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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