Travel back with me to a simpler time, when life was simpler and we didn’t have K20s—or know the struggles that lay ahead. It’s 2014, and Eric has come into some money. He wanted a car that could pull double duty: a daily driver that was also fast and exciting. Since he was a kid, Eric has been tangled up in my automotive chaos—whether he knew it or not. He’s seen it all: street races, late nights in the garage holding lights or grabbing tools, bleeding clutches and brakes, me “borrowing” cash from his piggy bank for gas to hit the races, riding in cars with no passenger seats, getting pulled over, road rage—you name it, he’s lived it. Through all the trials of chasing car mods, a bond grew, deeper than just brothers. He trusted me.
Over the last 20 years, he’s watched me hone my skills—blowing up engines, rebuilding them, crafting cars that turned heads and proved themselves some of the wildest around. It built my resume of automotive awesomeness. Sure, he’s seen the disasters too: exhausts falling off, installing cams in a friend’s car with the timing 180 degrees off, street racing only to piss off some guy who pulled a gun and threatened to kill us. (Mind you, Eric was just 9 or 10 then.) The dude chased us—I ran a few red lights, but we hit the 710 freeway and lost him. Dad wouldn’t have been thrilled about me dragging my little brother into illegal, dangerous stunts like that. But I’m pretty sure Eric had a blast and made some epic memories.
He learned he could count on me in any car-related mess. He knew I was his go-to, hands down, for anything automotive—not just Hondas either. We’re talking prerunner trucks, airbagged rigs, drift cars, stock rides. Remember the Probe, Eric? Or gutting the cat on your ’84 Accord and slapping that shift knob on it? He’s been there for it all.
Now that you know the backstory of Eric’s life as my brother, it’s no shock I talked him into building a Civic. At first, he was set on an LS3-swapped 240SX—we nearly went for it—but my brotherly instincts kicked in. I realized it’d be too much car for someone with limited real driving experience. Being a passenger, just along for the ride, doesn’t teach you how to handle a fast machine. A 2,500-lb, 400-hp RWD car isn’t the best starting point—especially for a daily driver. He also had his eye on an STI, but he was active in the Navy then, living on base with the car parked outside. I told him it wasn’t a smart investment: sitting on the East Coast, exposed to harsh weather, door dings, drunk military guys, and whatever else goes down in those base parking lots.
So it was settled: a tastefully modded EG Civic with a stock JDM DC5 motor swap from HMO. This would give Eric the excitement he craved and the reliability I wanted for him. I knew that with some basic bolt-ons—RBC manifold, intake, header, exhaust, and K-Pro—the car would be plenty capable. It wouldn’t dominate the streets, but it’d hold its own, handling whatever came its way. Another goal was to keep it looking stock as possible. Since it’d be a daily parked everywhere, stealth was the name of the game. From the outside, I wanted it to pass as just a Civic with some wheels. Sure, a seasoned enthusiast might clock the NT05 tires or the exhaust note, and if you squinted, you could spot the K-Tuned no-cut shifter—despite the full interior. The sharpest eyes would know it wasn’t a stock D- or B-series shifter. Here’s what the car looked like.
And here is a link to the full write-up on his car, with plenty more pictures and a complete spec list of everything done to it.
Because after all, this post isn’t about the build of his car—it’s about the rebuild.
Now that you’ve got some backstory and a little history of his life with me as a brother, let’s get into why the rebuild is necessary.
After all, I told him I could build him a reliable car… and that a Honda would never let him down.
So in 2014, life was easy. Eric came into some money and wanted a fast, exciting car.
What lies ahead is the story of when life got hard—and why things were so much easier before we had K20s.
In July of 2014, we went to HMO and bought two JDM DC5 swaps. The plan was for me to build Eric’s car first while my own swap sat on the back burner until his was fully done and out of my garage. That meant finding a clean Civic, deciding on the best parts for his build, ordering everything, and installing it all.
This was an awesome opportunity for me to add another check to my resume—learning about K20s, the i-VTEC system, how to swap them, and everything that comes with it. I felt confident in my abilities, having so much prior experience with B- and D-series Hondas and different chassis.
But let me clarify something: doing a K20 swap the right way is an expensive process. It’s relatively easy to do, but the cost of parts is way higher than a B-series swap—especially if you want to build something bulletproof.
To do it right, you’re looking at a minimum of $10K. That sounds like a lot—because it is.
If you’re like me, you’re probably thinking, “Wait, a DC5 Type R swap costs the same as a DC2 Type R swap—might as well go K-series!” But what you don’t realize is that a B-series will basically drop right in. Wire a few things up and go.
A K-series, on the other hand, needs:
- Mount kits
- Fuel system modifications (since K-series runs a returnless system)
- Swap axles (you can use OEM, but you’ll need to disassemble and swap CV ends)
- Beefier axles overall—you’ll break cheap ones easily
- Radiator mounting
- Throttle cable and bracket solutions
- Throttle body adapters for RBC/RRC intake manifolds
- A swap header, at minimum
A typical DC2 swap usually comes with all the right parts made for that chassis—it just works. You can use OEM axles, any B-series header, and the included wiring harness and ECU. No immobilizer to deal with.
