My brother was dropping me off at the dealership where my car was having some recalls serviced. There’s a long (like half mile) hill near me that’s at 10-15% grade. Nobody ahead of us, and as we approach the hill, he drops from 5 to 3. “Oh, he’s just engine braking,” I think to myself. I was naive. He nails it. Keep in mind we’re going down a somewhat windy road with a posted limit of 35, which most cars fail to reach while ascending. I didn’t look at his speedo out of fear and knowledge that it no longer functioned (this was a 16 ish year old 235k mile rustbucket), but I would guess we were going maybe 60 at the bottom of the hill, where there is a major crown and a railroad crossing. We hit the crown. I hear the front suspension bottom out, feel us flying for what was probably a half a second but felt like a minute, and braced for the landing. Thunk. We bottom out again, he cranks the wheel, we clear the traffic circle, he cackles maniacally, and we blast down the road to the dealer. I take the highway back, he takes the surface road route back home. He beats me home.