I Took Motocross Lessons From a Supercross World Champion—and It Wrecked My Ego

A little over three years ago now, I originally decided to get my motorcycle license because of the insanity of dealing with Monterey Car Week. I rode dirt bikes as a kid, but the prospect of bopping through supercars stuck in traffic jams seemed too good to pass up. Then I started to take motorcycles seriously, with a hefty dose of track lessons to help instill skills that might help me tame the 200-plus-horsepower bikes that Ducati, MV Agusta, and Honda loan me on the regular for reviews.

But there’s a reason MotoGP riders practice in the dirt, and motocross don’t ride on immaculately paved race tracks. So I eventually decided to revisit those old days ripping around up at Hungry Valley north of Los Angeles, kick-starting a tiny dirt bike and sliding around, then listening to Bob Marley’s Legend on cassette tape while dozing off in dad’s little two-door Toyota pickup on the drive home. Only this time around, at the ripe old age of 37 and with a Supercross World Champion as my coach.

Keeping Up with the Kids

Before I arrived at Cahuilla Creek Motocross Park for my first lesson, I’d never met nor heard of Broc Tickle. A quiet guy, clearly focused, Tickle took home the 250cc Supercross championship back in 2011. Now, he’s a factory test rider for Kawasaki who works with the current team to help develop and dial in bikes for the next generation of pros. 

Tickle started out quite clearly curious to gauge my skill level, and I quickly deduced that nobody told him in advance exactly how rank of an amateur he’d be taking on as a pupil. Hey, at least I knew how to use the brakes and clutch, or how gear ratios work. But he quite literally started me out on the smallest track you’ve ever seen, with toddlers ripping past—relatively speaking.

I brought my own Kawasaki, a KLX300R that I bought cheap off a friend (also named Brock, but with K). No kickstarting here, luckily, but the bike also wasn’t set up for me at all, since my friend Brock stands about seven inches shorter and weighs about 40 pounds lighter. But for a first-timer, the KLX served good enough to just get out there and witness a baseline, or lack thereof. Tickle gave me a quick primer on form first, checked my tire pressures were at 12 psi, and then let me loose. A couple of eternally slow laps later, he pulled me off for a quick chat.

Not one to beat around the bush, he essentially told me to unlearn everything I knew from street riding. Sit upright and forward. Stand up most of the time, bent over at the waist, until entering a turn scooted all the way forward on the saddle. Stop countersteering, instead push the outside handlebar down. Stop hanging off the bike, keep my knees in tight and how about keeping my inside foot off the peg, even, up near the front axle while turning.

OK…I also needed to re-learn how to use the clutch with two fingers, to help lift and release simultaneously while turning and stopping. But I struggled mightily to skid around turns, timid in my drifts under throttle, confused how the little children held so much more speed despite the lack of grip. Tickle suggested I step off the track and just run some figure-eight drills, then hard straight-line acceleration and braking to stop without skidding using both the fronts and rear alone.

The drills started me sweating profusely, even in the surprisingly minimalistic, yet comfortable and vented motocross gear from FXR. After a quick snack and some ice water, despite the frigid temps at Cahuilla Creek, I went back out to show the infants who’s boss. And I did start to feel some semblance of flow, passing a few other riders regularly. The strangest part was that I fully expected the jumping to freak my body out most. Instead, the incredibly soft suspension of the KLX provided pillowy landings any time I caught air. But the turning, the sensation of sliding and trying to lean the bike over and keep the tires under me all at once simply felt foreign. And Tickle clearly recognized the hesitancy.

“I was pretty blindfolded because I didn't know you,” he said. “I didn't know your experience and I didn't know your background. Especially now that I'm on the coaching side of things with guys at a professional level,” he said, “I think there's a lot of power behind guiding the rider to make learning their idea, kind of, or through their understanding instead of me beating it through their head. But it's hard to learn something when you’re brand-new because you don't know what wrong is”

Probably because of that unfamiliarity, my body started to give way. The combination of newbie nerves, stress, and plenty of muscular workout added up quick. I’m a strong road cyclist, so I typically focus on cardio, core, and mobility rather than lifting weights. So as we packed up for the day, I asked Tickle what exercises to focus on for motocross before our next session. He recommended adding weights generally, and Romanian deadlifts for hamstrings and upper back specifically. The next day my quads almost hurt more, though—a surprise for a cyclist who loves punishing climbs up mountain roads. 

