You may or may not have heard of the old TatsVan. She was a trusty wagon, fit for hauling adventurers of any capacity. Her time was spent on the open road, in search of nasty road conditions, with which she proved her mettle time and time again. The dings and dents, scratches and rust – she always took a beating with such grace – nothing could mask her innate ability to make friends and keep her seats filled with travelers of the ski and raft bum kind.
Many stories were told from her passenger seat, in exchange for speeding along on yet another open-road, life-altering experience. Her final days were spent in the famed Tetons, where not even a blizzard could keep her from climbing the increasingly dangerous Teton Pass to deliver some powder-hungry ski fiends to their billowy fix over in Jackson Hole. Ahhh, the TatsVan, it was only a -19 degrees Fahrenheit day, sunny with not a cloud to block the sun’s withering rays, and you found yourself with nary an inch of give’r to last the trip to Utah. Overheating in the most ironically cold of days, we parted ways, me leaving you behind to last out the blistering night. A close friend’s couch would play host to my stranded figure, as I lay contemplating my situation and the potential end of the good ‘ol TatsVan. And there, it came to me, a thought that has eluded many in times of wear, “Let’s celebrate her end by sending her out with a bang!”
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