Advice: How to do wheelies

Now that we've got your attention with that click-baiting headline, let's get one thing straight: this is not a step-by-step guide to the spectacular, exhilarating art of wheel-standing a motorcycle.

Yes, we'll cover the basics of pulling a wheelie – after that, mastering the mono comes down to practice, practice and yet more practice. Instead, the real story here is the wheelie as means to a greater good; a by-product of understanding "ultimate motorcycle control”, which we found out first-hand at a motorcycle control school on the Gold Coast.

Like a lot of you, I've done plenty of wheelies and I've flipped a few bikes in the process – including my trusty old WR500 the first day I rode it... I still do them – in the bush, or when it's safe – but in a previous life as part of my job on a bike mag I did thousands of monos on hundreds of bikes, dirt and road, both for fun and for photo shoots.

But in 35 years of wheelies I've always preferred the no-clutch method: simply snap the throttle open, tug on the bars and then modulate the gas. Provided you've got enough horsepower and cover the rear brake, it can deliver fantastic results – especially through the gears at speed (remember Max Biaggi's monster wheelie past the chequered flag at Brno in 1998, which came so close to being an epic fail?).

Far more impressive in my book, however, is the low-speed, fully vertical wheelie, which is much more difficult because it requires precise operation of more controls – throttle, rear brake and clutch – all at the same time.

And by training your brain to overcome its instinctive reaction to fear, you can control any situation on a motorcycle, both on the road and track.

With my racing career done and dusted, my goal for the day was to learn the art of the low-speed mono, but I also brought my son Zak along to brush up on his racing skills on his KTM 65SX and YZ 85 flat track bikes. We'd be learning totally different skills, using the same three motorcycle controls.

To demonstrate this, we ventured out of the classroom and our instructor took his stock-standard 2004 Yamaha DT175 on the grassed training area with co-rider Bronwyn, who straddled him facing backwards.

He pulled a near-vertical, first-gear wheelie for a good 50 metres as they kissed, then smiled, waved and did it again three-up with a second pillion behind him.

Then he showed me iPhone pics of him wheel-standing a BMW 1200 HP2 blind-folded and doing four-up wheelies on the DT – as well as going round in circles on one wheel while on fire – to prove "you don't need power or accessories" for such antics.

By now I'm thinking it's about time for a ride, but Stevie the instructor led us to the balance beam – a 125mm rolling copper log that straddles two others on the ground at 90 degrees.

"Before we touch the bike we train your brain. It's more about mental balance than physical," he began.

Then, to my surprise, he starts talking about amygdalae, which according to Wikipedia are "two almond-shaped groups of nuclei located deep and medially within the temporal lobes of the brain in complex vertebrates, including humans," which "perform a primary role in the processing of memory, decision-making and emotional reactions".

"The amygdala tells your nervous system you're in danger in 270mph, but it can be trained. Very top-end professionals like racers and SAS soldiers can take control of their amygdale and tell it 'I'm in control. I'm going to do something, so don't panic, I'm in control.

"The biggest mistake riders make when they have a slide is they panic and shut the throttle. Or when they do a wheelie and get over 70 degrees they panic and take a foot off the peg.

"How you deal with the situation will dictate the consequences; a matter of confidence and balance.

"The pro riders are very sensitive. They know what's going to happen so they can control it. You can teach your brain to control the amygdala's signal to your senses."

Back to the copper log exercise, where we took turns at rolling from one end to the other by finding the balance point, shifting our weight and shuffling our feet on the log forwards then backwards – first while holding Stevie's hands, then unaided, then holding a set of handlebars, then blindfolded.

Stevie says this frustrating test shows how active your amygdala is: the more you panic, the more sensitive it is. Surprisingly, I was more relaxed than Zak, but after some practice we both showed a marked improvement.

We then ventured to the bikes for a lesson in body positioning and the seven basics of motorcycle control: turning left and right, leaning/sliding left and right, wheelies on the back wheel, stoppies or endos on the front wheel, and jumping with both wheels off the ground.

"Music has seven notes and is the international language. Classical, pop, rock, hiphop, reggae... they're all made from seven notes. How you mix those notes together is what makes harmony.

"Motorcycling is the same. Riding is made up of seven moves. The way how mix them together and imagine them is just like music."

Finally it was time to get on the bikes, but not to ride them. First, there was a rundown on appropriate protective gear – unless you're on the bike with Stevie – including everything is present and well-fitting with no flappy bits.

Then there was bike set-up including adjustment of all the controls: handlebars, footpegs, front brake lever, clutch lever including take-up point, throttle free-play and rear brake lever, which should be 12mm lower than the footpeg. Of course, tyres pressures, fluid levels and chain adjustment is next.

Then it was lesson number one: rear brakes. Stevie breaks up the throttle into three segments, with position one being one-third open, position two being two-thirds open and position three being full throttle.

Starting with Zak, he's told to ride around in tight circles on the 65 with the twist grip in position one, dragging the rear brake to control his speed. Then it was the same thing using the clutch to module speed, fanning the lever to feed power to the rear wheel.

Then it was both the clutch and rear brake together to control drive to the rear wheel, still in small circles with a steady throttle position one and no front brake.

Now it was time to apply the throttle/clutch/brake co-ordination we'd learned to racing, staring with starts.

Not unexpectedly, the start lesson involved keeping your body weight forward and with the throttle at position two, releasing the clutch and then modulating it according to how much grip you've got as you twisted the throttle wide open to ensure there was no break in power, shifting your body weight to keep the bike straight.

