I was riding home in a fiddler friend's car from an Irish session. We were driving along when someone else from the session sped up along side of us and began shouting something. We had no idea what he meant. He suddenly drove ahead of us and stopped his car. We stopped, waited to see what he was going to tell us, and watched as he came over and reached for something on the roof of my friend's car. It was my friend's fiddle. How it stayed on the roof without sliding off, we don't know.