Much of the discussion around rider training focuses on what we teach — braking, steering, throttle control, positioning — and far less on how that teaching is delivered or questioned. In earlier articles, I’ve argued that riding skill is unlocked not by technique alone, but by understanding when, where and why those techniques should be applied. The same principle applies just as strongly to instructors. If training is to improve outcomes rather than simply tick boxes, we need to examine not only how riders learn, but how trainers themselves continue to develop, reflect and challenge established practice.
How easy is instructing?
Riding — and teaching riding — is arguably the most dangerous activity most of us will routinely undertake. And yet, all too often, training is delivered and received in a surprisingly blasé fashion. I’ve already touched on the dangers of rote learning at basic level, but the problem doesn’t stop there. Even at advanced level, relatively few trainees are actively encouraged to question what they are being taught. Post-test skills are commonly delivered — and accepted — on trust.
That is not, in itself, a criticism of instructors’ enthusiasm or commitment. Most instructors care deeply about their trainees and take pride in their role. However, comparatively few spend much time reflecting on what they might learn in order to become better trainers. There are, of course, notable exceptions. I have worked alongside some excellent instructors who had clearly gone well beyond the minimum, and others who were actively trying to improve. Organisations such as the IAM have also recognised this and put systems in place to raise observer standards.
At basic training level, however, the picture is less encouraging. I have long been surprised that many CBT schools invest so little time and effort in developing their instructors once they are qualified. Even allowing for the commercial realities — the pressure to move candidates efficiently from CBT to test — better training would pay dividends, not least in reduced retests, fewer problems downstream, and safer, more confident riders. One frequently cited concern is that a well-developed instructor will “jump ship” and set up their own school. That may happen occasionally, but it is a poor justification for accepting stagnation as the norm.
Part of the problem is structural. Ours is a largely solitary profession. Once past the initial training stage, even in larger schools, instructors rarely observe one another teaching. There is little cross-fertilisation of ideas, limited challenge, and few incentives to reflect critically on established practice. The results are easy to spot: instructors still insisting that trainees look over their shoulder before signalling — a habit the DSA dropped back in 1997 with the introduction of Direct Access — or basic trainers still following long-defunct CSM manuals, often third- or fourth-hand copies of material from an organisation that ceased trading in the early 2000s.
Another factor may lie in the DVSA’s own approach to check tests. For many basic trainers, these are viewed with genuine trepidation. The reason is simple: check tests are almost always experienced as critical rather than developmental. Innovation is rarely encouraged, and deviation from a narrow interpretation of “the approved way” is often discouraged. Faced with that, it is hardly surprising that instructors play safe, stick rigidly to familiar routines, and avoid experimentation or reflective practice.
Finally, there is a cultural issue. Motorcycling has always traded heavily on ideas of freedom and independence, and that can sit uneasily alongside professionalism in training. Riders’ rights groups have often opposed further training requirements as restrictive or unnecessary. Against that backdrop, it can be difficult to persuade riders that better training brings genuine benefits. And yet the evidence is there: the introduction of structured basic training, and particularly Direct Access, has significantly broadened the appeal of motorcycling — not least by encouraging far more women to take it up.
If training is to move forward, we need to accept an uncomfortable truth. Teaching riding is not just about transferring techniques. It is about developing judgement, decision-making and understanding — in trainees and instructors alike. Without a culture that values questioning, reflection and continuous improvement, training risks becoming little more than a production line, delivering certificates rather than competence.
If there is a single thread running through all of this, it is that good training is never static. Riding is a complex, high-risk activity carried out in an unpredictable environment, and it demands more than the mechanical repetition of drills. The same is true of teaching it. An instructor who simply delivers a syllabus without questioning its purpose, relevance or application is no better placed than a rider who can operate the controls but does not understand the risks they are managing.
Professionalism in rider training should not be seen as restrictive, bureaucratic or contrary to the spirit of motorcycling. On the contrary, it is what allows riders greater freedom — freedom from fear, from uncertainty, and from avoidable mistakes. Encouraging instructors to reflect, to learn from one another, and to keep their knowledge current is not an optional extra; it is a safety intervention.
Ultimately, better-trained instructors create better-thinking riders. And better-thinking riders are not just more skilful — they are better equipped to survive in the real world, where judgment matters far more than any single technique ever could.