Turn One at Honda’s Mojave Desert proving grounds is a fast, left-hand 150-degree sweeper taken in fourth gear. With no obvious reference points in the featureless desert, I reel the Civic Si tester into the apex somewhere beyond my A-pillar, my right foot squeezing the gas as I dance on the edge of adhesion so I can slingshot off exit and into Turn 2 — a fast right-hander. Downshift to third. Search for another distant apex, then hard on the throttle over a blind crest. Fourth gear. Stand on the binders into a downhill, third-gear left-hander.

This high-speed roller coaster goes on for two miles, and as I learn it I never question the car. It’s an extension of my hands, a predictable tool carving unknown terrain.

The Honda Civic Si is back on my shopping list. But do I want it more than the Civic Hatchback Sport or Type R?

Truth be known, I covet them all. It’s a fine quandary Tokyo’s automaker has put us motorheads in. To which of the hot Civic triplets do we propose?

We knew this was coming. Two years ago, Honda debuted an all-new 2016 Civic compact — a wider, lower, Nurburgring-tested, Audi A3-baselined statement that screamed at the top of its lungs: CIVIC IS BACK! The passionate cry was heard by Honda-philes like yours truly who had drifted from the brand over the last decade as it pursued sales volumes and the growing SUV market.

My 2006 Civic Si is one of the best vehicles I’ve ever owned. My sons learned to race in it at Waterford Hills. An all-around all-star, my front-wheel-drive coupe was a snowmobile through Michigan winters, and an apex-carving pocket rocket when the temperatures warmed.

It’s the last Civic that interested me. Until now.

The base car’s athletic new bones were a clear statement that there was much more sinew to come. The standard Civic was statement enough, taking back the compact segment’s crown with best interior volume, biggest back seat, best base horsepower, best fuel economy, first-to-market smartphone apps, and a partridge in a pear tree. It won 2016 North American Car of the Year by a landslide.

Honda was just getting warmed up. Its performance lineup of Sport, Si and Type R is unprecedented in the segment. Ford’s terrific trio — meet sexy Fiesta ST, Focus ST and Focus RS — play across two model lines. As does VW’s Teutonic triad of the Jetta GLI sedan, Golf GTI and Golf R sisters. But only Honda brings three cars of the same model. They’re a triple threat aimed to satisfy gearheads on a budget.

The threesome’s heart and soul is the Si, Honda’s longtime fun badge.

My 2006 car was the howl heard round the world. One of only four cars at the time to milk 100 horsepower-per-liter, the 201-horsepower, 2.0-liter, V-Tec four-banger was a bullet-shaped, cab-forward Rottweiler. At 6,000 rpms, the meat of the peaky torque band, the dual exhaust would release an unholy howl. It was addictive.

Huge Lambo-like front corner air scoops dominate a face smeared with a menacing, black grille. But the air scoops are fake — an ornament since the mere 1.5-liter turbocharged engine under the hood doesn’t need to inhale like a Huracan.

But it sure tries. This miniature gem acts like a motor with twice its displacement boasting remarkable low-end torque that pulls all through the rev band to a 6,500-rpm redline. There’s none of the drama of my old four — but then you probably wouldn’t hear it anyway — so hushed is the Civic interior (even above 100 mph).

The Si comes loaded with Android Auto/Apple CarPlay, sunroof, limited-slip differential, 18-inch wheels — everything but leather and safety-assist systems — at a very tempting $24,600. That’s $1,500 cheaper than a stripped, base GTI. And ALG.com reports the last-generation Si residual value is 15 percent better residual value than the Golf. That’s real money to compact cars’ youthful demographic.

For 2017, Honda even gives the traditional coupe Si a sedan option. Same price. A mere 17 pounds heavier. What Si doesn’t offer, however, is a hatchback. But don’t fret, my hot-hatch brothers, Civic has two new models for you.

At just $23,100, the five-door, 2017 Sport offers a surprisingly roomy hatch (don’t be fooled by the coupe roofline) including a clever luggage-hider that pulls across the rear like a blanket (you’ll never want to go back to the old rail style). The cheaper Coupe lacks only the Si’s infotainment system, limited-slip differential and 25 horsepower — but so good is the blown 1.5-liter that you may not notice.

What you will notice is the 2018 Type R’s 306 horse, 2.0-liter furnace.

The triplet’s official bad seed, the R is a no-holds-barred, tattooed, winged bat out of hell. Limited to Europe for the last three generations, Honda is finally introducing it to polite company in the USA. It, um, makes an impression.

