a busy road just outside of the shop. This place is a mecca for any Honda lover, but it could just be another workshop somewhere in Tokyo. If it weren’t for the fully fledged race car belching un-catalyzed fumes into the world, you could almost never guess it was the home of one of the most legendary tuning companies on the planet.
Initial D: The Mountain Passes That Exported Japan’s Driving Culture
After a packed first day in Tokyo, I could finally relax and enjoy Japan as more of a slow-going tourist than a rushed car journalist. My conveyance was the Honda N-One, which I’ve reviewed separately for Japan Month. It would carry me and some friends for a journey to the countryside.
From Honda HQ, I drove to Chiba to meet my traveling companions–Julian, Sonja, Steven, and Steven, some of whom rented a car to experience the Initial D fantasy on their own.
I trundled up to the rental lot as everyone was getting situated with their cars. Julian chose a Honda S660. Sonja, a modified Toyota GR86. The two Stevens would ride with us in turns on the way to our stay in Tsumagoi, and the same for the itinerary we had planned for the day after.
We had just two goals: Vacation, and drive the mountain pass that changed car culture forever. That pass is Mt. Haruna, known better as Mt. Akina.
With a bright and early start the next day, we tried JDM McDonalds (it was delicious) and drove our cars to Mt. Haruna the long way. I plotted a route the night before, which took us down another famous road from the Initial D anime: Mt. Usui. It was unplanned, but was an exceptionally great detour that we didn’t know we needed.
What I didn’t mention was that my crew are also a unit of Initial D nerd-weebs, so we knew every detail about the road. We know that it’s Keiichi Tsuchiya’s home road. We remember the anime scene where Takumi fearlessly piloted his AE86 through the fearsome C-121 hairpin to secure his victory over Impact Blue. But we never knew how tiny the road actually is.
We had just two goals: Vacation, and drive the mountain pass that changed car culture forever.
I lamented not having the Type R for my Gunma adventure, but the N-One became the GOAT of the situation. It had zero power and zero grip, but it let me experience Usui at the limit of handling. We also apparently picked the perfect time to drive the road, as we had it all to ourselves. The only other person we saw was a random legend in a Caterham Seven out for a drive.
Every moment felt surreal and it was a genuinely enjoyable driving road. Every time we took a break, all we could do was laugh and marvel that we were driving the Mt. Usui. It was snaking, dangerous, and tight, with open gutters and decreasing radius hairpins. It was also beautiful, with a tree canopy overhead and colorful leaves decorating the road. At one turn-out, we spotted an overgrown tunnel in the woods, which actually led to the bridge that served as a backdrop for a few scenes in Initial D. It was the stuff dreams are made of, fulfilling every last part of the fantasy.
We took the back way up Mt. Haruna and saved the infamous downhill run for last, and stopped at Haruna lake beforehand. We mentally prepared ourselves to drive the road and stopped one last time at the start-finish line.
Scattered around the area were mementos to the anime series, like a painted manhole cover in the style of the manga and a guide map showing where each significant location was. Finally, we embarked.
Mt. Akina was something of a spiritual experience, even with commuter traffic denying us a nice clean drive. At least, for a group of nerds who spend time driving a virtual rendition of the road in their spare time, it was the closest thing to meeting a celebrity I could imagine. It’s a surprisingly open and fast road, with plenty of visibility, but it was also relatively flat and uncambered. I realized that it’s not all that notable as a driving road, but it feels more like a carefully graded track rather than a mountain pass.
All the famous features were there, the open gutters you could hook your tires into (of course I did), the five hairpin turns that were so pivotal in the first season of Initial D, and the fast final section with the three-lane passing zone that allowed Takumi to defeat Ryosuke in their final battle.
What is most surreal is how well the anime rendered the scenes around the road, and how they feel so unbelievably true to life. It’s like I’d been driving the road my whole life, as familiar as a favorite uncle or a comfort meal.
It wasn’t the driving high that Usui gave me, but it was worth seeing the road with my own eyes. There are few things in the car world as culturally significant as Initial D and Mt. Akina. Because of Initial D, two generations of enthusiasts around the world attack mountain roads and value the joy of driving more than the appearance of owning a car. That is something to celebrate.
Going Home: Goodbye to the Great Nippon
I’ve never felt depressed like I did when the taxi returned me to Haneda airport. I didn’t want to go home after two weeks in Japan. It is as wonderful, weird, lovely, and lovable as you think it is. And though I chronicled just three days of my trip, I fell even more deeply in love with the place than I could’ve imagined.
Things just work differently in Japan. This comes with some caveats–If I wanted to move there, for example, things would be a lot harder on purpose. It is not a perfect place, but it is special and unique. More than anything, it is worth visiting again, again, and again.
Beyond the world of cars, there are deep tenets guiding Japanese culture, evidenced by the numerous shrines across the country and the ritualistic motions of everyday life. The small processes and wonders of life are celebrated in Japan, and people are conscious of one another. It is totally opposed to the lifestyle I grew up with in America.
Ever since I left, I wanted to go back. And as I stared out of the side of another aircraft leaving Tokyo, looking down the barrel of another 13 hours of clenching my bladder shut, I felt a sense of grief burdening my heart. I’ll never have my first Japan experience again. But I couldn’t think of a more perfect, soul-nourishing place to return to.
