What Makes a Motorcycle Good for One‑Arm Riders (From My Experience)

I haven’t ridden every bike there is yet, and my experience is still limited. I’ve mostly stuck to naked bikes and sport-touring-style bikes, with no cruisers and only one dirt bike so far. That dirt bike is high on my priority list currently.

The bikes you choose should start with personal preference, assuming you’re prepared to do the work. By work, I mean adapting yourself a little. I started out riding a dirt bike, then moved to the SWM, and there was a small adjustment period while my body adapted. My approach of starting with the “want” and then adapting to the bike might not suit everyone.

Feel the bike out, sit on it, and, if you’re capable and safe enough, try riding it to see how you and the bike work together. If you’re modifying the bike, you’ll be investing money and time, or both, so don’t rush this.

Why Seating Position Matters for One‑Arm Riders

How your body is positioned on the bike will be critical to how well you can control it with one arm. Before my accident, I’d loathe having to ride cruiser bikes as a mechanic: forward controls are weird, and the “laid back arms in the air” position makes low-speed work more difficult than it needs to be. At the opposite end is the butt-in-the-air, arms-low position; I hope your socket is comfortable, because you’ll be loaded up in there. The key takeaway: choose a riding position that supports one-arm control.

My TRX isn't that savage, and I’ve done some very long rides on it with one arm. It's not a problem for me now, but it took a while to build “ride fitness” into my shoulder and neck.

So, my reason for riding naked bikes is mostly control and comfort. The Zed is a great bike, with a good seating position, controls, and a seat that isn’t too bad for comfort.

Clutch Weight and Throttle Feel

Oh boy, the TRX has a heckin’ heavy clutch. Larger, older bikes without slipper clutches will have heavy clutches. That’s not such a big deal at first, until you’re stuck in peak-hour stop/start traffic. I did my Qride testing on the TRX, and it was an effort.

Most modern bikes use slipper clutches, which are much lighter than the TRX’s. Then it’s just a matter of finding the right clutch lever that works for you and fits the bike. Once you have everything moved to one side of the bike, you run into issues with room for certain clutch lever profiles.

Keep in mind, your hand is doing a lot of work now; you’ll need everything positioned so you have good mobility and access to all controls without snagging or awkward positioning. Test everything with gloves on. If you don’t wear gloves while riding, shame on you.

Vibration, Comfort, and Long‑Ride Fatigue

I’ve already covered this, but it’s worth revisiting. If you’re motivated, like me, you can get your body to work with any bike. If you’re a dedicated rider, like me, developing and maintaining an exercise routine to keep your body in shape is critical.

Long rides, vibration, that hum through the bars — I don’t feel that. But I can see it in my bike's handlebar-mounted mirrors: the left-hand side mirror doesn’t have that buzz compared to the right. Buzz or not, long rides or short rides, I’ve not had any issues with vibration.

Aside from the early days of getting used to a new bike or riding position, I’ve not had any issues with my short arm while riding. However, I do have to set the arm right for different bikes — elbow and wrist position — and if I forget to do this, jumping between the TRX and the Zed feels super awkward. Same with the settings on the Fox shock: riding the TRX means changes to compression, rebound, and the pressure I put into it. If I take off on the TRX with the Zed settings in the shock, it’s a challenging ride, and I ride back home to change things.

I have just completed a 2500km bike ride, and I certainly felt most of the Queensland roads through my short arm. The coast road isn’t too bad, but I took a section of the road trip along the inland road, and it was brutal. The rough roads and those bumps and shocks are transmitted directly to my left shoulder. The last 300km of the ride down was pretty painful. Fortunately, it was extremely cold, so I was contending more with the cold than with my sore shoulder. Any pain I felt from the road trip was easily sorted with a long, hot shower and some rest.

On the road trip home, I injured my shoulder making a simple U-turn, so I had a few hundred kilometres of that pain to manage. To manage pain while I’m still riding, move and unload the shoulder.  I’ll do this by changing body position while riding, and I’ll make sure I’m performing similar movements with both shoulders.

Bikes That Worked for Me (And Why)

I’m going to say all of them. I made all of the bikes I’ve owned or own work. There’s been some adaptation for me and the arm to make things work perfectly, but I’ve made them all work.

The SWM was a good starter bike: light, simple, solid. No bells and whistles, just a basic bike. That made it a good starting platform. I got to build important skills, like going slow, on that thing. If I had to suggest a good starter bike, I’d suggest something in the same shape and flavour: small, light, cheap. You’re gonna goof something up while you’re learning, so do the goofing up on a cheap bike.

I’m not shying away from sports bikes; I have my eye on the ZX6, or, if I can find one, the same-year GSXR-750 that I was riding when I had my accident. For now, I’ll keep riding the TRX; riding that bike keeps old, essential skills alive.

The Zed, at this stage, is a bike I’m going to keep. It’s too good a bike for what I paid for it. The mods have worked flawlessly and proven themselves very reliable. Low speed on the Zed is buttery smooth and incredibly easy for the bike that it is.

The Royal Enfield, oh, I’d have one of those again for sure. I’m pretty sure everyone knows that. Again, it’s an easy bike to ride slowly, and it’s tough, simple, and reliable.

What Really Matters to Me When Choosing a Bike as a One‑Arm Rider

That’s a long list; there are many bikes from my life before the accident I’d like to own and ride again. I won’t list them all here, but there’s old stuff and new stuff on that list. It’s no longer just about the bike or owning it and riding it — as an amputee, it’s about getting the bike to work. Every bike is different, and the more I do this, the more I want to improve these modifications and how I do them.

In the end, what matters most to me now is finding bikes I can make work and keep improving on. Every bike teaches me something different; every setup pushes me to refine how I ride and how I adapt. I’m not chasing the perfect bike — I’m chasing the process of making each one mine. One arm or not, that’s where the real satisfaction is. The takeaway is that progress matters more than perfection.

