Ethel & her husband, George, were born and raised their early childhoods in western Montana. Upon their final and mutual retirement in their late 60s they celebrated by going to Glacier & surrounding locations to see how much had changed since their last trip "home". On the way out of Glacier, George elected Ethel to drive their Toyota Cressida. On a whim they broke off of a spur outside the park on the way back to Helena, wandering up a logging road that switchbacked to a small outlook. Montana logging roads at that time were like Oregon, Washington, Idaho, Colorado, etc. logging roads. They're closer associated to goat paths that may parallel the side of a brush cut but not guaranteed. The spur of logging trail was about 8 miles.
This was switchbacked roadway, eroded in sections with chunks of metomorphic rocks pretty well imbedded. George pretty much was kissing clear cut should he have put his lips to the window for most of it. The other side was a sheer drop off. Halfway up they heard the sound of a logging truck coming down. After about a minute, the logging truck swings into view. The log truck driver waves at them and pulls his horn.
"Look, George, isn't he friendly," as she pulls up into the mountain-side, continuing on the same speed. She waves back at him, smiling beeping her horn. George waves back, too.
She rolls down her window & flags him to keep coming since she's pulling over. The log truck driver waves back at her again more aggressively. Ethel puts it into gear & goes forward towards him.
She's smiling, remembering how "nice" it is to be among country again. "George, what's that driver saying?"
George's busy eyeing the roadway and calculating the distance the Toyota should be crawling up the side mountain for this to work.
"George, I think he's asking me to pull over back into the roadway. What a sweetheart." She inches the car back over to the road. The log truck is now about 25 feet from them, cruising down. George has noticed its fully loaded with timber, second generation old growth. The driver is waving hard & still shouting.
"George, he is saying that still. If I go over even further he won't have anything but air on that side," Ethel fussed. She waved back shouting, "Its ok, I'm fine! Thank you!"
"You crazy broad, get out the ditch! He is so kind to think of us. Isn't he, George?" asked Ethel.
About this point, the log truck slides by scaping the side of the Toyota's mirrors w/ the logs. Ethel's still hearing, "Get out of the ditch!" being screamed by the driver as he passes by.
She pulls over to the middle of the road after the truck passes perplexed as all get-out why a truck driver would be so concerned about them being in a ditch. She continues driving mulling that over in her mind. George, quiet through passing, speaks, "Ethel. Do you see those black marks over the stones up in front?"
"Yes, honey."
"That's from rubber"
"Tsk, that's some sort of basalt," shaking her head and sliding him a look. "Don't you be having me on, I grew up here, too. Smartypants."
George counted stumps out his windown until the next switchback. "Ethel, do you really think that driver was that friendly?"
"I don't know, he seemed with the waving at us & shouting at me to get out of the ditch. But he did scrap our mirror."
George takes a deep breath, rubs his eyes a bit. He turns sideways in the passenger seat. "Ethel, you have got the most inde-damn-pendent, stubborn mind I know. That guy wasn't screaming 'get outta the ditch'. He was screaming 'you son-of-a-bitch'. Honey, he slammed his brakes when he saw us, he didn't have an option of stopping."
"No!" "Yes, Ethel," sighed George.
"Well, I'll be," she laughed. "Do you suppose he has dry pants?"
"I know almost didn't," quipped George.
She stayed laughing the rest of the road trip.
Unfortunately, this is a true story concerning my grandparents. We never wondered why my grandfather had a drink with dinner. 
Enjoy your day! 
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