 I looked at Earl and his eyes was wide. His lip was curled and his leg was fried. His hands was froze to the wheel like a tongue to a sled in the middle of a blizzard. I says, Earl, I'm not the type to complain, but the time has come for me to explain that if you don't fly some brakes real soon, they're going to have to pick us up with a stick and a spoon. Well, Earl reared back, cocked his leg, stepped down as hard as he could on the brake, and the pedal went clean to the floor. And it stayed right there on the floor. He says, it's sort of like stepping on a plum.