It was on a night just like this, when the screaming wind kicked up the sand and turned it into a blinding, stinging maelstrom and the coyote's howls took on a note that would turn a brave man's bladder into jelly, that Big Bertha came rolling. Spit out of Hell like a sin-encrusted loogie, Bertha hunted the highways of the desert in search of the negligent hitchhiker who had brought her so low, even though that poor soul had met her end on the same night the big rig plummeted off Dead Man's Ridge all those years ago. With revenge an impossibility, Bertha took out her eternal anger on the hapless and unwary, the foolish and unlucky.
But on this night, a night when dread sailed on the grit-choked wind and malice stained the moonlit black top, Bertha shot out of the abyss with another goal in mind. Tonight the hitchhikers and vagrants were safe. There would be no demon wails of death or spectral infernos of rage. No station wagons would be driven off the road and into Mammon's grasping claws on this accursed eve. Tonight, the old eighteen wheeler from Hell had a different purpose.
Tonight, Big Bertha came a'rolling for love.