They reminded me of the time I went night-time jackrabbit hunting with some other guys, on a Montana ranch where I'd worked for a while a couple years earlier. We were all in our late teens and early 20s, cruising in two pickups exactly the way you describe, with two guys standing behind the cabs, ready to shoot.
We were in the hayfields along the "crick" (Montana pronunciation) that ran close to the ranch house. I was in the second pickup, and all of sudden the light from the headlights of the first pickup disappeared--but we could still see the tail-lights, though much higher than they usually were.
It turned out one of the old ranch horses had died, and the rancher's father had used a backhoe to dig a grave in the field. But he hadn't gotten around to dragging the horse into it the hole before dark, so the front pickup was angled at about a 45-degree angle into the hole. Luckily, it "dove" in slowly, and only one the headlights needed to be replaced....
“Montana seems to me to be what a small boy would think Texas is like from hearing Texans.” John Steinbeck
