About a thousand years ago I was carting hay during a summer when me and my mate Pook were coming back into town with a load on the back of an old Comma. Now if you're old enough to know what a Comma truck is you'll know what a beast of a truck they were to control. Crash gear box meant you had to double clutch going up and down, no power steering meant you had to drive with at least one foot on the dash to turn it. You didn't need to smoke as the fumes in the cabin were like a Winnie Red and braking was optional.
We were about 5 ks from town on a down hill so I put her into angel gear (neutral), straddled the holes in the floor and hung on. She got to about 80 ks (I think no speedo), which in a Comma is damn near terminal speed when BOOM, the right side front tyre blew, spun the steering wheel out of my hands and drove us across the road into the path of a semi coming the other way.
It's a bit of a blur, but what I remember is grabbing the steering wheel and going with the turn as I figured there was no way I was straightening her up in time so I let her go. We crossed the road, over the embankment at about 45 degrees and over she went. She landed on her side, skidded to a halt and the cabin ended up buried in hay bails. I remember looking up and saw no Pook. As I was digging my way out I could hear Pook yelling at me and I thought how the fark did he get out? I get's out and there was Pook and the semi driver laughing his arse off.
Here is the story from his perspective. Driving along, a old shit heap swerves in front him so he hits the skids and while looking sees the passenger open the door and jump out of the truck, land and watch as it launches over the embankment. The Comma was a right off before some kids torched the load and the truck, but Pook and I got the sack.