Maybe pushing the clutch pedal on my little white two-door pickup, a manual Mitsubishi Mighty Max rather than dad’s Tacoma, through two to three hours of traffic each way to Cahuilla Creek didn’t help. But we’d also finished with a couple of laps on the vet track, to see what exactly I didn’t know. After five-plus hours I felt pretty wiped, not just physically but mentally too, and I almost nosepicked multiple times. Then I asked Tickle to go out and have some fun, just for context.

This guy rides on whole different level. An artist painting with a big brush. An entirely readjusted sense of speed. And I thought the amateurs who ripped past me looked fast! So in addition to pulling out the dumbbells before my next lesson, I also figured it would be worth it to head out to Hungry Valley again and get more time in the saddle.

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Learning to Find the Flow Again

Up at Gorman with “other Brock” as my coach, I focused on getting loose, staying comfortable despite adding a new back protector and Alpinestars Supertech Rk-10 Plasma knee braces. As on road motorcycles, I believe in all the gear all the time, but the newly restricted motion probably required some retraining of my muscles. Once the flow of trail riding started to set in, without needing to focus on tight turns and steep jumps, I made what felt like a big breakthrough. Feeling my weight and inputs, with knees squeezed in and hips back, the speed and smoothness simply increased, simultaneously and naturally. Other Brock only rode my tail maybe 85 percent of the time, instead of always. Always good to feel those competitive juices flowing, for a first time on the dirt bike (other than trying to skim past actual toddlers, anyhow).

For day two with Tickle, I drove down to Fox Raceway nearer to San Diego. And this time around, we decided to set my bike up for my weight by dialing in my sag before hitting the track for open lapping. Sag adjusts the rear spring and damper, in this case by compressing the adjustable rings by a solid amount to handle my mass. My measurement started at 150 millimeters, and Tickle thought I needed nearer to 100mm, saying that pros will notice the difference of just one or two even. 

To this I laughed, suspecting the problem wasn’t the bike. But to my surprise, even halfway through a first lap out on Fox’s vet track, the new setup made a world of difference! Or maybe my previous lesson and a long day at Gorman, plus the time to mentally process the experiences, all added up already. But Fox also gets busy—even on a weekday. Don’t these people have jobs, I kept asking?

After my first session, with Tickle chasing me, I pulled off and let him then adjust the suspension again. He said the bike looked “crusty” and added some rebound to the rear damper to slow it down. Whatever “it” was, anyway, since I lacked the ability to understand both the bike and his lingo. But whatever “it” was that he did, all of a sudden, the improvement stepped up to a night-and-day kind of jump. The rear tire and entire tail end became so much more predictable under acceleration, rather than jumping around on throttle coming out of turns. I started building up more and more speed, so much so that I started to “case” many of the jumps pretty hard.

Maybe I was learning the lingo after all. “Casing” a jump means catching air but not enough to clear over to the landing, instead bouncing flat off tabletops. Maybe my workouts helped too, because despite the bigger format at Fox, by a longshot, I lasted longer on each stint for a longer day. I also figured my newfound confidence helped me relax, mentally and physically, to extend my stamina. But all of a sudden, I faced a new concern, because casing each jump only then saps more energy trying to damp the landing.

“I thought you improved a lot, even from the first session,” Tickle said. “Today I thought your turns got a lot better, your technique on the bike, even starting today, looked a lot better. You looked like you were squeezing the bike with your legs when you were standing, you weren't too far forward.

“Obviously, the basics come in when you’re setting up a motocross bike from the get-go,” he continued. “Setting sag is very important because depending on your weight and the motorcycle’s kind of baseline, it's important to have the starting setup very neutral overall. It's going to ride in the suspension stroke better, and with your lever and your controls, everything neutral, then when you sit on the bike, it feels natural.”