Learning curve; your brain's first time back on the bike

Brains and arms

The mental aspect of doing anything with one arm, when all you have is one arm, is the easy part.  If you dont fight it.  Shake that part loose, and then you can focus on the task in its purely mechanical form - how do I hang onto this while I do that?  It takes the bulk of the frustration out of any task.  Tasks are still frustrating until you’ve developed a system, and/or practised it enough times.

When you have two arms and you’re trying to perform a task (that requires two arms) with one arm, there’s an internal friction.  It takes effort to truly commit to completing the task and overcoming the friction your brain is creating.

I think this is why people (with two arms) see some of what I do as either “awesome” or “dangerous” - it's typical at the extremes of the spectrum.  He shouldn’t be doing that, or, how cool is it that he’s doing that?

Prior to my accident, in my brief career with the military, my section mates and I would practise tasks using one hand… and blindfolded, etc.  I remember that struggle, with my brain fighting to use both hands to reassemble my rifle.  It was a bit of a head start for how my life changed, in a lot of ways, not just performing tasks when your arm is missing.

Brains, arms and bikes

I remember the first time I rode a motorcycle after losing the arm - off-road, dirt bike, no prosthetic, bike unmodified - and my only struggle or fear was stability under brakes.  Which turned out not to be an issue; controlling the bike didn't feel like it required any extra effort.  Clutchless downshifting was seemingly instinctual, no extra thought required.  Prior to my accident, I had never done a clutchless downshift, and had you suggested such a thing to me back then, I’d have thought the idea was ridiculous.

My first ride on a modified bike, with the clutch now on the right-hand side, was without practice.  No, sitting there trying to get my hand and brain to operate the throttle and clutch simultaneously.  No extra mental effort required.  There was a struggle to operate the controls (lights, indicators, etc), but nothing that practice and time on the bike didn't solve.  Regardless of how well you’ve set the bike up, you still need seat time to get everything, including you, to work well and naturally.

Trauma

I recall that for the first year or so after getting my motorcycle license, when I was getting ready to ride and putting on my boots, I’d get these terribly vivid mental images of crashing.  This would be accompanied by a very real feeling, akin to a light concussion.  Pressure in the back of my head, a little dizzy maybe. It was pretty overwhelming, but nothing I couldn't push through.  I remember doing a LOT of riding back then, and every ride I’d push through all of that.  It doesnt happen much at all anymore, but the days when it does and it's bad, I see it as a “gut feeling”, and I dont ride that day.  That might be the trick to overcoming any feelings like this - identifying what really feels like a true gut feeling and what might just be an echo from something earlier, prior to your ride.  I definitely take time to process these pre-ride feelings now.

Expectations

My expectations of my riding ability and behaviour are pretty steady, with some fluctuations because I’m human. My riding ability is good, and my skills on the motorcycle are now well developed.  If anything, I’m all about taking the edge off some bad/lazy habits.  So my expectation of myself while on the bike is for gradual improvement, however slight; just recognise bad habits, call them out to myself, and adjust slowly.

There are people who expect me to make a mess of it again, riding motorcycles. The “I told you so” crowd is waiting for me to go tits up again on the bike.  There are those who may have seen me do something silly once and now assume that's how I ride everywhere I go.  These same people have typically had more speeding tickets than I have since being back on the bike.  That, or they’re non-riders who don't understand the depth of my passion for motorcycles and motorcycling.  Easy to ignore while I’m focused on myself and what I can control.

Eyes forward

Maybe the one thing learning to ride again with one arm has taught me is the same golden rule of riding a motorcycle: look where you want to go.  If you simply maintain a focus on improvement, not get caught up in the what-ifs or what others think of you riding again, the small stumbles and errors that invariably occur are easy to overcome.  And, if you pace yourself right, those stumbles and erors dont end badly.  It's not a smooth or linear progression; some days it's heavier, and others it's smooth.  Just keep looking where you want yourself and the bike to go.

Why “Inspirational” Doesn’t Sit Right With Me

Every now and then, someone will call me inspirational — for rebuilding my life after losing my arm, designing/building my own arm, for getting back on the bike and for being a dad who keeps showing up.  One or a combination of those.  It’s a kind thing to say, but it’s never sat comfortably with me.  In my mind, being an inspiration means taking hardship in your life and turning it into something purposeful. Not just to survive it, but to shape it into something that helps others.

Plenty of people go through hell and just keep going quietly.  Some turn their experience into a message that helps others.  I feel like I’m standing here somewhere in the middle — still trying to figure out what my own story is worth and what parts of it might actually help someone else.

So when someone calls me inspirational, the discomfort I feel comes from knowing I still have plenty of work to do - that maybe where I’m at hasn't quite matured enough to be of great value to anyone just yet.  I’m still in the process of rebuilding my life. I’m still a Dad who is constantly learning.  The arm - and honestly, arms - are all ongoing projects.  And while my skill levels as a rider and my riding behaviour are on an upward curve, they are still developing, and old habits persist.  Hence why I’m heavy on the “I’m not here to preach or teach” when I write because I’m full of imperfections.  Even when I reduce the window down to just where I’m at with riding motorcycles.

Originally, my website was meant to showcase the mechanical design work I was doing and what I was capable of in that space - the arm being one of those mechanical design projects.  I know I have talked about the shifts in my attitude (toward motorcycle safety) during the design stage of the arm, but it was actually being out there on the road, sharing experiences and rides with the entire spectrum of the motorcycle community that made things click for me.  I’d gone through a stage where I’d very nearly fallen back into old (pre-accident) riding habits/behavior, and I participated in a few government-funded motorcycle safety initiatives and supervised learner riders with varying skill levels and attitudes.  I started paying attention to motorcycle fatalities in my state and in my country, and soon changed the scope of my website to focus on motorcycling from my perspective, with the aim of encouraging a shift in motorcyclists' attitudes.

I could just swim in my lane and just discuss topics related to riding a motorcycle with a permanent disability, but I’d much rather see other riders avoid a situation anything like mine.  As far as what's involved with riding a motorcycle with one arm, I won't have much to write about soon. I’ve just about got this challenge beaten, and I’ll move on to another challenge as an amputee.