I took it to road and track and held onto its leash for dear life. The baddest-looking beast this side of a Subaru WRX STI, the Type R is remarkably well-trained under stress. Strapped down with more tire, more suspension, more torque-vectoring and 40 percent more chassis-stiffening than the Si, engineers have put 306 horses through two front wheels with minimal torque steer.

Competitors like Ford’s RS and Golf’s R use all-wheel drive to manage that kind of juice. Not R. Without the extra equipment, Honda’s Hellboy comes in at 3,117 pounds — more than 350 pounds lighter than the RS. And a whopping $6,000 less to boot.

That’s a lot to process, I know. A day with the Civic triplets will exhaust you. But the great thing is that each is such a cheap date.

Just try and choose one.

Henry Payne is auto critic for The Detroit News. Find him at hpayne@detroitnews.com or Twitter @HenryEPayne.

2017 Honda Civic Hatchback Sport

Report card

Overall:★★★★

Fielding an IndyCar for the season costs about $6 million. If that sounds too rich, Mazda has a deal for you.

For $58,900 you can go racing in a race-prepared Mazda MX-5 Miata Cup car.

The Cup car is based on Mazda’s adorable little $25,790 MX-5 Miata production sports car, now in its fourth generation. Since its inception in 1989, the Miata has anchored Mazda’s sporty brand, sold more than a million cars and introduced thousands of motorheads young and old to motorsports.

With the more expensive Cup toy, Mazda is most interested in that latter stat as it sucks new recruits into the racing wars. Master the entry-level MX-5 Cup series and Mazda will give you a seat in a Formula F2000 car. Continued success will take you further up the racing ladder to Indy Lights Mazda racer where graduates go on to pro racing jobs like driving Mazdas’a RT24-P Daytona Prototype that carved up Belle Isle this June.

Or you can keep your day job and be a weekend Miata jockey in some of the most entertaining racing on the planet.

Your entree is a stripped MX-5 modified for racing by Long Road Racing. The North Carolina race shop takes a fresh Miata, filets it, strips it of all interior comforts and sound-deadening materials — then bolts in a roll cage and racing seats. Add racing slicks and shocks, bake in 15 more horsepower from engine tuning and — voila! — Cup racer.

The production Miata is already the tightest squeeze of any production car on the market. The Cup model was doubly tight for your 6-foot-5 scribe. Screw me in and before I even turn the key I’m stuffing the easy-stow ragtop in the boot. Otherwise, my head is in the roof.

The Cup car may have jettisoned the soft top, but in its place is a full roll cage that could keep great white sharks at bay. I enter through a small side cage opening that is then immediately sewn up with a window net.

Knees in my teeth, helmet wedged under the cage, elbows in net, I then put on the steering wheel — removable so that I could get my size 15 flippers down the wheel well in the first place. And I thought my wee Porsche 906 was a tight fit.

Mazda could market the MX-5 Cup as a cure for claustrophobia. There’s no better place to be.

At M1 Concourse in Pontiac, the Cup is immediately familiar as a Miata on steroids. Fling the rear-wheel driver through corners, then mash the throttle on exit. Too much throttle? No problem. The short wheelbase car is predictable, easy to correct at full slide. The sport exhaust howls, but the 15 extra ponies are barely noticeable in the small-displacement, 2.0-liter mill.

More noticeable are the BF Goodrich slicks which gives the minnow a much bigger handling envelope that the street car. Rotate the Miata into fast Turn 7 at the end of the back straight and the slicks bite, creating more confidence with each lap as I danced on the limit.

It’s what makes the Miata such a perfect entry-level race car and the most raced sports car on the planet. That confidence also allows Mazda Cup cars to race just inches from one another in Cup racing, where drivers are separated by tenths of a second and drafting is essential.

Cup grad Tristan Nunez, who piloted the Mazda prototype to third place at Belle Isle the following weekend, gave me a taste of this kind of racing (stuffed in the passenger seat, I had even less room than the driver’s side) with three of his peers around M1. Playfully, they tucked behind one another, drafting down the straight, popping out for a pass under braking. Fun, fun, fun.

In real Cup racing, however, the gaps would be narrower, passes made under more duress. The lead pack is often an eight-car train. That means a lot of fender rubbing. So add a couple thousand dollars a weekend for repairs and new rubber to that $60,000 investment. Serious drivers will want to turn their car over to a racing shop — Long Road will do — to make sure you ring every tenth out of your car on race day.