Tickle also recommended that I watch some YouTube videos on motocross and Supercross, a new tool easily accessible with plenty of content for beginner riders and experts alike.

“I think if you're just starting out, the most important thing is take it slow,” he said. “Patience is key in making progress, especially safely. And don't ride a bike that's over your ability. But even people without that much experience can watch something and be like, ‘That looks wrong.’ It’s pretty obvious.”

Race Bike for an Absolute Amateur? Yes Please!

Before the next lesson, I spent another day out in the desert just doing laps, trying to make the same turn repeatedly to perfect my technique. After watching some YouTube videos, too, I realized exactly how much my lack of comprehension while listening to instructions held me back. Instead of pushing the outside handlebar forward to turn, which brought on terrible skittishness, I needed to push the bike down to the inside, weight on the high peg, torso vertical, and my inside knee holding the front plastic up. Again, a big breakthrough—once I figured out what I needed to figure out.

And I needed to figure out more, fast, because for my third lesson Kawasaki got serious and sent out a full-spec KX250. No more KLX300R, which served me well but absolutely paled in comparison to the KX250. Lighter by almost 50 pounds, with about 50 percent more power and a lower seat, plus traction control, fuel injection, and timing maps available via Bluetooth app. This bike felt right from the first time I swung a leg over, no exaggeration.

I also needed to acclimate to a new track, at Perris Raceway. But first, set the baseline sag again in the makeshift pits. The vet track at Perris proved a little more tricky, with deeper ruts and less consistent dirt traction, some steeper faces and little rollover hillocks instead of cleanly manicured jumps. I also started lurching a little, in the on-off throttle zone with so much more power available immediately. Time to pull out that app and fiddle! With the traction control activated to the first of two settings—highly embarrassing, I can acknowledge—the bike smoothed out. 

Tickle also advised me to use the foot pedal to brake my rear wheel, in those scenarios. But I couldn’t flex my ankle enough to reach the pedal, nor feel it well enough, in these relatively new boots—even full leathers and brand-new racing boots on a road circuit provided more give, so I consistently overcooked the brakes at Perris and only skidded out more. Oh well, more practice. And the front brakes work better in dirt than expected, too, even with a bit of lean and countersteering as everybody told me not to do….

Pacing myself, trying to build up speed and last long, day three at Perris went very well. I chalk up most of my gains to the bike, mostly the weight savings and the improved suspension. One small crash, when I lost the front bars and went down at low speed, left a little bruise on my stomach and the KX needing a new bar mount. Oh well, crashes happen to everyone in the dirt, and bike makers build dirt bikes to take a beating.

As my pit crew fixed the bike, I watched Tickle riding at all-out speed. Once again, he made the fast guys look slow, almost standing still as he charged through whoops and doubled and tripled jumps. I would hate to see him ride past me at full tilt.

After Perris, I felt the itch to get back on the KX250 sooner rather than later. Back out to the desert again, then, except this time to some privately owned land without restrictions for motorcycle stickers. I tried to focus on turning under throttle, leaning over more, and for the first time ever felt the bike actually getting hot between my thighs. Gotta be a good sign! I also checked out some pics of me riding, which revealed my clearly nervous body language. Lessons learned: heels down like horseback riding, scoot my hips back, head and chest up, elbows wide, trust the bike’s suspension to absorb impacts instead of my legs.

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Lightning Strikes in the Night

For lesson four, we returned to Perris for a nighttime session, where Tickle almost immediately said I looked “more sparky.” And I felt quicker, more confident, stronger in my arms and back. These lessons starting to add up, without a doubt. But I also began noticing different types of dirt, clumpy from the water truck or smooth and slippery as the track dried up and the sun started to sink in the evening. I tried to trust the suspension even more, keeping my legs braced, so much so that Tickle advised me to “manual” or wheelie over the rollers. What is this, a skateboard? I cleared all the whoops after a few tries, even kept the front wheel up a couple of times, but never quite felt great while doing it. I mentioned that maybe I was focusing too much, and keeping myself out of the flow.

