 Me and Earl was hauling chickens on the flatbed out of Wiggins, and we'd spent all night on the uphill side of 37 miles of hell called Wolf Creek Pass, which is up on the Great Divide. We was sitting there sucking toothpicks and drinking knee-highs and onion soup mix. I says, Earl, let's mail a card to Mother and send them chickens on down to the side. Yeah, let's give them hens a ride. Wolf Creek Pass, way up on the Great Divide. It's working okay.