2009 Honda S2000

The headstone for the Honda S2000 should say, “This was a real sports car.” Production of the Honda S2000 will end with the 2009 model year: If you can’t get a new one, buy used. You won’t find a better real sports car from any year.


The best definition of a real sports car came from the late John Timanus, a successful racer in the ‘50s and ‘60s and long-time technical director of the Sports Car Club of America: “A sports car is a four-wheeled motorcycle.” That’s the Honda S2000.

Aerodynamic Styling

As with a motorcycle, a real sports car makes the driver feel as if he is the car: Superman, cape flapping in the breeze. Like a motorcycle, a real sports car needs a skilled pilot for top performance: The likes of the BMW Z4 sDrive 35i feel as if they don’t even want a capable driver. A real sports car is light: If a car weighs more than a NASCAR Cup car, it’s probably not a real sports car. The S2000’s curb weight is almost 900 pounds less than that of a Sprint Cup racer. A real sports car has a manual transmission. A convertible top, while not essential, earns extra points. A real sports car doesn’t necessarily have the most horsepower: A well-driven real sports car can be quicker up a mountain road than a pretender driven by one who believes bigger and more makes up for (usually not self-perceived) ineptness. The S2000 exceeds all the expectations of a real sports car. And one more: A real sports car allows you to imagine you’re driving a real racecar.


Long ago, I tested Comptech Racing’s Reynard 95I-Honda Indy car. Driving the 2009 S2000 put me back in that carbon-fiber tub. The S2000’s digital dash is a near copy of that racer’s (which had been driven the previous year in the dearly departed CART PPG Indy Car World Series by Parker Johnstone). The driver’s compartment of an S2000 is tight: You needn’t be as short or trim as an Indy car driver, though the big of butt will find the S2000 cramped. Like an Indy car, an S2000 requires skilled foot coordination to get it in motion from rest: Stalls are inevitable.

Pure Performance

Like an Indy car, the S2000’s 237-horsepower 2.2-liter four-cylinder engine doesn’t make a lot of torque at low engine speeds and doesn’t reach its peak of 162 pound-feet until 6,800 rpm. Once either the Indy car or the S2000 smells the sweet spot of the torque band, their engines begin revving like crazy. At maximum acceleration, there’s little point in putting your right hand back on the steering wheel between shifts of the S2000’s six-speed transmission. Waste that time and you’ll bang against the S2000’s 8,200-rpm rev limiter. The Indy car, with only my left hand on the wheel, went from 60 mph to 120 mph in 2.7 seconds. The S2000 takes a bit longer.


On dry public roads, it’s difficult to get the S2000’s sticky Bridgestone Potenza RE050s anywhere close to their limit. But a light rain prompted me to relive my Indy car experience. Like a knucklehead, I switched off the S2000’s stability control and launched from a stop at an assertive 4,000 rpm. There was only a hint of wheelspin as the digital lines of the tachometer raced across the top of the dash. As the tach line turned red I pulled back on the precise, short-throw shifter without lifting fully off the gas. The rear tires lit up exactly like those on the Reynard-Honda when I was rough on the throttle. (When the Indy car did that, I recorded an instantaneous heart rate of zero. At least it felt that way.) Fortunately, the S2000’s Torsen limited-slip differential helped prevent the rear from stepping out.