’ ‘Uncle A!’ a young boy shouted running towards them. ‘Hey Rocky!’ The boy threw his arms around Aaron’s waist. ‘Am I glad to see you. ...ow was it? Wow! A major! Did you bring back any souvenirs?’ ‘Hey, slow down. I want you met somebody.’ Aaron held the boy’s hand. ‘Vicki, this Rocky, er Walter, my cousin. Walter this is Vicki, my wife.’ ‘Pleased to meet, ma’am. You can call me Rocky. Everybody does.’ He held out his hand. Vicki took it. ‘Pleased to meet you, Rocky. You may call me Vicki.’. I tried to ask questions, but the instructors just told us to dothings and never commented about our progress. When we finished oneexercise they set up another and another. When the course ended everyonegot their permit stamped. They thought that I failed the skill test whenmy permit wasn't stamped."Feeling badly for her, the story re-enforced my decision to leaveorganized motorcycling. At one time I taught the state course but grewdisillusioned by the politics and the in-fighting. Morality. More

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