We have recently been discussing in another thread the benefits of training and studies that don't seem to demonstrate those benefits. The statistical failure of training isn't crackpot science and it isn't new. In a 1997 Motorcycle Consumer News article, "Why Rider Education Can't Prove That It Works", the late Peter Fassnacht of MSF described several studies that haven't demonstrated the expected benefits. In spite of some success (such as the California Program) training programs have generally not been shown to reduce crashes.

One explanation for the odd results comes from a theory called risk compensation or risk homeostasis. Very briefly, this theory states that we subject ourselves to as much risk as we're comfortable with and that the level of comfort, though it varies widely from person to person, changes little for an individual. The theory would imply that teaching a rider to brake more effectively doesn't reduce his risk, because prior to training he wouldn't have put himself in a position where he would need good braking skills. For example, he might have avoided intersections with stoplights and stuck to rural roads where a quick stop probably wouldn't be necessary. Or, perhaps he wouldn't even consider riding a motorcycle on public roads. But after training, his horizons open up, and he feels more confident in a wider variety of environments. What remains constant—more or less—is his appetite for risk, so his chances of crashing remain constant as well.

I find the theory of risk compensation compelling (I've written about it here: Managing Risk), but at the same time I strongly believe in the value of rider training. I've repeated the MSF's Experienced Rider Course every few years since the early 1980s, logged thousands of miles at track schools, and read countless books and articles on riding technique. In this thread I hope we can explore this paradox. I have several ideas that I will post as time permits, and I hope that others will share their ideas too.

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A superior rider uses superior judgment to avoid problems that would demand his superior skill.

Motorcyclists are risk-takers. Some more so, others less, but we subject ourselves to greater risk than most people are willing to accept. That's not to say we're daredevils. While a few seek the risk of speed, treacherous mountain roads, and butt-numbing long-distance runs, most of us find the risk of normal riding quite enough. And that can be plenty.

Riders who don't go looking for danger may not recognize risk as part of the attraction, but it is. Riding safely takes one's best, both physically and mentally, and many of us enjoy that demand. Staying constantly aware of the situation, planning ahead, assessing hazards, and developing and executing contingency plans produce the same kind of satisfaction that other mentally demanding pastimes do. But when you get right down to it, the objective underlying all that cerebral activity is to avoid crashing. And if we really wanted to avoid crashing, we'd find a different hobby. So risk is indeed part of what draws us to motorcycles.

We take risks, I believe, because Mother Nature favors the benefits, and she encourages us with the nudge of exhilaration that accompanies an adrenaline surge. Long ago, some idiot jumped on a horse to see if he could ride it. Another crafted a sharpened stone spear head to take down a woolly mammoth—and bring home a month's worth of groceries in a single afternoon. Others went "boldly where no one had gone before" to settle new territory. Would we be safer if we stayed put, survived on fruit from the indigenous vines, and left the horses alone? Safer in the short run perhaps, but less prosperous in the long run. We cannot improve our condition without trying the untried and risking failure.

But the modern world thwarts this trait by trying to eradicate risk from our lives. Governments and businesses spend billions of dollars to protect us from a greater part of the risk that was common in the daily lives of our grandparents. However, our taste for risk isn't so easily overcome, and the instinct remains. Deprived of risk in ordinary situations, we invent ways to experience it. We surf huge storm waves, ski down mountains that can be reached only by helicopter, and of course we ride motorcycles.

Though we may possess a natural tolerance of risk, we differ in the amounts we accept, and individual preference directly affects the way we ride. When the risk we perceive exceeds our comfort level, we reduce it. By slowing down, taking a different route, or simply staying home and waiting for a better day or less demanding ride, we keep risk within our limits. On the other hand, if risk is under our limit and something can be gained by increasing it, we will. We might begin riding to work occasionally to save money on gas and reduce commute time. Or pick up the pace a bit to enjoy a section of twisty road. Or ride across the country to Sturgis, Daytona Beach, or Laguna Seca.