Inspirational isn't what I’m aiming for, and I’m not aiming to be a squeaky-clean motorcycle safety ambassador.  I guess I’m practising the one thing that I am preaching, and that's to lead by example.  Even if that example is still imperfect and still adjusting.

Top Questions About Riding a Motorcycle With One Arm (Answered From Experience)

When people find out I’m out there riding motorcycles with one arm, the questions come thick and fast — and honestly, they’re good questions. Riders, new amputees, curious onlookers… everyone wants to know how it works, what’s possible, and what it actually feels like. So I’ve put together answers to the most common questions people ask me about riding with one arm, based entirely on my own experience and how I’ve learned to make it work. Expect a long learning curve with a few bumps along the way, but do everything you can to tackle this from a safety perspective. Bikes are fun, and it's easy to disregard safety to keep your passion alive, so surround yourself with the right people — the people who are happy to see you back on two wheels for the long run.

Some of these questions are answered here and here.

Can you ride a motorcycle with one arm?

Can I ride a bike with one arm? Maybe. With the right set-up, preparation, guidance and practise, YES, you can ride a motorcycle with one arm. You need to be 100% sure you’re ready to ride — and that your loved ones are ready for you to ride. From there, planning and preparation, you can lose more than another arm without those two.

Legalities — I had to have my ability to ride a motorcycle assessed by a specifically trained and qualified occupational therapist. I then needed a doctor's certificate to support their outcomes, and I could then sit the standard motorcycle test that any other rider is required to sit. Your situation/location/legalities may be different — but it’s very important to check in with that side of things before you start.

How do you modify a motorcycle for an arm amputee?

I start with personal preference for the bike, then the controls — based on my capabilities. Then, lots of research on the bike, and as above, lots of preparation and planning… followed by lots of testing. Is there a bike that can't be modified? I highly doubt it. Is there a “best bike to modify”? As long as you can access all of the technical data for the bike, any bike can be modified — assuming you’re retaining the standard clutch. Going down the auto-clutch path just limits which bikes you can own/ride in the future — and adds an additional expense to your “modifications budget”.

Do you need a prosthetic arm to ride a motorcycle?

I feel like I have better control over my motorcycle when I ride with my prosthetic. However, there are plenty of riders out there riding bikes without a prosthetic. I will say, though, that most “non-prosthetic” riders only show high-speed / straight-line riding — I don't see them doing low-speed work/cornering or much manoeuvring in environments where speed can't be used to keep the bike upright. If you’re going at this without a prosthetic, get strong and healthy and maintain those levels of health and fitness while you’re out there on the bike.

How do you steer or countersteer with one arm?

I’m pretty sure that even if you still had two arms, you would only need one to execute countersteer inputs through the bike's handlebars. It's just now that one arm is doing more work. In my case, with 1.5 arms + a prosthetic, I’m using everything I have to share the physical and mental load of steering/countersteering.

How do you brake and clutch with one hand?

Like you would normally, with two arms. I run my clutch lever under my front brake lever. On take-off, I’m moving fingers around a bit to share the load, same when braking and coming to a complete stop. This is how I do things; you will develop a system that works for you and keeps you safe when you’re out there.

What bikes are easiest to ride with one arm?

Personal preference… but I don’t feel like a cruiser motorcycle would be that easy to ride. Disclaimer: the last cruiser bike I rode was before my accident, and I struggled to ride it — my brain and feet can't cope with forward controls. When I started learning to ride with one arm, I started with a bike that had a mostly “standard” seating position — building your confidence and comfort level are super important at the early stages of learning.

My TRX 850, as an example, would not be a good starting point — riding position, heavy clutch, tall first gear = needs a lot to keep things running straight. The little SWM 440 and even the Royal Enfield, though, could be great starting points for riding with one arm — the riding position is perfect, and the bikes are easy to manage even in the worst learning situations.

Is a trike or Can‑Am better for one‑arm riders?

Personal preference, but it’d be a safe bet if your confidence or ability wasn't quite ready for a two-wheeled motorcycle. I’m unsure of the standard controls on the Can-Am, but I’m sure it could be adapted with the right thinking, tools, research and testing. When I started my arm/bike project, people suggested I go this route, but it felt like an easy way out. I feel the same regarding auto-clutches.

How do you keep a prosthetic hand on the handlebars?

The hand of my prosthetic is engaged by a quick-release clip, which will let the hand disengage at a certain point (50 kg–60 kg), or I can easily remove the quick-release clip when I get off the bike. I’ve seen all manner of “hands” for motorcycle prosthetic arms; each has advantages and disadvantages, including mine. My clip is tethered to my body, and I’ve accidentally stood on it a couple of times, breaking it. Cheap fix, and I always carry a spare.

How do you shift gears with one arm?

For me, shifting up is as per normal: roll off the throttle, pull in the clutch, shift gears, release the clutch. Downshifting is done without the clutch — slight pressure on the gear lever, quick hit of throttle and at the same time downshift. I do this so I can still use all of my fingers to operate the front brake lever.

Is it safe to ride a motorcycle with one arm?

I feel like I’m doing okay — riding a motorcycle safely — but that's after lots and lots of practise and riding a bike an average of 25,000 km–30,000 km per year since my accident. Time on the bike doesn't equal practise in my mind, though. I still do low-speed manoeuvre practice drills and at least one emergency stop practice every week. Being safe on a motorcycle is mostly a mental and/or attitude thing anyway — you can have all your arms and still be unsafe. Get your head right, do lots of practise and ride within YOUR abilities, and motorcycling can be very safe.

How do you ride a motorcycle with one arm?

I dont know.  I know how I ride bikes with one arm, but I’ve seen a bunch of guys do things very differently and much better than me - guys like Chris Ganley come to mind, and many more riding around out there with missing arms.  I see there's a younger guy with a complete shoulder disarticulation riding a bike really well.  It's good to see.  It means there's a wealth of knowledge in experience ready to be tapped into by riders in the same situation.  When I kicked off on my own journey to ride bikes with one arm, I didn't have access to any of this, the riders and the communities online.