If that sounds like too much coin, then Mazda still has a deal for you: Just go to www.MazdaMotorsports.com and buy parts — roll cage, limited-slip, brakes — to transform your own production MX-5. So you can commute to work then terrorize M1 (or Gingerman or Grattan or an autocross parking lot) on weekends.

Racing is a drug. And the Miata is your gateway.

Henry Payne is auto critic for The Detroit News. Find him at hpayne@detroitnews.com or Twitter @HenryEPayne.

2017 Mazda MX-5 Miata Cup race car

Vehicle type: Front-engine, rear-wheel-drive, two-passenger sports car

Price: $58,900

Power plant: 2-liter, dual overhead-cam 4-cylinder

Power: 170 horsepower

Transmission: Six-speed manual

Performance: 0-60 mph, NA

Weight: 2,230 pounds (about 100 lbs. lighter than production MX-5)

Fuel economy: NA

Report card

Highs: Sticky BF Goodrich slicks; 15 more horses

Lows: Tight fit for six-footers; seriously addictive

Overall:★★★★

The Woodward stoplight turns green. I floor the brake pedal with my left foot. Then I floor the accelerator pedal with the right and the tachometer needle flicks quickly to 1,500 rpms. I drop the brake and the three-row Acura MDX Sport Hybrid rockets forward. My right hand flicks off quick, dual-clutch shifts on the steering-wheel paddle like an NSX supercar.

A sport ute with launch control? No (the above procedure is a standard, electronic “rev-cutoff” feature on most modern cars). But I understand if you start exploding out of stoplights. The battery-assisted MDX is a three-row dragster.

When Honda’s luxury brand birthed its second-generation NSX supercar at the Detroit auto show two years ago, some NSX purists moaned. Gone was the raw first-generation Ayton Senna-inspired budget supercar; it had been replaced by a complicated, 3,800-pound $160,000 hybrid robot. The peanut gallery complained the NSX was too exotic to inform a brand whose costliest RLX sedan tops out at $66,000.

But as the concept sunk in, the engineers saw a method to Hachigo-san’s madness.

Honda was determined to make exotic hybrid technology applicable to its affordable luxury brand. The ferocious 573-horsepower, all-wheel drive mid-engine NSX supercar showed off hybrid performance for one-10th the price of a Porsche 918. Next step was to bottle the formula and feed it to every newborn sedan and SUV in the lineup.

The MDX Sport Hybrid is the first application. And, by gum, it works.

The idea of translating sports-car halos to SUVs is nothing new, of course. Porsche’s racing spirit breathes in every Cayenne and Macan it makes. And inside every Mazda CX-9 SUV is a playful MX-5 Miata busting to get out.

But the big, three-row MDX is probably the most ambitious application of halo-to-family vehicle that I’ve experienced. After all, a two-row Cayenne — for all its capabilities — isn’t stuffed with the 911’s flat-six turbo. And neither is a CX-9 a drop-top roadster. The MDX Sport, however, rips the whole torque-vectoring electric-motor concept out of the rear-wheel-drive NSX platform and adapts it to the MDX’s front-wheel-drive platform. Now that’s gutsy.

Intoxicated with NSX DNA, the MDX rhino thinks it’s a ballerina.

I threw the big ute around Metro Detroit country roads with abandon. The non-hybrid NSX is already a decent athlete with rooted steering and mechanical torque-vectoring AWD adapted from the TLX sedan. The Sport Hybrid takes this to another level by throwing in adaptive dampers and twin electric motors in the rear to spin up the outside wheel for better rotation of the rhino’s 4,484-pound mass.

With the motors doing the work in the rear there is no need for a driveshaft connecting engine to aft axle, so Acura has cleverly stored all the hybrid hardware in the basement. That makes for a center of gravity that’s an inch lower for the Sport Hybrid.

I toggle the Drive mode to Sport Plus (yes, a three-row SUV with Sport Plus mode) — just like in the NSX — so that the 3-liter engine and 1.6 kWh are at maximum effort. Sport Plus also opens a guttural roar from the exhaust pipes so that the kids in the third row (if I still had tykes small enough to fit in the third row) get the full entertainment experience as I bear down on a poor, unsuspecting Mercedes driver in front of me. Rhino Sport Hybrid comin’ through!

This, in my opinion, is how hybrids should be: fuel sippers running on battery one minute, deranged electron-torqued animals the next. Why must e-cars be limited to tree-huggers? Didn’t the NSX show us that hybrid drivers can have it all?

