A funny story about how good pronunciation may be bad for you. I was on vacation in Spain (Malaga) two years ago. I'm a passionate cyclist - a 'roadie', that is I ride a road bike - or a racing bike - the one with funny curved handlbars. So, on one fine day I take my bike, leave the town and head north, to the mountains. After a while I notice to my horror that I'm on a motorway: the road where bikes are prohibited ('bicicleta prohibita'). I think to myself 'I'll take the next exit back to the town'. And immediately a police car overtakes me with a siren and pulls over in front of me. Two big Spanish policemen come out of the car and walk straight to me...

Kenny is going across America by bus to San Francisco. It is a long way, so he stops sometimes and stays the night in a motel. One evening he stays in a motel in a little town in California - not far from Los Angeles. When he comes down from his room for something to eat, he sees a girl - a girl on a motorcycle, with long blond hair. He thinks he knows her - is she famous? Then, the next morning, he sees the news about a supermarket robbery in Los Angeles. The police are looking for somebody- somebody on a motorcycle, with long blond hair...