From what I can see, a lot of arm amputee riders dont ride with a prosthetic, which is one way around the problem.  When I was first starting to ride bikes again, just dirt bikes, I didn't use a prosthetic either, nor did I modify the bikes in any way.  I’d just push off to get some speed up and bump it into gear.  To stop, I’d just find neutral before coming to a complete stop.  I recall my first ride on the road without a prosthetic, very soon after my accident, and I didn't use a prosthetic then either - same technique - big push to get rolling, bump into gear and off I went - on an old XJ-650 of all things, so that “big push” took some big effort considering the state of my left leg that early in my recovery.

When I finally got the green light to ride bikes again, I just assumed I would need a prosthetic and went off and designed it.  I had an idea of what I wanted/needed to ride again based on my riding experience to date, which was mostly riding bikes with two arms.  I didn't quite factor in the extent of my injuries and the limitations they presented.  Hence, my arm has a range of movement I can't fully utilise.  I didn't understand these limits until after I built the first arm and started riding properly.  Properly on the road and in traffic and exposed to more situations, environments and weather than what I’d had trundling around in a cul-de-sac at home.

In those early days, as my body was exposed to more time on the bike, muscles not used for nearly two decades having to fire and perform, left me with wild headaches and quite often, after every ride, in a fair amount of pain.  The socket and my residual limb learning to live together on long rides was also a struggle for a while.  I’m glad I managed to push through on days when I questioned whether I needed to ride again.

I do still ride my bikes without the prosthetic, but only in my yard at home.  I believe the safest way to ride my bikes is with the prosthetic.  I’m not riding in a controlled environment; I’m riding on the road, with traffic.  Those quick responses required of me for sudden changes NEED stability, confidence and good control of the bike.  It's also a legal requirement of mine to ride my bikes WITH the prosthetic, and I’m okay with that.  Full transparency, I CANNOT ride the TRX without the prosthetic - that riding position, with one arm, is bonkers when riding around my yard at home.  I’ve never tried to ride the TRX without the prosthetic anywhere else, but I’m happy with the science so far.

Explaining how I ride, using my arm, using words might be a little difficult, but I’ll give it a crack.

I connect the arm to the bike before getting on the bike - fit the “hand” over the handlebar, give the hand a slight push to the left, and then fit the quick-release clip.  Then I throw a leg over the bike.  Pretty simple.  Typically, I’ll give the arm a quick test, pushing it through its full range of movement before taking off.  This lets me know if something isn't quite right with any of the actions I expect the arm to perform when I’m out.

The quick release is a clip with a tether connected to a belt loop of my jeans.  Nothing fancy. In my first version of the arm, I had the tether attached to the glove of my right hand - not a good spot, I found.  Too much potential for accidental release.  Side note: I had ridden my bike ONCE without the quick-release tether.  The hand on my arm is loose on the bars without the quick release.  So, THAT was a spooky and very slow ride home.  I carry a spare quick release on the bike now.

Riding the bike is mostly a natural feeling, but unnatural in the sense that you’re not using your entire arm.  Under brakes, I’m pushing my left arm forward, like you would when you raise your arm up from alongside your body.  This action keeps the arm in the right place, preventing it from folding up when it shouldn't.

Into turns, I’m pushing down from my shoulder, and this is difficult to describe, but there's an initial “quick push” down (or maybe push down + slight pull back?), and then you transition into the turn; the arm begins to move at the elbow as you shift your body around on the bike and into the corner.  With the compression/rebound set right, it's not as clunky as it sounds.  The arm returns to straight smoothly enough by itself or with the same “push forward” action; it’ll come back quicker.

This is the best I can do to describe what I’m doing to “use” the arm while riding my bike.  I haven't had any issues, no contact between the arm and the tank while riding, though I feel I may have two different riding postures: one for left turns and another for right turns.  Left turns, I’m not leaning on the prosthetic as much as I could, as often as I should, maybe.  Right turns, pretty normal, more bend at the elbow.  Images below for reference.

Clutches and braking.  The clutch lever is positioned under the front brake lever.  Only ONCE have I gone for clutch and instead gotten a handful of brakes.  Terifying enough of a mistake that you only make it once.  I did this AT SPEED on the SWM on some crazy twisty back road, and that bike has some heckin good front brakes with no ABS.  I usually brake with one or two fingers (index and middle finger) and clutch with the last two.  The space between the clutch and brake levers is super critical - you want your fingers in there, with gloves on, without any restriction.  Also, super important are the right gloves - I think, normal rider - the top of the gloves isn't an issue.  Whereas I’m trying to feed my fingers down between two moving parts (essentially), gloves with a lot going on on top of the glove don't work for me. on. I have seen a rider running his clutch lever above the brake lever, but that was on a track bike, or just personal preference.  I’m too deep into natural habits now; I couldn't run things any differently without hurting myself.

Taking off on bikes when you’re using one hand to do two jobs is pretty easy; I use my index and middle fingers to operate the clutch, and the remaining fingers work the throttle.  And, yes, I know that means I can't do burnouts unless I nose the bike against a wall.  Which is fine because I’m a dad to a teenage daughter, and I can't afford a steady supply of tyres.

The transition from coming to a stop and then taking off again - like at a set of traffic lights - is index- and middle-finger braking, with the remaining two fingers working the clutch.  That last second or two before the bike comes to a complete stop, I’ll move all four fingers to the clutch, relying on the brake to bring it to a stop.  Then, for takeoff, I’ll release the clutch enough so as to keep my index and middle finger on the clutch lever, then slip my other two fingers behind the clutch lever so I can use those fingers to work the throttle.  It all happens and feels much smoother than I’ve made it sound with words on a screen.

Wheelies - can I do them? Only on accident, and it's always the bike and not me, officer.  Seriously, I haven't tried to wheelie the bike outside of accelerating abruptly and savagely, knowing that's what the bike will do.  I’ve not done what the cool kids do and just lift the front wheel like it's nobody's business.  I’m just not that cool, and I’m not interested in the consequences of getting it wrong.