Did I mention that the MDX Sport Hybrid gains not only 31 more horsepower than the non-hybrid MDX but 45 percent better fuel economy? It’s like low-cal chocolate mousse. Or diet Haagen-Dazs.

All this goodness comes for just $1,500 more than the MDX non-hybrid. Acura predicts the Sport Hybrid will only make up 5 percent of sales but for that kind of bargain, why not 95 percent?

Acura’s bet on battery technology puts it in rare air with other stylish three-rows like the (imminent) Audi SQ7 and Volvo XC90 that also offer advanced drivetrains but for much more coin. The Audi, expected to start at over $70,000, sports a supercharged twin-turbo diesel V-8 pushing out 435 horsepower while the Volvo’s supercharged turbo 4-banger can reach an eye-watering $105,000.

But while my loaded, $57,475 MDX will go toe-to-toe with these athletes in the ring, style has never been Acura’s forte. So Acura cooked up another halo car, the Precision Concept — unveiled at the 2016 Detroit Show — to craft a wardrobe fitting for the brand’s new swagger.

The most notable feature of the concept was its so-called “diamond pentagon” grille and the MDX Sport Hybrid is the first Acura to wear it. It’s a welcome change from the family’s previous mug which was variously panned as a parrot’s beak, bucktooth, or bottle-opener. But the real problem with the chrome beak was it looked too much like the chrome nose on sister Honda; it compromised the Acura’s claim to be the family’s luxury looker.

Covered with diamonds and jewels (Acura’s signature 10-LED “jewel-eye” headlamps), the front end is a virtual prom queen. The pentagon grille’s detail resembles Mercedes’ “diamond-block” grille and draws you into the car.

The same can’t be said for the Acura’s infotainment system, alas. The confusing, twin-screen system carries over in the MDX with a touchscreen below and a button-controlled navigation screen above (or is it the reverse?). Otherwise the interior design is pleasant if unremarkable.

What is remarkable — as with the Honda Pilot SUV with which the MDX shares a platform — is the family-friendly storage and seats. The configurable central console can swallow a large purse while the one-touch button second row seats make for easy, third-row access for the kids.

Maybe most remarkable about this state-of-the-art hybrid is that Acura doesn’t trumpet its hybrid-ness. But for a blue badge on the front quarter panel and the wee battery gauge on the instrument panel, the MDX modestly absorbs its high-tech geegaws.

Its performance is anything but modest. There’s an NSX inside waiting to get out … as that sports sedan gasping in my dust at that Woodward stoplight can attest.

Henry Payne is auto critic for The Detroit News. Find him at hpayne@detroitnews.com or Twitter @HenryEPayne.

2017 Acura MDX Sport Hybrid

Report card

Overall:★★★

To Hell with Green. Hell, Michigan that is.

When a 200-mile-plus range, 60 kWh Chevy Bolt tester arrived in my driveway one Friday, my thoughts immediately turned to Hell’s twisty, driver’s roads. And local autocross clubs. And Woodward stoplight drag-races.

Forget your tree-hugging, lane-clogging hybrids. Big battery EVs are here, and as the Tesla Model S and Bolt EV prove, electrics are about much more than going gas-free — they are a hoot to drive.

They had better be. They ain’t cheap. Teslas are luxury goods, and my compact Bolt hatch’s $43,510 price tag puts it north of five-door toys like the VW Golf R and Ford Focus RS. No wonder GM assigned SCCA-racer, ex-NASCAR-crew Josh Tavel as its chief engineer.

I love the Bolt’s handling and drivetrain dynamics, and I was determined to drive the stuffing out of it like any other pocket rocket. Dour greens advertise electrics as a ticket to sainthood. I say EVs are a gateway drug to devilish fun.

With a 238-mile range, Bolt can reach just about anything I want in southeast Michigan. First on the menu: A Sunday afternoon autocross at Oakland University organized by the fun-loving folks at the Detroit Alfa Romeo Club.

Payne, have you gone mad? Autocross an EV?

I’ll admit, I got some curious looks as I pulled into the Oakland paddock. Tight, pylon-marked, parking-lot autocrossing is the domain of nimble predators like the Mazda Miata, Porsche Cayman and Pontiac Solstice. High-horsepower Corvette C7s or Dodge Challengers are out of their element here — like deploying the USS Nimitz in Walnut Lake.