Oh—and don’t forget: a K-series O2 sensor is not the same as a B-series one. I highly recommend an OEM sensor because your motor’s life depends on a properly functioning O2 sensor. Don’t cheap out with an AutoZone one.
Now, despite all of that—I’ve never once regretted going K-series. It’s awesome. It’s faster than any N/A B-series and the motor is completely stock internally, retaining full OEM reliability. Sure, you could build a faster B20VTEC or turbo a B-series and get more power, but neither of those options would’ve made for a reliable daily driver.
So for the rest of that summer and into the winter, I methodically went through every part of the build—replacing parts with new or better ones. I upgraded the chassis with rear discs, GSR front brakes, a 40/40 prop valve, front JDM Type R sway bar, ASR rear subframe brace, ASR rear sway bar, Skunk2 coilovers, and some other goodies sprinkled throughout.
By the new year, the car was done. I put about 1,000 miles on it around Las Vegas, putting it through its paces to make sure it could handle anything Eric threw at it.
Come April, it was time to deliver it.
Yes—I drove it all the way across the country, from Las Vegas to Washington D.C., to hand it off to my brother who was stationed there.
It made the trip across the country—nearly 2,800 miles—without a single hiccup.
Eric bought me a plane ticket home, and while flying back, I knew I had built him the most exciting, reliable, and stealthy car I could.
For the next two months, the car performed flawlessly.
Now let’s skip to June. Eric was taking a two-week leave and planned to drive the car 3,000 miles back across the country to California. We had arranged for the car to be tuned at Church Automotive Testing in Long Beach. It was also a perfect opportunity for me to go over the car thoroughly and make sure it was still just as healthy as the day I handed it over.
We changed the fluids, spark plugs, and fuel filter—then we were off to get it tuned.
OMG—the car made 251 hp and 175 ft/lbs of torque. Life was good, and the car felt substantially faster.
When I originally drove it cross-country to him, it was running on a stock PRC ECU. After that, he got KPro, and we got it properly tuned. The difference was night and day—and best of all, that annoying 111mph speed limiter that comes with JDM ECUs was gone.
He drove the car all the way back to his base in D.C., and once again, everything went smoothly.
For the next few months, the Civic kept running without a single issue—daily errands, food runs, local car meets—you name it. He even took it out to enjoy some curvy roads in the Virginia mountains.
But this is where the story takes a turn.
Eric met a girl on base, and they became an item. For the holidays, he decided to drive to her parents’ house in Oklahoma—once again trusting his Civic to carry him there and back.
But on the return trip to D.C., somewhere in rural Tennessee, late at night, the Civic suddenly started making a horrendous clicking noise coming from the transmission.
He tried to pull it out of gear—but it was stuck in 6th.
He managed to roll it off to the side of the highway… and straight into a world of depression.
There was no fixing it. The trans was toast.
He immediately called me. I tried diagnosing the issue over the phone, but in the back of my mind all I could think was: bummer. My brother was stuck in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of the night, in Tennessee.
There were no signs of oil leaking. No visible damage to the transmission case. The axles were properly seated. Linkage was still connected.
So what the hell happened?
He ended up getting towed to the nearest U-Haul the next morning, where he rented a truck and car dolly to continue his trip back to D.C.
Once he was back at the base, I tried to help him again over FaceTime. We walked through everything I could think of—but it was no use.
The transmission was cooked.
Now what do we do?
I’m 2,800 miles away and no help to him. He has no tools, no way to fix the car. It doesn’t even roll (since it’s stuck in 6th gear), and he doesn’t have the money to take it to a performance shop to have the trans pulled, rebuilt, and put back together. Not that I’d want that anyway—because you can’t trust any shop to do as good of a job as you’d do yourself.
Plus, I poured so much heart and soul into this build… I wouldn’t want anyone else touching it.
In about a month, he’s scheduled to be deployed to Romania for 8 months. So what are we going to do?!
Well… we end up doing nothing.
He doesn’t have the money to fix it. I’m too far away to fix it for him.
So the car just sits in the parking lot—like so many other cars do when their owners deploy.
Which, honestly, is crazy to me.
Over the next few months, the Civic sits through a brutal winter—snow, moisture, freezing temps. All that exposure leads to horrific oxidation of the aluminum parts under the hood. Rust starts popping up everywhere.
These are problems we don’t really have to deal with out west (thank God).
While the car’s sitting, the registration expires. Now the tags are expired too.
Then the car gets towed.
It ends up in an impound lot where it will spend the rest of Eric’s deployment—just sitting there, rotting away.
With limited communication while deployed in Romania, Eric only finds out from a buddy back home that his car was towed.