Switching bikes is something of a readjustment - both for my brain and my arm.  Today, I dusted off the TX and took it for a quick ride, and it was awkward as all heck.  First up, I’d just gotten off the Zed, and my brain needs five business days' warning before switching bikes.  Second, I do make a small adjustment to the arm between the TRX and the Zed - the roll position of the wrist is slightly different between the two bikes.  I have the two positions marked on the arm, and it's only about 5 degrees of rotation, but the effects are night and day.  That TRX is a great old bike, though, a short ride to blow the cobwebs out brought a big smile to my face.

The TRX is old-school; you have to rev-match your downshifts, so let me walk you through it.  Under brakes, my index and middle fingers are working the brakes, and my remaining fingers are working the throttle - we’re doing rev-match downshifts without the clutch!  I’m yet to blow up a gearbox or bend a shiftfork, and the only issue I have is an easy one to fix because it's my technique - I “tap” my gear lever, not “push” my gear lever on downshifts.  So, mostly on the Zed, second into first, can see me hitting neutral.  I think, from memory, the SWM would give me a surprise neutral between 4th and 3rd downsifts - again, I’m “tapping”, not “pushing”, the gear lever.  I’m working on this; it's a me thing, not a bike thing.

Controls like indicators, etc., are just extras, and that's where it's my thumbs time to shine.  It's probably the busiest digit on a normal ride. I have these crazy ideas of outsourcing some of my thumbs' work to another part of my body (not that part) or to the prosthetic, but I’d just be adding complexity to a system that doesn't really need it.

There’s probably a video that needs to be made to add visuals to all of this, but that’sabout it for how I ride my bike with one arm + one pretend arm.

How My One‑Arm Motorcycle Setups Evolved

Let's talk about my setups and how they evolved.

The first bike mod I ever did was on the WR450 loaner bike I was given to test this whole “one arm, two wheels” thing on.  Not the ideal bike for "testing", but I got there in the end.  Anyway, the first mod was to relocate the clutch lever.  This way I can at least ride the bike.  For the test bike and any bike, really, this is all you need... unless you're going on the road.  On the dirt bikes, there's plenty of room on the bars for the clutch lever relocation, and the rerouting of the clutch cable typically isn't an issue either.

This was my approach in the early days, but now I'm a firm believer in leaving the factory clutch lever and cable attached in their factory positions.  This saves you from relocating the clutch switch, makes the bars look neater, and, if the mirror mount is part of the clutch lever mount, saves you some headaches.  Reattaching the factory clutch lever to act as either a "clutch switch only" cable or as a "second functional clutch lever" is a bit tricky. The latter is the trickiest and one I'm yet to master.  My current Z900 has "two functional clutch levers", but the attaching part is only made of nylon and breaks after a few uses.  I'm yet to fab one of aluminium or build a simpler mousetrap.

Simple is always best.

The SWM 440 was the test bed for all of the switching and wiring.  I ended up using some generic eBay switchgear, with another generic eBay switchgear attached to the bottom of the first one.  Along wth a modification to the first housing to accommodate the indicator switching.  It was a fun experiment; I bought so many generic switchgear assemblies to test.  Same with clutch levers and clutch lever mounts, I shelled out for a bunch of different ones along the way.  Again, the clutch lever and its mounting are critical, as they eat into your handlebar real estate; it's a tight squeeze once you start stacking things where they don't normally belong.   I did try wider handlebars for the SWM 440.  But I went back to the standard bars after a while.  Stock bars are the best bars.

I think if I had to do the SWM 440 again, I’d use the same part I used on my Royal Enfield.  For the Royal Enfield, I sourced an RH-side switchgear assembly for the Indian/overseas market.  This switchgear had a headlight “on/off/high beam” switch that, with some soldering work, became my indicator switch.  If then repurpose the standard kill switch to the headlight high/low beam switch, and the starter button becomes the horn button.  Then it's a matter of making a housing for the starter and kill switches.  Why repurpose switches that already have functions?  Ergonomics.  Indicators aside, I want to switch between high and low beam “naturally,” not have to hunt for a homemade switch when my eyes need to be on the road.  Same with the horn button.  Natural position.  The starter and kill switches (kill switch is up for argument for some, I bet), but I have time to go looking for that (typically).  Anyway, the Royal Enfield RH side switchgear is identical to the SWM 440 RH switchgear in every way other than electrically.  You need to de-pin and reposition the pins on the Royal Enfield switchgear for it to function on the SWM.  The other HUGE bonus with doing things this way is that you get to retain the factory throttle cables.  I’m not a fan of swapping out factory throttle cables… in case I need to go hunting for the kill switch I moved.

The Royal Enfield got the mods I mentioned above; funnily enough, I reused the SWM’s factory clutch lever on the RH side of the Royal Enfield.  It was the better fit and function.  It did take me two goes to come up with the best relocated starter and kill switch housing - it used 2 x 8mm switches (Aliexpress) and a 3D printed housing.  Side note - there's a common complaint with the Royal Enfield 650s, they cut out and won't start intermittently.  The only time my ever did that was when my cheap kill switch button failed.  Other than that, the new switch is installed; my 650 never had that intermittent cutout issue. I believe the Royal Enfield 650s have a sketchy kill switch, and if I owned one and it was cutting out, I’d start by investigating the kill switch.

For those playing at home, there is NO room inside the headlight shell of the SWM for any additional wiring, very cramped in there, and a challenge to feed any additional wiring up into the shell.  TheRoyal Enfield was a bit more accommodating.  I never sorted the clutch switch on the Royal Enfield, though I just rode the bike without one. But if I had to do things again on another 650, I’d just keep the factory lever/cable/switch in place.

I used those same 8mm switches for both the TRX 850s in a custom housing.  I’m about to put the Black TRX back on the road, and I’ll be ditching this “custom” housing in favour of a setup similar to what I have on the ZED.  This custom housing was an attempt to overcome the complete lack of real estate on the stock TRX handlebars.  It worked, but it's not very ergonomic for the high- and low-beam or horn switches… I got used to the horn switch, but the high/low would always trip me up.  Fortunately, the stock headlight on a TRX isn't that great even on high beam.  As I mentioned, I’m redoing the TRX switchgear and clutch setup - I want the TRX to be the first motorcycle I do that can be operated by a rider with one arm or a rider with two arms.  The current clutch switch mod for the two TRXs used a generic rear brake light switch and a custom 3D-printed bracket to mount it.