Risk perception, risk tolerance, and the ways we compensate have profound implications for motorcycle education. Inaccurate perceptions increase risk. As a veteran rider approaches an intersection where an oncoming car is waiting to turn left, he instantly recognizes the classic crash scenario and takes precautions to prevent it. But an inexperienced rider might not know of the potential danger, so it is a riskier situation for him. Though he perceives an acceptable degree of risk, it's actually much worse than he thinks. Training that helps him to recognize danger that he doesn't know about will enable him to maintain acceptable risk.

Training in bike control skills can also reduce riding risk by correcting perceptions. A raw newbie may know nothing about motorcycle braking. If he's an experienced driver, he'll mash the bike's rear brake pedal in an emergency, expecting effective deceleration but producing little and possibly crashing into whatever he was trying to avoid. Misperception of his ability to brake put him at greater risk than he knew. Proper training would not only give him the skill he needs but also would match skill to perception and enable him to ride within his tolerance.

Given accurate perception of the road environment and of his own skills, a rider's risk really depends on what he tolerates; he'll expose himself to as much as he finds comfortable. So skills developed with more advanced training won't necessarily reduce his risk. Instead, he might rely on those skills to maintain the same comfortable degree of risk while riding farther, faster, or in more challenging environments. Risk will be reduced only if he applies some of those new skills to greater safety, and training doesn't seem to induce riders to do that.

Thus, the effectiveness of training at reducing risk seems to be limited, in general, to sharpening perceptions. Beyond that, only when a rider also chooses to reduce risk will training make him safer. But that doesn't mean advanced training is of no value. In fact, it suggests ways that can make it more valuable, which I will explore in a later post.

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A superior rider uses superior judgment to avoid problems that would demand his superior skill.

Balance is not an assumed risk.

Balance has many definitions that all require equilibrium.

The definition of balance is not a concept nor is balance a risk.

Taking risks and meeting the challenges are totally different than risky behavior.

Motorcyclists are portrayed constantly as irresponsible risk takers because of balance.

Motorcyclists constantly fight for balance in laws and in life.

The assumed risk, of wanting balance in life, wastes life and money needlessly when we assume the position of victim.

As motorcyclists, it is the razor’s edge that draws us.  The feeling of perfectly managing all those influences that result in what can only be described as the closest feeling to flying that can be experienced upon solid  ground.  When you’re riding on the razor’s edge, it’s the joy of feeling (and being in control of) personal perfection that is so seductive.
 

According to risk compensation theory, the risk we experience is a product of our tolerance, perception, and compensation. We weigh the risk we perceive against our tolerance and adjust it if necessary. Adjustments can be either downward—if we perceive risk as excessive—or upward—if it's within our tolerance and there's something to be gained by increasing it. But because risk tolerance is subjective, we don't think about it explicitly, nor do we consciously do the tolerance/perception math to calculate compensation. We feel the effects on our riding style in subtle ways. For example:

• Approaching a familiar section of twisty road with good sightlines and no crossroads or driveways, no other vehicles are in sight. In fact, that's exactly what you were hoping for when you chose this route. It's time to have a little fun. You stay on your own side of the double-yellow, and you're keenly aware of the guardrail on the right shoulder, so you're well below racetrack speeds. But your mental risk monitor doesn't prohibit you from skimming your knee puck along the pavement when conditions are right.
  
  
• After you negotiate that section of curves, the road opens onto a straight. You look down at the speedo and see 100 mph. Oops. Undulating terrain limits sightlines, and ranch access roads make side traffic a possibility. You roll off the throttle and back down to a speed you're comfortable with.
  
  
• As an experiment, you try commuting by motorcycle for a few weeks, which you haven't done before. You find that the HOV lane makes the ride a breeze, and you're saving $40 a week with your SV650 compared to your gas-hog F-150. So you switch to the motorcycle as your primary commute vehicle. Though you haven't increased your risk per mile ridden, you have increased your exposure to motorcycling risk (though not beyond your comfort zone) by increasing weekly mileage.
  
