She took the corner too fast, and it was definitely not much of a road. She drifted it through the corner on the gravel, with one hell of a drop at our left, and then there was a big rockslide where the road should have been. She stomped hard and the drift turned into a rough sideways skid, and I hunched low, expecting the white Alpine to trip and roll. But we skidded all the way to the rock and stopped with inches to spare and a great big three feet between the rear end and the drop-off. The skid had killed the engine.
-John D. MacDonald, A Purple Place For Dying