The First Z900- this is the bike where “keeping things factory” really kicked in.  It was the first “clutch switch cable” bike; two clutch cables, one connected to the engine's clutch arm, the other tethered to that cable to activate the clutch switch.  The switchgear was a K&S switchgear, which was pretty nice other than the high/low beam not functioning in extreme rain - in the wet, that bike was high beam all the time, until it dried out.  I used the same 8mm switches, again in a custom 3D-printed housing.  On the first Zed, but I got a bad batch, and they were nothing but trouble - and when the kill switch wigs out on your Zed, you get error codes.  The first Zed also required a custom-made front brake light switch because of the clutch lever's position relative to the front brake lever.  Previously, I’ve used hydraulic front brake light switches - both the TRXs use hydraulic brake light switches.

The second, and current Zed, is the standard I’d like to maintain - the switching is still generic  gear, but it's so far been extremely reliable in all sorts of weather.  The ergonomics take getting used to; the indicator switches are latching, so you've got to dance a bit with your thumb, or you’re going to confuse other road users.  I’ve gotten used to that and the “best I could do” positioning of that switchgear. You see, the second Zed is “fly by wire”, and I am NOT going to mess with that housing.  So, I kept everything throttle (and start/kill switch) where they are, and simply 3D printed a mounting plate to attach the switchgear.  No need for a custom-made front brake light switch on the new Zed this time - plenty of room there.  I’m using a different clutch lever on the Zed, and I feel like this part might be my standard part, as it pushed the clutch cable position (relative to the bars) out further than most generic levers I’ve used before.

I use lever spacers to push the levers out away from the bars.  On the Royal Enfield, I used an 8mm spacer on the front brake lever only.  For the two TRX’s, I used the same spacer, and I believe I’m running a Righteous Stunt Metal clutch lever on one TRX (great lever).  The current Zed uses a 12mm lever spacer on the clutch lever and an 8mm spacer on the front brake lever.  This works for me, but may not work for others.  And, my ride instructors are going to get mad - I only use two fingers on the brakes.  My other two fingers are working the clutch.  I do, however, practice four-finger emergency stops - I just let the bike stall out at the end.

Generic clutch levers have very generic quality - they wear out.  I’ve found the Righteous Stunt Metal levers are great, or the chunk boi clutch lever I found on AliExpress - I’m using this on my current Z900, and it's been great.  The clutch spacers are sourced from Righteous Stunt Metal, or I’ve 3D printed the taller ones from Aluminium.

Tools.  Get the right tools: strippers, crimps, connection tools, etc.  And, get a wiring diagram, then spend a day or two looking it over, then pretend it's completely wrong and TEST EVERYTHING with a good multimeter.  I can't remember which bike it was, but the wiring diagram gave me wrong wire colouring - something to look out for and test for.  In all my messing around with the electrics on all of these bikes, I never nuked a fuse, ECU, battery or melted wires. Having said that, keep some spare fuses and keep something to put a fire out with when you’re messing with this stuff.  I find out what the factory connections are as well BEFORE I start pulling the bike apart.  I started doing this after I didn't do it on the first Zed.  Sets your project back a few weeks if you’re not properly prepared.  Another cool thing, or a nice thing - my preferred thing, is to source wire colours that match the factory harness.  I got most of my colour-matched wiring from the generic eBay switchgear assemblies I bought.  I build an intermediate harness now - a separate, small wiring harness that connects the switchgear I intend to use at one end, and the two other ends of the intermediate harness connect the factory LH switchgear and the main wiring harness.   Dont cut, hack into, or modify factory wiring.  When you use the same connectors as the factory harness, the work is pretty simple.

Ergonomics are SUPER important, and it took me a fair few goes to understand that.  This is the switch position, switch actions and the mechanics of the switch itself.  All contribute to a smooth riding experience.  You dont want to be hunting for switches while riding, so position is the first priority.  You dont want to fight a switch, both in its action (press/pul/slide/rotate) and its action (start, kill, horn, indicators, etc.) - choose the right switch for each function.  I have found you dont get a perfect world situation; there’s always been a trade-off. Be it a heavy switch or “just not quite right” switch position, there’s still some adapting required.  At least until I start making my own entirely bespoke switches and switch housings.

That's what I have from the bikes I’ve done so far.  I’ll update or do another post once I have the TRX sorted - this will be the first “one arm or two” modification I do, and hopefully it will be the default with every bike I modify in the future.

My Approach to Bikes: Want It, Buy It, Adapt It

Buying a motorcycle is already a gamble, but buying one without test riding? That’s a whole different risk. I don’t get to see if a bike fits, feels right, or makes sense for my body until after I’ve bought it. I can sit on it, check the reach, the ergonomics, the vibe. But the real question—can I actually ride this with one arm?—doesn’t get answered until it’s mine.

For me, bike buying feels like an arranged marriage. No test rides. Commitment is final.

So far, I’ve been lucky; stubbornness and brains have gotten me through.

My first bike back — the SWM 440 Gran Milano — was the guinea pig. I sat on one at a local dealership, loved it, and before I could scrape together the cash, it sold. So I bought one sight unseen from out of town and had it freighted up. No test ride. No guarantees. Just hope and stubbornness.

The Royal Enfield I bought purely based on how it looked on the internet, figured I’d make it work. And I did. Great bike. I should get another one.

The TRXs? Both of them? Didn’t care. I loved those things before my accident and swore I’d get one one day. So, when they came up, I dived in, determined to make it work, regardless of how good the fit was now that I had one less arm.

The two Zeds weren’t what I was looking for. I wanted the RS—older gentleman and all that. But Bub preferred the TRX’s seat, so the Zed it was. Turns out, the Zed suits my riding better than expected.

