Tyson felt the frosty wind flow through his grill and opened his headlights. He knew that according to the snow under his michelins, he had hit Colorado Another trip, and once again towed behind big Bertha's smelly backside. Every backfire allowed Tyson to smell Bertha's cheap oil changes and rancid maverick gasoline. He knew there had been talk about him leaving, but he didn't know why. He had always been reliable, and to him it seemed they hadn't even really ran him. They had just hitched him up and there he stayed. A prisoner of the open road, how is that even possible Tyson thought. He had seen so much of the road yet so little. His tires were worn and he was old now, but he was still as fit as the Hardbodys and Tacomas. His brakes were still new, and so was his heart. The day came, and Tyson's title was signed over on his hood. Tyson wasn't sure what to think when the new man entered his cabin. All he knew was that the warm buns on his seat made him tingle, and when the man slowly inserted the key chills went up his drive shaft. Tyson exited the driveway and he knew what he had to do, He chirped his tires a little kicking rocks and debris on big Bertha's fat ass as he left under his own power..... The world now his to explore, Tyson loves to ride. He has seen the highway for far too many miles, and always would rather take a back road or trail. He wants to die being ran hard on country roads and mountain curves; and he never wants to see the backside of a Winnebago again!