A major component of feeling comfortable on a motorcycle is confidence in traction—or lack thereof. With a delicate throttle hand and an understanding of how a clutch works, even the bone-n00biest spud can get on a Hayabusa and motor off down the street without crashing the thing. But the bigger the bike, the more dire the consequences of physics. Moto Guzzi V7 isn’t, by today’s standards, seen as an entry-level bike, but it’s worth noting that its heron-head, 744-cc pushrod twin makes the kind of horsepower that would’ve won the Isle of Man TT in the 1950s.
Dirt flat-track racing is an exercise in traction management, one so powerful that in an era when engine tech outstripped chasssis and tire development, American flat trackers practically owned Grand Prix motorcycling. Kenny Roberts was the first through the breach, followed by Freddie Spencer, Eddie Lawson, and Wayne Rainey. Today, both Marc Marquez and Valentino Rossi both espouse the benefits of training on dirt, with Marquez going so far as to launch the Superprestigio, sort of a flat-track IROC. Clearly, there’s something to this dirt stuff. To find out just what it was, I signed up for the Calistoga, California round of Danny Walker’s American Supercamp, a traveling circus where mistakes are punished with push-ups, poor form is corrected by a prod with a long pole while underway, and all the lapping sessions are wheel-to-wheel.
The sessions are preceded by drills. Ride through this cone slalom. Okay, now ride through this slalom one-handed, with your left hand on the tank. Now, ride tight figure eights one-handed. I managed all of it without falling off the little Yamaha TTR 125s, chosen for their low horsepower and unburstable nature. Dump one, dust yourself off, get back up, keep going. Before Supercamp, reaching up to adjust my faceshield was a jerky exercise in momentary terror. But in learning to control the bike with my lower body, it became a nonissue.
Lower-body technique, however, isn’t the whole of it. Flat track demands a unique posture: crotch forward, shoulders slumped, elbows up. In my day-to-day existence, I’m a champion sloucher. My driving style has been referred to as a “gangster lean.” I prefer to write on my couch than at a desk. You want me to slouch? No problem at all. This was going to be cake. Then they turned on the camera. While some of the other folks in my novice group were getting the hang of the body position, I looked like a European scooter commuter, bolt upright and very obviously wooden in my movements.
Depressed by my lack of ability to nail the posture, but pleased that I’d managed to keep myself off the ground, I retired to my motel and returned the next day. Danny lectured for a bit, discussing the drive-in, brake, turn, power-out strategy. Apexes in flat-track are invariably rather late. On the street, it confers a safety advantage, as it allows you to see farther through the corner before you commit to whacking the throttle and blasting off toward the next bend. Unlike pavement riding, where the front brake confers the majority of one’s stopping power, flat-track braking is done with the rear. Confident that I’d absorbed Danny’s lesson, I got on the Yamaha for the first session, went blasting down into a right-hander, instinctively grabbed the front brake, and immediately found myself in the dirt, the bike somewhere behind me. Lesson learned.
I also had a propensity for pulling in the clutch whenever I was decelerating toward a walking speed. The tractable little TTR will lug itself at a crawl until the cows depart again for breakfast; squeezing the left lever is only necessary when downshifting or coming to a complete stop. The instructors set up a drill describing a roughly 160-degree turn that should’ve resulted in a nice slide if done right. I’d launch the bike, brake, and invariably do something wrong, including grabbing at the clutch lever. I was warned that the next time I did such a thing, there would be push-ups. I launched the bike, bombed down the straightaway, got hard on the rear brake, threw the bike into the turn, and the rear started sliding nicely. Then it kept sliding. And sliding. I found myself in an exaggerated Johnny Ramone stance, straddling the now-fully horizontal motorcycle. Cue the saddest of trombones. “I had it. I had it! What did I do?”
“You grabbed the clutch,” smirked an instructor, clearly amused. There were push-ups.
Meanwhile, I still wasn’t nailing the body position. Unlike road racing, where turning the bike demands hanging far off the thing on the inside of the corner, flat track requires that you keep your weight on top of the contact patch. While the bike’s leaned over in a bend, you’ve got the outside edge of the seat wedged between the cheeks of your bum. Instead of leaning with the bike, you’re staying up on top of it. While slouching. With your inside arm straight and your outside elbow pointed at the sky, like some sort of hooligan Danny Manero.
During the lapping sessions, Josh Serne, a teenage MotoAmerica KTM RC390 Cup racer, yelled at me and prodded my too-low elbow with a stick as I rounded the hay bales. AMA Superbike champ Josh Hayes would go barreling by. Jake Gagne, who dominated 2015’s MotoAmerica Superstock class, took a softer approach, blowing past and tapping his rear fender, urging me to follow his line. I’d hang for half the course, make a mistake, and then find some clear air to practice.
When it all comes together, there’s an undeniable flow to it. I didn’t find said flow until the last session of the second day of camp. Poor Serne had probably yelled himself hoarse on my account. Gagne had been especially patient. I logged a lot of time on the American Supercamp Simulator, a TTR frame and bars mounted to what amounts to a sideways rocking chair. Nothing seemed to be working. Then Danny saddled up and encouraged me to follow him around the TT course—a track arrangement including both right and left turns. Suddenly, it all clicked. I had it. My slides were not as graceful as those of Hayes or Serne. My bike control was nowhere near as effortless as Gagne’s. But with the posture in place, with my head on a swivel guiding me through corners, I was doing it.
Heading home on I-80 through Fairfield, a stretch of freeway I’ve been driving since I was a teenager. I was seeing farther down the road than I ever thought possible. Desirous of groceries, I hauled out the Guzzi, which might have weighed six tons compared to the little TTR. It also wasn’t stopping as well as usual. Then I realized that I was only using the rear brake. I needed to unlearn what I’d learned at Supercamp, while managing hold onto the new skills. Helmet’s Page Hamilton, a jazz guitarist with a penchant for metric, brutal rock, once suggested that young musicians learn all the theory they can, then forget it. Motorcycling seems to be much the same. You’re not always going to use the techniques taught at Supercamp on the street, but if you find yourself in a low-grip situation, having the body and mind instinctively know how to handle the situation can be the difference between a brief flash of sweat and an altogether-less-pleasant highside.
Though I have no pretensions of taking on Grand National champ Jared Mees, I definitely need more time in the dirt. As such, I’m already signed up for next year’s Calistoga camp. For $650, you get the use of gear, instruction by national champions, a bike you’re encouraged to beat on, and lunch/snacks both days. It has to be one of the best deals in motorized education. And regardless of price, it is without question one of the most educational and entertaining courses I’ve ever taken. Obviously, I’m gonna need a dirtbike.
What I learned: You may not be doing what you think you’re doing.
Don’t do what I did: Contrary to what you do on the street, stay off the front brake in corners. Relax, relax, relax.
Previously: The Graceless Art of Crashing in the Rain
Next: High-speed instruction at Yamaha Champions Riding School.
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