The first time I threw my leg over a dual sport bike, I thought I understood adventure. The reality, as I quickly discovered on a muddy trail just outside of Baja, was something else entirely. That initial mix of exhilaration and sheer terror is a feeling I’ll never forget, and it’s a big part of why I’ve dedicated years to mastering the craft of dual sport racing. It’s not just about getting from point A to point B; it’s about the conversation between you, the machine, and the terrain. I’ve come to learn that the technical skills are only half the battle. The other half, the fire that keeps you going when your arms are screaming and the finish line seems a world away, often comes from something deeper. I was reminded of this recently when a fellow rider shared a sentiment in Tagalog that stuck with me: "Nakaka-flatter, nakaka-inspire din and nakaka-motivate kasi siyempre, 'yun din naman 'yung nagbibigay ng fire sa'kin para magpatuloy at pagbutihan ko pa." It translates to that powerful feeling of being flattered, inspired, and motivated—it’s what gives you the fire to continue and to do even better. That internal drive, stoked by external encouragement and personal breakthroughs, is the secret ingredient. And it’s with that mindset that I want to share the five essential riding techniques that transformed me from a trail novice into a confident racer.
Let's start with the most fundamental, yet most frequently overlooked skill: standing on the pegs. I can't stress this enough. For the first six months, I was a permanent fixture in the seat, thinking it gave me more control. I was wrong. So wrong. Sitting down makes you a passenger; standing makes you a pilot. When you're standing, your legs become your primary suspension, absorbing impacts that would otherwise buck you off line. Your center of gravity lowers, and you gain a tremendous amount of leverage over the bike. On a recent 200-mile race through the Nevada desert, I probably spent 70% of the time on my feet. It saves an incredible amount of energy and allows you to actively shift your weight forward for steep climbs or back for sharp descents. The key is to stay loose, bend your knees, and grip the bike with your boots, not your hands. Your arms should be relaxed, almost like you're holding a pair of baby birds. If you're death-gripping the handlebars, you're doing it wrong and you'll be exhausted after just ten miles. Trust me, I've been there.
Once you’re comfortable standing, the next piece of the puzzle is throttle and clutch control. This isn't about brute force; it's about finesse. A dual sport engine, especially a single-cylinder thumper, delivers its power in a very specific way. The magic happens in the friction zone of your clutch. In technical, rocky sections where traction is at a premium, I'm constantly modulating the clutch, maybe 20-30% engaged, while maintaining a steady throttle. This lets you feed power to the rear wheel smoothly without shocking the tire and causing it to spin out. It feels like you're teasing the bike forward, inch by inch. I remember a particularly nasty hill climb in Colorado, littered with loose shale. Everyone was just spinning their back wheels and digging holes. I focused on a steady, low-RPM throttle hand and a feather-light clutch touch, and the bike just tractored up like it was on rails. That single moment of mastery, that quiet victory over physics, is incredibly motivating. It’s exactly the kind of thing that gives you that "fire" to push your limits the next time.
Now, let's talk about braking, because this is where most people get into trouble. The golden rule, beaten into my head by a grizzled old racer when I first started, is this: 80% of your braking power should come from the front brake, but you must use it intelligently. Grabbing a handful of front brake while leaned over in a corner is a one-way ticket to the ground. The technique is to brake hard while the bike is upright, before you initiate the turn. On a fast, sandy fire road, you might be slamming on the brakes to scrub off speed before a tight bend. But in a low-traction situation like mud or deep gravel, the rear brake becomes your best friend. It helps you steer the rear of the bike and control slides. I’ve even found that lightly dragging the rear brake can add a layer of stability at high speeds on unpredictable surfaces. It’s a subtle skill that probably took me a solid year of consistent practice to feel natural, but now it’s second nature.
The fourth technique is all about vision. Your bike goes where your eyes look. It sounds simple, but under pressure, your instincts will tell you to stare directly at the obstacle you're trying to avoid—the big rock, the deep rut, the tree on the edge of the trail. You have to fight that instinct. I force myself to look past the immediate hazard, down the trail to where I want to go. This does something almost mystical; your body makes tiny, unconscious inputs to the handlebars and your body position that guide the bike through the danger. On a tight, wooded single-track, I'm constantly scanning 50 to 100 feet ahead, planning my line two or three turns in advance. This proactive, rather than reactive, style of riding is what separates the top riders from the mid-pack. It’s mentally exhausting, but it makes your riding fluid and seemingly effortless. When you string together a perfect series of corners without a single clumsy moment, it’s a feeling that’s both flattering and deeply inspiring. It’s a confirmation that you’re growing.
Finally, we have the art of the controlled crash, also known as cornering on loose surfaces. Dual sport racing rarely offers perfect, grippy asphalt. You're dealing with sand, dirt, and millions of little marbles that want to wash your front end out. The key is to commit. You need to lean the bike over, even if every fiber of your being is screaming to keep it upright. You lean with it, keeping your weight on the outside peg, and point your inside knee toward the apex of the turn. Then, you get on the throttle early and smoothly as you exit. This drives the rear wheel into the ground, hooking up and propelling you out of the corner. It’s a terrifying leap of faith the first few dozen times. I must have low-sided a dozen times in my first season, just gently laying the bike down in a soft berm. But each time, I learned a little more about the limit of traction. Now, sliding the bike through a dusty corner is one of the purest joys I know in motorsports. That progression from fear to fluency is the ultimate motivation. It’s the tangible proof that the hard work is paying off, that you are, in fact, getting better.
Mastering these five techniques—standing, throttle control, advanced braking, vision, and committed cornering—won't just make you faster. They will transform your entire experience. They build a foundation of confidence that allows you to enjoy the challenge itself, to find that internal fire when the going gets tough. It’s that same feeling my friend described, the one that pushes you to continue and to improve. The numbers might say you shaved five minutes off your lap time, but the real victory is in the feeling. It's the effortless flow through a technical section that used to terrify you, the quiet confidence as you pick the perfect line up a gnarly hill. This sport is a continuous journey, not a destination. Every ride is a chance to learn, to be inspired, and to stoke that fire just a little bit more. Now, get out there and practice.