  
• You commute by motorcycle five days a week, but it's starting to get you down. At best it's exhilarating, but more often you arrive at work with a knot in your stomach from the tension produced by bad roads and insane traffic. So you cut the motorcycle back to just one or two days a week. Again, your risk per mile hasn't changed, but you've reduced your exposure to a more comfortable level.

As these examples show, risk compensation affects us in different ways in different situations.

The risk compensation model suggests that reducing risk tolerance would be a good safety strategy. If we could somehow lower the degree of risk that makes us feel nervous and triggers an adjustment in our riding, we would lower our overall chance of crashing. But lowering tolerance is easier said than done. Because we're aware of the limit only when taking a risk that tests it, we can't adjust it the way we would set the TV volume.

A training program or ad campaign urging motorcyclists to ride safely isn't going to be effective because the only reference point we have for "safe" is our own risk tolerance. Riding safely means nothing more than obeying our tolerance, which is what we do anyway. To reduce risk tolerance we would have to recalibrate our risk scale, so what felt safe yesterday feels unsafe today. Recalibration does occur, but not as a volitional, rational choice and not overnight.

Risk tolerance fluctuates day to day, but permanent change that results in a significant reduction in riding risk happens over a longer time. As we get older and take on more responsibility in family, career, and community, we take less risk. Here are two examples of riders who have come to realize that they're no longer comfortable with the risk they once took (from sportbike forum posts):

The rash of accidents posted lately, along with my increasing age and responsibilities, have prompted me to strongly consider changing my riding habits. I've always been a sportbike guy because I enjoy pushing it a little. But it seems the consequences of a high-speed ejection are becoming more and more severe in my mind. Should I wad myself up on a back road someday, what would be the long-term effects? I could die and leave my wife here alone. I could become severely injured and not be able to help by earning a paycheck, work around the house, etc.

Now that I'm in my 40s, there's a definite if subtle shift in my attitude to riding. I've had some bad luck with traffic, a few get-offs in the past few years, and that's a factor. I rarely ride as fast as I used to. Only when the road and mood and body and mind are all working together, and my riding is smooth and low-tension. And if those factors are not in sync or I'm not in the groove, I don't push like I used to.

Here is an excerpt from a sobering account by a motorcyclist whose riding buddies "ratted him out" to his wife for behavior he had promised to give up after a life-threatening crash:

My friends kinda mentioned to me that they were getting nervous riding with me. Then one fateful evening my wife sat down next to me on the couch. She picked up the remote and turned the TV off. I knew something was up, this was serious. Hell, I was watching something.

"I want you to sell the RC 51." She had those tear-filled eyes that meant that all hell was about to break loose.

I didn't even understand where this was coming from, I mean I had no idea what she was talking about. However, looking into that face, realizing she was so emotional, I knew, I really knew this was a turning point in my life. I also knew that she was on to something. I was out of control on that thing.

I was spiraling into a huge vacuum of guilt. I was guilty of endangering myself, my friends, and all the innocent civilians that chose to use my "racetrack" when I was out riding. Mostly I was guilty of hurting the person who matters most.

Soon the RC sold, I ordered a new Goldwing, and the rest is history.

There's much more. Read the whole thing here: Wives, egos, friends, and interventions

Risk tolerance reduction occurs naturally as the years pass. It is undoubtedly responsible (along with experience) for the lower risk reported for older riders by Hurt and others. But trying to make new riders safer by urging them to reduce risk isn't an effective training strategy. They don't have a risk dial to adjust, and because they're inexperienced, they don't even know what constitutes more or less risk. They know only what feels safe. What they need to know is where the risk is for a motorcyclist. With better perception of the risk posed by the roadway, other vehicles, and their own lack of skill, novice riders will be able to more effectively gauge risk against their innate tolerance and adjust it to their comfort level.

