"Colonel Richardson had everything safely under control long before I caught up with him, drenched to the waist after splashing through the creek. He sat in the saddle, speaking soothingly to the panting animal and rubbing its quivering neck. I stood there at attention, feeling more in a state of shock than the horse. At least, the thought came to me, that the Com had not hit me with his riding crop. Finally, having attended to what every cavalryman considers his first duty, he turned his attention to me. "Don't you know, Mr. Scott," he said calmly, "that the bridle paths are off limits to you, much less motorcycles?" Only then did he dismount and slowly lead the quieted horse back across the stream and uphill to the path where my motorcycle lay. I tried to explain my fascination with the journeys of Marco Polo, my training for an attempt to retrace his route on a motorcycle. I even discussed with him that puzzled me. In all his journeys Marco Polo had never mentioned the Great Wall of China. The Com listened intently as we walked our mounts down the bridle path. He asked about logistics. Could I make such a journey? Had I considered every angle? I kept waiting for him to revert to being the commandant, to quote some regulation prohibiting my summer plans, but such an announcement never came. When we reached the crossroads near the Cadet Chapel, he remounted to return to the stables. Before he turned away told me to come see him at some convenient time the following week, saying that he had served as military attache in Rome before his present duty assignment. Perhaps he might be able to tell me something to help me on my monumental journey. "Good luck, Mr. Scott," he concluded. "You represent something of an enigma yourself.""