Then it was onto flat-shifting, which is relatively easy having learned the basics of low-speed clutch control. Essentially, the idea is to simulate a power-shifter by dipping the clutch just enough to reduce torque through the gearbox to allow you to select the next gear with the throttle wide open.

Before no time Zak was flat-shifting up through the gears like a pro, going from first to sixth with no break in power and the engine staying in its sweet spot the whole time.

Finally there's braking, where body position is key. Keep your body as far back, low and central as you can, brake hard with both brakes until the front tyre approaches lock-up, then modulate them to maintain maximum retardation while using your body to maintain stability. The heavier you are, the more crucial the latter is.

I was amazed at how quickly Zak picked up all these techniques, but even more impressed by how much he benefitted from them in his next race meeting, when he slammed down blinding starts, unbroken straight line acceleration, clutch-aided slingshots out of slower turns and spectacular braking moves.

By now the sun was approaching the horizon and I was to get on a bike, which I wasn't too upset about since Zak had learned so much and Stevie's wheelie demos had made me just a little intimidated.

When it was finally my turn Stevie informed me that wheelies are the most advanced stage of his course – he'll only teach the art to his students once they've mastered everything else – and that only a handful had ever achieved the ability to do 90-degree monos consistently. Sheesh.

He headed out to a shipping container of toys, where I spotted a late-model DT230 with traction control – but he wheeled out the rattiest old DT175 I've ever seen. It had a third wheel welded onto the rear subframe and more dents than a demolition derby Cortina, but everything was there and appeared to work.

There was a quick pre-brief, most of which related to body positioning.

"Most important thing is to keep your body in the middle of the bike. Sit as compact as you can in the centre line, elbows down.

"The swingarm pivot is the centre balance point of the bike. A smart rider always hovers around there. Keep core of the body perpendicular over the rear axle. Turn your head but not your core.

"Every bike has a different character. Adapt your body shape and size to suit the bike. You have to adapt to the bike. And you need to be smooth."

Sounded easy enough in theory. Then I was told to 'pop' the front wheel about a metre, by dumping the clutch with the throttle at position two (two-thirds open) in first gear and my feet dragging the ground, to learn how sensitive throttle control can be and how to manage it.

You know the theory: release the clutch and apply the throttle to lift the front wheel; reduce the throttle lower it.

"I can't pick up 20kg. How can I wheelie a 500kg Gold Wing? I use the engine, not my body. Let the bike do the work. Use the throttle and clutch, not your strength."

I do so but am over-cautious and don't give it enough throttle. The front wheel bunny hops then slams back down. Third time it got to a decent height but I shifted my weight sideways and the bike almost landed on its side.

"Stay in the centre line of the bike and your elbows down for maximum leverage, but keep the pressure off the bars."

I tried again and after a couple of minor spills on the grass I pull off a decent, straight wheelie. A few more and it was the same again with feet on pegs, knees gripping the tank.

Again the bike fell to one side because I was shifting around too much and flinching a foot off the peg to correct its lean.

"Stay in the centre, keep your feet on the pegs, legs together and elbows down," he repeats. Again. "Relax and don't pressure on the bars or pegs."

I tried hard to do so and after a few more get-offs the more I concentrated the straighter the bike stayed, wheel-standing nicely with some degree of control.

"Now, same thing but this time I want you to pop it all the way past the pivot point and hard onto the jockey wheel," says Stevie, like it was easy.

I obeyed and the front wheel pointed skywards then came down sideways. Heavily. Flushed with anger, frustration and embarrassment, I hung onto the bars, picked up the bike and attempted it again, trying to stay in the middle.

After another three big crashes, I finally got the bike to bounce onto its third wheel and stay straight before the front wheel came back down.

Now it was time to introduce the rear brake. Instead of lifting the front-end until the jockey wheel touches down, the trick is to find the pivot point before then, then modulate throttle, clutch and rear brake to keep it there.

In theory, this requires only the throttle and brake, but the good riders also use the clutch vary drive to the rear wheel, carefully operating all three controls at once.

After yet more crashes I found the pivot point and actually kept it there for a few metres, before either slamming back onto the third wheel, landing heavily onto the front wheel, or falling off sideways. Or two of the above. Nonetheless it was an exhilarating feeling.

With some more practice I went for longer and Stevie was s excited as me, but we ran out of time and daylight to do the next lesson: which is pivot-point wheelies around in circles, followed by higher-speed and two-up wheelies.

As we loaded his bikes back onto our ute, Zak looked as satisfied as I felt. It was a feeling that would last for days, even if my body was sore I barely walk for a week. In the past hour I'd had more crashes than in the entire rest of my life, and possibly more fun.

Sure, I'd run out of time to do it consistently, but with enough practice and more training from Stevie – including many more subtle techniques too hard to explain here – I reckon I can get the hang of this 90-degree wheelie thing.

At the same time, Zak had learned some seriously handy skills that continue to benefit his racing. And all in a grass paddock not much bigger than your average back yard.

More than that, we'd not only started to overcome our sense of fear and our instinctive desire to over-react, but learned simultaneous throttle, brake, clutch and body position techniques that should make us better, safer riders for life.

"It's not about wheelies for the sake of it," concludes Stevie. "If you can overcome your amygdala to control a wheelie then you can control your motorcycle in any situation."