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A superior rider uses superior judgment to avoid problems that would demand his superior skill.

In March 2005, a 35-year-old Orlando, Florida man walked into a motorcycle shop and rode out on a new Yamaha R6 sportbike. Because he admitted that he had never ridden a motorcycle before, they offered to deliver the bike to his home. But he refused, and after stalling the machine twice finally got underway, though a worried salesman followed in a pickup. The concern was well founded. Less than a mile and a half away, the man lost control in a curve and was thrown into a concrete post hard enough to crack his helmet and kill him.

This crash clearly could have been prevented with training. Basic instruction in how to turn and stop would have enabled him at least to get the motorcycle home safely. A 1998 California study showed the benefit of rider training for the greenest novices (less than 500 prior miles of riding). Those who were trained suffered half as many crashes in their first 6 months as equally inexperienced riders who weren't trained.

However, risk reduction beyond training in the most basic skills is less clear. In the same California study, prospective riders who started out with more than 500 miles prior to training crashed at the same rate as their untrained counterparts with similar experience. Perhaps after a rider reaches a basic level of competence in controlling a motorcycle—whether or not it is acquired formally—training no longer makes him safer.

Yet experience seems to make motorcyclists safer. Both Hurt and MAIDS found that riders with more years in the saddle are significantly less likely to crash. So what is it about experience that makes a rider safer, and is there a way to impart its essence to novices in a way that avoids bumps and bruises in the school of hard knocks?

Risk compensation theory suggests that experience might make riders safer by improving their risk perception. Because we adjust risk by taking compensating action—influenced by our risk perception and tolerance—the actual risk we experience depends on the potential risk we perceive in the environment. This produces an effect called the paradox of risk perception: The greater the risk one perceives in a given situation, the less risk one will experience. For example, if you approach an unfamiliar blind turn suspecting that the surface could be strewn with gravel just beyond your line of sight, you will be at less risk than if you expect it to be clean. Caution slows you down, and you'll have more time to react if there is gravel. But if you don't take that possibility into account, you'll enter at a more optimistic speed, which will cause a problem if the turn is dirty. Thus, underestimation of potential risk leads to greater actual risk.

A veteran rider gains a safety advantage by learning about the hazards unique to motorcycling from constant exposure. He has encountered so many left-turning cars, slippery surfaces, view-obstructing trucks, edge traps, red-light runners, and so on that he can search for them in systematic ways and adjust to problems he finds. He is safer because he correctly perceives specific risks. But a novice may not sense the immediate danger that a veteran senses when he sees a familiar hazard. Among the potpourri of situations he meets, a new rider has trouble identifying serious threats and distinguishing them from the vast background of harmless scenery.

The problem of underestimating risk suggests a new rider education component: learning in detail about specific hazards that motorcyclists encounter. While MSF's SEE strategy (search/evaluate/execute) gives novices an excellent way to mentally process hazards they have identified, it doesn't offer much help in spotting them. To complement the strategy, they also need a mental catalog of motorcycle-specific hazards to look for, so they can search effectively for the ones most likely to escalate.

An excellent source of scenarios that can lead to crashes is David Hough's book "Street Strategies", collected from his Motorcycle Consumer News column of the same name. Hough describes more than 70 situations that can turn into trouble for a motorcyclist. Each includes a detailed description and illustration.

Videos are another good resource. MSF and others produce training videos that illustrate traffic hazards, but even more valuable, in my opinion, are the crash and near-crash videos that now abound on the internet. Links to first-person videos at YouTube and other sites are often found on motorcycle forums, where they are dissected and discussed at length. Real crashes seen in real time show events with intensity that staged demonstrations cannot match.

A training tool on the horizon that seems to have great potential to prepare riders for real-world hazards is a simulator. Gaming technology has been effectively applied to Microsoft's Flight Simulator to make it both visually and dynamically realistic, and it is now widely used as a training tool in general aviation. Combined with a user environment such as Honda's motorcycle simulator (currently available only in Japan), leading edge software technology could advance motorcycle training significantly by helping novice riders learn to think like motorcyclists. By repetitively experiencing the multitude of dangerous situations found on the road, they would develop the same reactions that experienced riders develop, but without being exposed to the same risk.

