Thanks, tsuwm. In return...
A man we shall call A. Truck Driver decided to enter the contest he'd recently heard about. All the contestants had to do was to up and drive their big rigs from Monkey's Eyebrow, through and around Pikeville, and back. Pikeville (or Packvul, as it's known to the locals), for you uninitiated, doesn't have one square inch of flat land, plus it's got a passel of narrow streets, one lane bridges, and such like, so this contest wasn't as easy as it might sound. First prize was a bottle of the best moonshine around. Second prize was the shoat that had taken the blue ribbon at the county fair; and third prize was a half-grown rooster, offspring of the champeen fightin' cock, Big Henry's Lasher. There were checkpoints along the route, to make sure the drivers weren't speeding. Other than that, they could use whatever wiles they could think of to try and beat each other to the narrow places. Now, old A. Truck was from way up a holler in the mountains of eastern Kentucky, and he was long used to driving a coal truck through the area. He was the sure-fire winner, he figured, and wasn't shy about lettin' other folks know it. Finally his wife, thinking he might be in for a disappointment, said, "A. Truck, what if you don't get there the quickest? What if you're only second or third?" And he said, "Naw, Bobbie Jean--I'm gonna win the jug, or naught".