It’s also home turf for hot hatches: VW Golf, Ford Fiesta/Focus ST, Honda Civic Si. The battery-laden, 3,580-pound Bolt appears a linebacker compared to these sub-3,000-pound sprinters — but the Chevy’s batteries are in the floor, making for a low center of gravity. Add instant torque and single-speed transmission, and the Bolt actually has inherent advantages over much of its competition.

In fact, Chevy’s sister Volt plug-in has been an autocross pioneer, showing respectable results in SCCA H Stock class. My biggest fear was tires.

Where my competitors would bring performance rubber to this knife-fight, my Bolt wears stock, 215/50/17, low-roll resistant Michelins. Maximized for fuel economy, they shrieked under duress in my California hills test last year.

My attempt to swap out the Bolt bagels for stickier Sumitomo performance rubber off my Civic Si was fruitless (holes don’t match), so the stock rubber it was. No matter. My 32-second times were very competitive in H Stock. With stickier tires I would have been breathing down some Ford ST necks.

Didn’t I tell you big-battery EVs were hot rods?

Torquey off the line, the Bolt stayed remarkably flat under G-forces. It pushed through slow corners, natch — but not as bad as an Alfa Giulia 2.0 Ti the factory brought for test runs. How good was the Bolt? My best time in the Giulia was only half-a-second quicker.

My four autocross runs sucked electrons. Each quarter-mile lap drank 3 miles of range. But with 200 miles on tap, that still left me plenty of juice to go drag racing on Woodward.

The beauty of Bolt is it’s also fun to drive slow. Select LOW gear and the electric motor goes into full battery-regen mode, braking every time I lifted off the gas (er, electron?). I coasted to a stop at lights without ever touching the brake pedal.

I watched my miles increase on the odometer’s range predictor. Try that in a gasmobile.

A good day of bad behavior under my belt, I retreated home with 148 miles of juice left. Metropolitan range anxiety may not be an issue, but recharging is.

I habitually plugged in whenever I returned home, but the payoff on a standard, 110-watt outlet is meek. Just 4 miles of range per hour took me 13 hours to get back the 52 miles I burned Sunday. A Level 2, 240-volt charger is preferred, but that will add another $2,500 to your bill.

My Monday trip to Hell (navigated via Google Maps thanks to Bolt’s Android Auto app) would be planned around an EVGo Level 3 DC-charging station — of which there are disappointingly few in the Detroit area. Also disappointing is the cost — a whopping $10.55 for each half hour of charge good for 40 miles. With $3-a-gallon premium petrol, the 25-mpg Golf R is a bargain by comparison.

I plugged in with 137 miles of range remaining, ate dinner across the street at the Macaroni Grill (love the fried cheese, folks) and was on my way to Hell at 7 p.m. with insurance miles depending on how much playtime I’d get.

I got plenty thanks to a frisky Audi TT sports car.

Sinister in black with black wheels, the 220-horse Audi (same engine as the hot hatch GTI) took the bait when I locked on his rear bumper.

I shifted from LOW to DRIVE and we both floored it down fabulous Hankerd Road. The thing about electrics is they GO RIGHT NOW. The Bolt stuck to the TT as we hit (censored to avoid self-incrimination) mph. Just at the speed where the gas engine would pull away, we hit a series of curves which the Bolt EV handled with aplomb, its low center of gravity hugging the crests like peanut butter on a banana.

The Audi never shook its Chevy shadow. My EV hatch was hot enough for Hell.

I reflected on the Bolt’s pros and cons on my fast trip home along the I-696 race track. Traveling at 80 mph didn’t degrade the battery, answering my lingering range anxiety questions even as the odometer dipped below 100 miles. The monostable shifter, while fashionable, is a mixed bag. It’s an easy toggle from LOW back to DRIVE (when I see, say, an eager Audi), but unpredictable when shifting to reverse out of a driveway. And GM missed an opportunity to badge the Bolt as a Cadillac. The pentastar beak would have lifted the car and brand — not to mention its styling.

Still, as I plugged in for another loooong night on the electron teat, my verdict was overwhelming: The Bolt EV deserves a place alongside other hot hatches. It’s quick. It’s got utility. And while it doesn’t have a stick, its LOW drive mode is plenty engaging.

Now, if I can just find some serious autocross tires …

Henry Payne is auto critic for The Detroit News. Find him at hpayne@detroitnews.com or Twitter @HenryEPayne.

2017 Chevrolet Bolt EV

Report card

Overall: ★★★★