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A superior rider uses superior judgment to avoid problems that would demand his superior skill.

"This crash clearly could have been prevented with training."

Faulty logic and wrong conclusion. 

Contrary to what one would expect, motorcycle training has generally not been shown to make riders safer. In the California study mentioned previously, only the least experienced riders taking a beginning rider's course reduced their risk compared to an untrained control group—and even then, only for 6 months. Slightly more experienced riders taking the same course did no better than untrained riders with similar experience. And experienced riders who took an advanced course, though they crashed less than riders who didn't take the course, didn't reduce their own crash rate.

But does this puzzling conclusion mean what it seems to mean? What it doesn't mean is that trained and untrained riders performed equally well on a skills test. Nor does it mean that trained and untrained riders rode similar trips of similar distance for a year and were equally safe. Rather, all of the motorcyclists went on with their lives, riding when, where, and how they chose. But those choices weren't evaluated, and that's where evidence of an important benefit of training can be found.

Training is common in modern life. Most people who want to play golf or the piano, use Photoshop, or fly an airplane take lessons of some sort, whether via personal instruction or from a book, video, or software application. The objective of such programs, obviously, is to make it possible for the student to do something he or she was previously unable to do. An aviator trained in instrument flight can fly in weather that other pilots can't. Training in larger and faster aircraft makes it possible to fly farther in less time with more passengers. Of course, safety is part of training but it's inseparable from the basic objective, to develop new abilities. It's the same with motorcycling. We seek training not just to ride more safely, but more competently. We want to learn new skills and be able to execute them smoothly, confidently, and safely

Among the subjects in the California study of the beginning rider course, there was no significant difference in crash rates between trained and untrained riders after one year. Per mile ridden, riders in the two groups were equally likely to crash. But the trained riders rode almost 50% more in that year than did the untrained riders, an average of 5300 miles compared to 3600. We don't know what other benefits the trained group enjoyed, but by this one measure—miles ridden—they got more out of motorcycling. And that's the unacknowledged value of training: it empowers us.

Basic training develops non-motorcyclist novices into motorcyclists, perhaps fulfilling a dream just by enabling them to ride. Riders with a few years in the saddle who take an advanced course or who learn new techniques from the many books now available benefit in other ways. They may use their new skills to tour over long distances, explore more challenging roads, or participate in rides with more demanding groups. Racetrack schools empower riders in the same way. In an environment without potholes, oncoming SUVs, and gravel-strewn turns, riders develop turning, braking, and visual skill to a degree that a beginning course can't give them. For most who attend track schools, track riding isn't an end in itself. In fact, some schools such as CLASS and Streetmasters are tailored to improving street-riding skills. Graduates, wildly enthusiastic about their new and improved skills and added confidence in the capabilities of the motorcycle, find street riding much more enjoyable thanks to their training.

Because crash rates can be objectively measured—and because state training programs are justified by safety—that is the obvious standard for evaluation. But the variety of benefits riders derive from training suggests an evaluation standard better than safety alone: Does the knowledge and skill gained in training make it possible to enjoy motorcycling more than you did before, and if so how? Some will surely say that they feel safer after training, but there will be other answers too: more miles, more variety, more confidence, more fun.

MSF once used the slogan: "The more you know, the better it gets." And that's the real payoff from training.

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A superior rider uses superior judgment to avoid problems that would demand his superior skill.

If the crash is prevented then the training has done the job, but considering the fact that you give beginners the rudimentary skills needed to get started I'd say the training is worth the effort, much like drivers ed.

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Freddy & Doris Wheeler
Motorist Awaness Division
Alabama District Coordinator
Gold Wing Road Riders Assn.

Thanks for informative post...

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