There’s nothing he can do. The car’s broken. It won’t drive. His buddy can’t just go pick it up—it’s way too complicated and expensive to get someone else’s car out of impound without proper documentation. And even if he did get it out, what then? Tow it back to base just to have it impounded again because the tags are still expired?
So the car just sits.
It sits in impound, exposed to the elements, completely dilapidated. Left to rot.
Finally, Eric returns from his deployment and goes to get the car out.
But he’s met with one last punch to the gut: the exorbitant impound fees.
The car’s been sitting there for months, and it’s racked up something like $2,300 in storage fees.
At this point, it’s starting to feel like the car is just… gone.
Like we’ll never see it again.
Eric was able to go down to the impound yard and explain that he had been deployed, and there was simply no way for him to get the car out during that time. Thankfully, they were understanding and agreed to lower the fees to a more realistic few hundred dollars.
Finally, the Civic was free from its incarceration and back in its owner’s loving care.
Around that time, Eric had made friends with another guy on base who had a house with a garage, and he was able to store the car there for a while as we tried to figure out how to get it back to my place in Las Vegas.
Eventually, Eric bought a Chevy Silverado 2500HD diesel, rented a car dolly, and drove the Civic all the way back to my house.
The day the Civic arrived, I immediately washed off the nine months’ worth of dirt and carefully rolled it into my garage for safekeeping.
Now that the Civic was safely at my house, it kind of took a back seat to Eric’s current life. I mean, let’s be honest—he had a truck now. He didn’t really need the Civic for transportation. And with all the excitement around fixing up his truck, who needs a Civic anyway?
With just a tuner and an exhaust, the truck could be just as fast—if not faster—than the Civic. And with the Civic out of sight and out of mind, it slowly started to become a relic.
The Civic would go on sitting in my garage for almost two years, quietly serving as a spare parts car for me and my own K20. I’d use parts off his car just to double-check things on mine and rule out any issues—stuff like the clutch master cylinder, alternator, ECU, and random fuses. I’d swap them over to my car, and if the problem disappeared, I’d buy a new part. If it didn’t fix the issue, I’d move on.
For example, when I did my big brake upgrade, I swapped his brake booster into my car to see if mine was the reason I was losing pressure. Of course, it wasn’t. When I put his on, it had the same symptoms—so now I knew I needed a new master cylinder, not a booster.
I also took the wheels off and threw them on my 4-door for a while. But aside from that, the car just sat, collecting dust in the corner of my garage.
There was a lot of speculation about the fate of his car. Friends would constantly ask:
- “What’s up with your brother’s car?”
- “What’s Eric going to do with it?”
- “How long is it going to sit there?”
- “Does he want to sell it? I’ll buy it.”
- “Can I buy the K20?”
It got really annoying. I’d end up getting snappy and just say, “I don’t know. It doesn’t matter—he’s not going to sell it.”
Now I know what a lot of you are probably thinking:
“Why doesn’t he just buy another trans? I see them all day for $400–$800.”
And yeah, you do see them going for that price. But those aren’t Type R transmissions. They’re five-speed ones or junk Si ones. Why would we spend all this time and money building such a solid car just to throw a crappy transmission in it?
Sure, it would allow him to drive the car again, but it would be a sin to pair such a solid motor with a junk trans.
You can’t even find a good DC5 Type R transmission for under $1,500—and even then, you don’t know the history of it. So I told him: if we’re going to go through the trouble of taking the transmission out, we might as well do it right and have it rebuilt.
The only place I trusted to rebuild it was Ghostwerks. And I told Eric, “You’re going to need at least $2,000 saved up before we even think about pulling the trans out.” I didn’t know the exact cost, but I guesstimated on the higher end just to make sure we didn’t waste Ghostwerks’ time.
And that is why the car sat for so long.
It’s not easy for someone to save up $2,000. And as time went on, even I started thinking maybe it would be best for him to just sell the car and move on with life. I brought it up a few times.
But Eric stood his ground. He was adamant—he wasn’t selling it.
The day before Thanksgiving, I got a call from Eric telling me to pull the tranny out—he finally had enough money. He said he was going to drive from his place in Missouri to California, making a pit stop here to pick up the transmission (and to see me, of course), before heading out to see our family and drop the tranny off.
Over the next three days, I called him once a day—just to make sure he really had the money and was actually going to take it in to get rebuilt. (I didn’t want a whole swap sitting on the garage floor taking up space if he changed his mind again.)
Each time I asked, he said, “Yes.”
“For sure?” I’d ask.
“For sure,” he’d say.
You can’t blame me for being a little skeptical—after all, the car had been sitting for almost two years. It was starting to take root in my garage.
But sure enough, I pulled the tranny. He came, grabbed it, and now—as we speak—he’s dropping it off at Ghostwerks in Ontario, California.
Here are some pictures of the removal and some pictures of the engine bay after I cleaned it up a little. Of course, there is still more to clean, but this isn’t a sprint; I imagine the car not being all the way put back together and driving until after the new year.
please feel free to comment, ask questions, or dm me on instagram
Comments are closed.