There are two big stall points before I buy: wiring diagrams and understanding switchgear, especially how changes affect clutch switches, brake light switches, and levers. I have to squeeze in a clutch lever, typically between the existing front brake lever and the switchgear - real estate here and the lack of it can be the biggest challenge, even before you’ve figured out how to get the controls over to that side as well.

I’d own an MT-09 if it weren't for A: the lack of real estate (what's with that brake light switch?) and the issue with Yamaha not sharing wiring diagrams. I could probably sort that brake light switch, get my clutch lever in there, but without wiring diagrams, my dreams of owning one of the best-sounding motorcycles will remain a dream for a while longer. Longer now again as I have a rock-solid Z900 that will outlast me probably… and the Zed sounds pretty good at full tilt.

Kawasaki have always been brilliant. Helpful with information, and their electrical systems are a dream to work with. Everything just makes sense; simple, nothing fruity going on there with the wiring. Nice wide bars to make room for the extras I need to make the bike rideable.

I don’t know how other amputee riders handle this. Maybe they test ride, maybe not. For me, every purchase is a trust fall.

The mods themselves have gotten easier over time. I’ve built a process:

1. Remove as little as possible.

2. Reuse everything you can

3. Build an intermediate harness so the factory loom stays untouched.

4. Source the right electrical connectors (plugs and sockets for wires) and tools.

5. Keep it clean, reversible, and reliable.

6. Each bike gets easier. Each mod gets cleaner. Each system gets more refined.

My next challenge is a big one:

Making a bike rideable by both a one‑armed rider (me) and a two‑armed rider (probably my Dad).

The TRX is coming back on the road soon, and it’ll be my first attempt at a “two‑handed one‑armed bike”… or a “one‑armed two‑handed bike.” Whatever you call it, it’s going to need:

1. Factory left‑hand switchgear is fully functional.

2. Controls fr me on the right-hand side, including the factory right-hand controls.

3. Two functioning clutch levers: the factory lever and one for yours truly.

4. A grip on the left-hand side that accepts a “normal” hand but still includes the release hardware for my hand.

I should be modelling parts and printing prototypes, but this has been on my mind for a while.

Buying bikes without test rides.
Modifying them from scratch.
Making them work for a body that isn’t standard issue.
And now, trying to make them work for any rider.

It's a great excuse for me to buy more bikes, I think.

Maybe It’s Them, Maybe It’s Me… Probably Both

This might be the first time I’ve shared a common experience as a rider with a disability, and it probably says as much about me as it does about the experience itself. Since being back on two wheels with one arm, I’ve noticed reactions from certain riders I cross paths with — and the reactions I have in return. This is more me digging around in my own head than pointing at other riders, so bear with me. I tell this story much better in person.

The typical scenario is that I find myself in a group of new‑to‑me riders. Introductions out of the way, we talk about bikes and maybe missing arms, we swap war (crash) stories, and we shoot the shit about life and life+bikes. Not every time, but often enough, there’s one rider — maybe two — who isn’t quite okay with the fact that I’m out there on a bike with one arm.

This isn’t to be confused with the obvious “shit test,” the little probe meant to test who I am and whether I’m full of it. I understand and appreciate those. I think they happen between most men, on or off bikes.
I’m talking about a distinct change in the vibe, even when it’s not an outward criticism of me riding with one arm.

Not that I haven’t had direct criticism:
“You’re an idiot for getting back on the bike after losing your arm,”
“You can’t convince me that thing works or is safe,”
“You’re an idiot for wasting time and money on something like that.”
Most of that washes off my back pretty easily. It’s direct, and I can usually respond (or not respond) in a way that suits the situation or the person giving me a hard time. Different flavours of this come from riders and non‑riders, but mostly non‑riders. Either way, it’s easily dealt with.

In a group of riders, though — again, not every time — there’s a type who seems to perceive me as a threat. Male or female, young or old, there’s a rider who will change their behaviour (on or off the bike) when I’m around. Typically, it’s when we’re out riding. The pace shifts, the risks increase, and lines get crossed. I’ve been in front of and behind riders who push new limits for themselves when I’m there. I’ve seen plenty of near misses and near losses when a “spirited” ride suddenly becomes a ride where a few people are out to prove something to themselves or to me.

It’s why I avoid group rides with certain groups.

It’s only half the reason, though. The other half is me. I have a failing that sees me push back; my usual limits disappear, and I find myself riding much like I did before losing the arm. I’m fully aware of it while it’s happening — increasing the risk to myself — but I still feel that pull. I’m just as bad as the rider who struggles with the reality that I can do what he can do with one arm, and maybe even do it better. It becomes two riders out to prove something to each other that, in reality, doesn’t need to be proven. At least not with that level of risk.

Recently, I was on a group ride where the rules and route were clearly explained to everyone. I found myself out front — not trying to push anyone’s limits, just enjoying the corners and how the bike felt. In my mirror was a rider on a big push to close the gap; rubber‑banding — catching me on the straights, falling behind into and out of every corner. Doing the math in my head, that rider must’ve had the taps wide open between corners to make up the distance. Their corner entry speed must’ve been pretty hot and exciting. I managed to scrape together some brain cells and ease off for the rest of the ride - enough so the rider behind me didn't need to push their limits to keep up with me. The damage was done, though. Post‑ride, that rider and I had a bad vibe, which I found disappointing.

Not all experiences have been bad. I recall a ride where I was openly shunned, discredited, and written off as anything close to capable compared to a group of fast riders. A few runs up and down a local range later, and everyone was impressed and super positive about my riding. Feels good, sure — but there were a whole lot of unnecessary risks taken by all of us that day, including me. I don’t ride with that group now. I didn’t break a bunch of personal rules to be accepted by them. I just didn’t like having my abilities diminished by people who, from my observation, had abilities equal to my own.

Writing this now, I wonder how often this happens for other riders — regardless of missing limbs. This urge to prove ourselves to a group. To fit in and be accepted. Or to demonstrate something about our ability, even when fitting in isn’t the goal. And I wonder how often we stop and ask ourselves what we’re actually chasing.

