You may have noticed this vehicle is not a motorcycle. But in the very first post on this site, I alluded to its existence and to more details that would follow. Well, I think you're finally ready for the scoop. Behold my 1989 Dodge Caravan — Turbo. So intense was my love-hate relationship with it that eventually I had to walk away from "fast" altogether. But the feeling has passed, and I'm just about ready to release this disturbed grocery-getter back into society.

Five years ago, the birth of my daughter Audrey came with but one downside — I would have to forfeit my thoroughly modified MINI COOPER S for something bigger and more practical. Now, with three kids, the possibility of the "M" word, was very real. My brain and soul did battle until I came up with the perfect solution. Yes, I would buy a minivan. But it would be on my terms.

I bought a beater turbo van locally, and immediately contacted Chrysler Turbo guru Mike De Moss at Forward Motion in Wilmington, Delaware. After some quick education on the massive horsepower potential of the Chrysler Turbo four banger, we got started. Mike built an impressive longblock with all the good stuff — complete with a serious cam and forged pistons — and gathered all the stuff I'd need to install it back in Richmond. Intercooler, blow-off valve, boost controller, a full set of Autometer gauges, intake, adjustable cam sprocket, urethane motor mounts, 3-inch exhaust and even a set of light wheels with drag radials mounted — I spared no expense to outrun an awful domestic vehicular fate.

Before long, my daily driver was the ultimate sleeper. It was stupid fast. I did burnouts. I took it to the drag strip. I hauled mulch and kids and whatnot. I was a regular at the dyno. But despite the advice of Mr. De Moss to monitor the air/fuel ratio religiously, to take baby steps when increasing boost, to just not do anything dumb — I blew it up. Twice. I fixed it twice. I trailered the van to Delaware for Mike's help on a regular basis. Then my transmission failed. Twice. I knew it was something I did, I just didn't know what.

Eventually, I realized I could not be trusted with such a ridiculously fun vehicle. With white smoke pouring from the tailpipe as my third dyno run ended, I had reached my breaking point and parked it.

But that was years ago. Time heals all wounds. People change. Sleepers awake...