Hazard Perception – what I see is different to what you see, but the hazard is still there.

Look ahead – Slow down – Move away.

Looking ahead is scanning for hazards; slowing down and moving away is responding to them. The old 12, 6, 3 trick keeps you safe when you’re out on the bike. I say it to myself all the time. Do the 12, 6, 3, check the mirrors, start scanning again. It’s a small habit that’s saved me more than a few times, and it makes any ride more enjoyable. You’ve got time and space to process what’s happening and respond properly.

But what I see as a hazard might barely register for another rider. A bad day can change how you see things. Riding someone else’s ride instead of your own can change it even more. I’ve watched hazard perception slip the moment a rider stops riding for themselves. The more I pay attention to how my own behaviour shifts, the more I think the first hazard to watch for is whatever’s going on inside your helmet before you even leave the driveway.

Maybe you never have bad days. Maybe you’ve been riding for X years and never had a single accident. Maybe you’re the rider who’s taken every unnecessary risk and somehow stayed upright. Doesn’t matter. You still see hazards differently from the rider in front of you or behind you. That doesn’t make the hazard disappear. That car at the T‑intersection might still not see you — if you were looking far enough ahead to notice it.

Your perception of your own ability shapes how you see and respond to hazards. That’s my theory. You build a callus after riding a certain way for a long time, getting away with things, avoiding close calls. Complacency creeps in. It’s hard to break habits when nothing has forced you to.

That’s why I pull apart my own riding after the days where I’ve let too much stupid leak out. I think about what could’ve happened if I hadn’t seen something early enough or responded properly. I weigh that against the cost of getting it wrong — life, livelihood, or losing another arm. I pick at the “what was I thinking?” trying to find whatever button I need to press to adjust my behaviour for the next ride. Getting away with it once, five times, a hundred times doesn’t guarantee you’ll get away with it the next time.

My missing arm proves this.

Hazard perception is my boilerplate response to “motorcycles are dangerous.” There is danger in riding, but you can cut a huge amount of it down with good hazard perception. When I first got back on the bike, people questioned my decision to ride again. I never understood it. Back then I was cautious, aware, scanning far ahead, and I didn’t have anything close to a near miss. Anything sketchy, I’d already seen and was responding to.

Fast forward a few years and complacency had set in. Hazard perception took a back seat so my “skills” could drive. I had a few questionable moments, maybe one big one, before complacency got the boot. Group rides didn’t help — hazard perception fades fast when egos start riding the bikes for you.

A hazard like Karen backing the Prado out of centre parking will always exist. But what’s going on inside your helmet on the day decides how real that hazard is to you and how you respond to it. You can’t be belting or cruising around thinking you’re immune because your riding career up to that moment has saved you every time.