Reminds me of the time I was heading home from work. It was dusk and there was a very significant and fast hill. This was in the US, a place where bugs are very, very fond of gathering to party on down during the crepuscular hours. So down the hill I swooped. For reasons best known to the poorly charted areas of my brain, about half way down the hill I yawned. The thing about yawning is that once you start you can't just change your mind and stop. You are committed, even if this does mean you do an impression of a rocket-powered baleen whale. An experience categorized under 'unpleasant'.