“When you're first starting out, obviously, you can learn pretty quick,” Tickle said. “But then it's going to plateau at some point. Today, I would say initially, right when you got on the track, I could sense that you made progress right away because of your riding that you did since we last saw each other. And you were excited to be here. But as soon as you started slipping and making mistakes….”

The mistakes started piling up, largely because I felt enough additional confidence to gain more speed. So much so that I began to fully clear most jumps outright, instead of casing the tabletops. Then the worst happened, as I caught my biggest air yet but came down with the tires level as if I might land on a flat surface. On a downhill, though, this put my rear tire down first and slapped the front hard. A bit of whisky throttle later trying to save it, and I landed hard on my hip and arm, smacking my helmet a little, too. Both bar mounts broke this time, a lesson on tools and knowledge, but the main lesson being to let the nose come up into my chest a little in midair then shrug my shoulders down to land. 

I wanted to get out and practice on some smaller jumps again, but the first lap out I felt my hip swelling up already. Time to call it for the night. And in fairness to myself, gritting and bearing it would have been the wrong call: By the time I loaded up and spent a few hours driving home, I could barely walk. I looked in the mirror after a shower, saw some scrapes on my elbow and some bruising already starting to spread around my right hip. My eyes looked a little swollen, and I worried about a concussion.

This stuff happens, a stark reminder that I’m a 37-year-old trying to learn a new sport that’s for teenagers who already have a decade (or more) of dirt riding under their belt. Something about 10,000 hours til mastery came to mind, and I was probably at around 10 hours total logged so far. Time to nurse my wounds and heal up. But I also needed to stay in shape for a Tour de France cycling adventure just a couple of weeks away (another story for another day).

I talked to Tickle after returning back to the United States about how he recovered from the inevitable injuries that stack up throughout a career at the top of Supercross. 

“When it comes to injuries, obviously at a professional level it's important to have the right people in your corner that you know, or you have the right connection with, which helps mentally and physically,” he told me over the phone. “It’s very hard to come back stronger, or be ready when you come back, because you're not getting that race intensity and you're also overcoming an injury throughout that period, as well.”

I felt zero inclination to race or compete, in all honesty. Instead I wanted some insight into the mental game of climbing back on a dirt bike after a crash. 

“Honestly, most of the time I've crashed, especially the ones that were bigger, I knew exactly what happened,” Tickle admitted. “Whether it was just a racing incident or I made a mistake, whether it was line position on a jump and I hit a kicker, maybe bike setup, maybe technique could have helped some of that. But a lot of times it's also just just wrong place, wrong time.”

“When it comes to mentally overcoming an injury, from my side, it's really about just controlling what you can at that point,” he coached me. “If you can't ride at a hundred percent, you gotta stay within that zone. You shouldn't overdo it.”

And so I wound up waiting four long months, hauling around a BBL of a hematoma on my right hip, until finally the swelling started to come down. Physically, I felt just about ready to get back in the saddle. And mentally, the hankering to go for a ride started cropping up—a good sign, but I also knew I would never truly know I was ready til I did the damn thing.

So I packed up the KX again and headed out to the desert, rather than returning to the track. Despite not lifting weights nor cycling after France, trying to follow the doctor’s orders and focus on mobility to let my body heal, I started finding the flow pretty quickly. My arms relaxed, hips loose, standing up and unleashing the engine and feeling the wind and the tires, letting that spectacular suspension eat.

I never quite reached the same speeds as I hit during that final lesson at Perris, keeping the recovery process in the back of my mind. I definitely wanted to avoid reaggravating my injury. Take it slow, keep learning, don’t overdo it. More riding required, without a doubt. Call me hooked, but maybe once I’ve racked up more like 100 hours or so on the trail to mastery, then I can rebuild the courage to revisit the track and see if just maybe, I can make myself into a motocrosser yet.

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