Is the group worth the risk?
Is “proving” anything to these people/person/group worth it?
Is the validation worth the cost?
Is the feeling of belonging worth riding past our own limits?

These are the questions I’m trying to get into the habit of asking myself when I’m exposed to situations where my abilities are questioned. Emphasis on “trying” because I’m still human and mistakes are still a thing I make from time to time.

Every day, I come to realise that learning to ride a motorcycle is much more than learning to operate one.  It's about learning to understand yourself and your motives, and deciding which parts are worth listening to.

Adendum;
I’m not saying every reaction I perceive is the truth. I know my own history, my own ego, and my own sensitivity around bikes can colour things. But there’s also no denying that a certain personality type absolutely exists — the kind that gets threatened when someone they underestimated turns out to be capable. I’ve seen it in riding, and I’ve seen it in martial arts. More than once, I’ve had training partners dial things up a few notches the moment they realise I can actually fight. The same thing happens on the bike: some people genuinely push harder when they’re surprised by what I can do. So while I know my perception isn’t perfect, some of these moments are very real, and they’ve shaped how I ride around others.

Lead By Example: The Riders We Become, The Riders We Create

A thought that’s been rolling around in my head lately is that old line: “If you can’t lead from the front, lead by example.” I’m pretty sure a corporal threw that at me once, and it stuck. Back then, it had nothing to do with motorcycling, but the older I get, the more I realise it applies to almost everything — especially riding.

I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately. My brain is still finding its footing after surviving 2025, and with the way the motorcycling community has been heading in 2026, that “lead by example” line has been stuck in my head like a thorn. It keeps making me ask: what examples are we actually setting as riders? Which ones are we following? Which ones are we passing on? And which ones shaped us long before we even realised it?

This whole word salad started after a camping weekend with my best mate, Caine. I met him years ago when he posted online looking for a learner supervisor, and we’ve been mates ever since. He’s a good bloke, and his riding is what it should be — confident, capable, calm. Not perfect, but no rider is. What matters is that he learned by watching me ride and listening to me babble on about motorcycling from my perspective. I didn’t “teach” him much. He learned by example.

And that’s what’s got me picking at this “lead by example” thorn tonight. Because the examples most riders have access to today aren’t the ones that help you build a long life on a motorcycle. High risk is sold as cool, consequences are hidden, and the attitudes being pushed are completely wrong for anyone who wants to ride into old age.

To be fair, the example I grew up with wasn’t perfect either. My dad taught me precision, technique, how to understand the bike, how to feel what it was telling me, how to brake properly, how to shift properly — all the good stuff. He taught me how to fix the bike, too. He did an amazing job. But I also grew up listening to his stories from his younger days — fast riding, dangerous riding, riding with no regard for the law or safety. And when you’re young and obsessed with motorcycles, those stories are cool as hell. That was the example I carried with me when I got my licence.

Even today, post‑accident, when I ride with my dad, things can still get a bit spicy. Neither of us is perfect. My first ride after the accident, with my v1.0 arm, was borderline “lose the other arm” territory. Funny how that works — both of us intimately aware of what happens when you ride a certain way, yet still riding that way. But in the six years since that first ride, a lot has changed. We’re both older, slower, and the echoes of all the research I did while designing the arm never really left my head.

That research — the crash studies, the biomechanics, the physics of what happens when a body hits the road — became my new “lead by example” after the accident. I spent a lot of time watching crash videos and reading research papers about what actually happens when you come off a bike. It wasn’t fun, but it changed me.

Then there was Q‑Ride. People love to criticise it, and I’m not saying it’s perfect, but I got a lot out of it. Before I did my pre‑learner course, all I’d done was slow‑speed practice. I still love that stuff, and I still practise it on every bike I own. When you get slow‑speed control sorted, it takes so much of the static and stress out of riding.

Q‑Ride works when you get the right instructor. I was lucky — I had Brett. He had the skills, the communication, and the patience to fight through my bad habits and help me adapt everything to one arm. Beyond that, he was someone you could have genuinely insightful conversations with about road safety and rider behaviour.

Brett’s example set the standard for how I try to lead by example now, especially with learner riders. I want to pass on skills, but not just the actions — the purpose behind them. Skills matter, but attitude matters more. The right attitude keeps you within the limits of your skills. The right attitude keeps you out of trouble with the law and the wider community. The right attitude keeps you out of the hospital.

And that brings me back to the examples young riders are getting today. The internet is full of “examples” — and they’re the thorn. Kids watch some internet hero riding in a way nobody should be riding. It’s glorified. It gets clout. It gets attention. But the message underneath it is completely wrong for anyone who wants to ride long‑term. You only see the highlights — the best of fifteen takes. You don’t see the screw‑ups, the injuries, the damage, or the lack of actual skill behind some of it. And it’s always wrapped in some edgy caption to make it look even cooler. It’s not even a real example, and it’s still a bad one.

Kids and new riders eat that stuff up. They buy the bike and chase the clout without thinking about the risks or consequences, because they don’t see them. And even if they were shown the consequences, I doubt many young riders — especially young men — would fully understand them. Some of us, myself included, only learn through pain. But I honestly believe that a shift in attitudes toward risk and consequences will only come from the motorcycling community providing better examples.

We all arrive at motorcycles with some kind of attitude. It’s the examples we follow that shape that attitude as we go deeper into riding. And that’s what all of this is about for me. I want a shift in attitudes — in riders, in the motorcycle community, and in the wider community. I don’t think flashy ad campaigns, tougher laws or more restrictions will fix anything. We need a cultural shift, and that starts with the examples we set.

I don’t have sway over the whole motorcycling community. All I can do is maintain my own skills and set a good example when I’m out riding — especially when I’m with learners or new riders. Not to baby them or turn every ride into a lesson, but to find the balance between fun and safety within their limits. On paper, it sounds like I’m not “riding my own ride,” but when you’re around learners, you have to find their comfort zone and ride in it with them. Don’t push them out of it. Let them grow. Guide them while they do.

That’s what’s worked for me.