In my mid sixties I let a friend talk me into motorcycling, which I had not done since my twenties. I bought a used Honda Nighthawk and got a driving permit from the Georgia Department of Driver Services. We rode around the area for a couple of months, and it seemed as if the old handling skills and road savvy were coming back. So I scheduled and took the necessary driving test, and I thoroughly flunked it.
Under the watchful eye of a test administrator, applicants must ride a set of maneuvers on a closed, tightly laid out course. Limping home with a wounded ego, I had to relate the failure to my family and friends, and more importantly, I had to devise a strategy to overcome the defeat.