I have such fond memories of taking weekend drives into the Poconos as a kid. One memorable adventure had mom collecting ricks for a rock garden, so we would stop along mountain passes where debris would collect from falling rocks. Mom spotted her "centerpiece" a small boulder. So dad starts picking off some surrounding rock so he could get at the base, using a tire Iron as a lever. Then all hell brakes lose. You see my Pop, for all his size and bluster (bulletproof and badass cop) snakes were his kryptonite. He had disturbed a pine rattler and ended up on the other side of the road. We don't recall seeing his feet ever touching the ground. Mom, an old farm girl goes over and shoo's the snake away. Classic. It was a silent ride home with the hunk of rock in the back. Dad still hates that rock too.