An old gypsy had told him his car would fucked up by a train when he was seven. He's basically spent the last thirty years holding his breath. Now it's done and he can relax.
It would NOT surprise me to learn that there was nothing wrong with his car, and the RR tracks was just where he decided to stop and delegate his rescue to the local 911. Nothing says "I'm as useless as tits for hands" as a Texan with a Ferrari.
This is 70% the people that call me at work. A minimum of info conveyed over an excruciatingly long period of time via vague and sometimes conflicting sentence fragments, coupled with the expectation that I HELP RIGHT NOW WHY HAVEN'T YOU SOLVED MY PROBLEM YET?!?!?
Sadly, she told him to get out of the car. We really need people who are bright enough to park on the tracks to stay on the tracks until the call is suddenly cut off. Problem solved!