I rode a scooter home last night. Emphasis on night, as in dark, as in nobody saw me. You can't prove it. That wasn't me. This kind of thing can put a serious crimp in your credibility.I didn't really mean to. But like other questionable pursuits carried out under cover of darkness, it seemed like the thing to do when you're knocking off work at 8:05 p.m. Especially after 11 hours of trying to carve a few thousand of somebody else's ill-chosen words down to a few hundred that won't trigger serial gag reactions, subscription cancellations and hate mail. Besides, there's no way to strap my Bag O Stuff to the B-King. There the key to a Suzuki Burgman 650 on the Official Motorcyclist Key Board, and the Executive model, no less with a full tank of gas. I have opportunity and motive. It's a slippery slope from there.