Wong, a California-born chiropractor and lifelong motorcyclist, is something of a legend among serious riders. Over more than three decades, his free riding clinics have drawn tens of thousands of participants, many of whom credit his instruction with saving their lives.
But Wong doesn’t preach caution or restraint—he teaches skill, judgment and self-awareness, arguing that speed itself is not the enemy; ignorance is.
The son of Chinese immigrants, Wong grew up largely unsupervised in San Francisco and found freedom early—jumping cable cars, chasing motion and later discovering motorcycles as a defining pursuit that shaped his sense of freedom and responsibility. That freedom came with consequences. He crashed his first bike—within seconds. He collected speeding tickets by the handful. And he witnessed, firsthand, what happens when riders push beyond their abilities. But those moments didn’t dampen his love of riding—they gave it purpose.
Today, Wong sees his work as part biomechanics, part philosophy and part applied technology of the mind. A martial artist, scuba diver and Scientologist for decades, he credits Dianetics and Scientology principles with helping him strip away fear, stress and reactive thinking—qualities he considers fatal at speed. With Freedom, Wong discusses how judgment eclipses courage, why practicing on racetracks can make street riders safer and what it means to ride—not for the rush, but for the long game.
You’ve said plainly that you “have a need for speed.” When did you first recognize that about yourself?
I’ve always been that way. And I realized that while riding motorcycles in my younger days.
Did you learn to ride properly after your first crash?
After my initial mistakes, I came across a book called Twist of the Wrist, by Keith Code. It gave me invaluable, foundational concepts that significantly improved my riding. I would read one chapter, then go out and ride, applying what I’d learned. I did that with every chapter, and my riding improved so much that I eventually started teaching my own clinics.
You’ve pursued many disciplines—chiropractic, martial arts, diving, riding. What determines whether something becomes a lifelong practice for you rather than a passing interest?
I don’t have many new interests—I already have enough of them! And the things I’m interested in I still do. For example, it gives me great pleasure to teach and do research in a very special chiropractic method that gives phenomenal results and helps patients improve, some of whom have been suffering for decades. A lot of people think “fun” is only when you’re doing some kind of recreation. But to me, work has to be fun. Meaning, if I’m producing really good results, it can’t do anything but give me satisfaction.
Back to motorcycling, at what point did you realize that thrill-seeking without skill is not freedom but a liability?
The first time I saw somebody in front of me crash into a tree and die. That was definitely a wake-up call.
He had ridden beyond his skills. I saw that as a major red flag, and that’s why I started my motorcycle riding clinics. They’ve been going on now for 33 years, with over 60,000 riders attending.
Was there ever a moment where you were genuinely scared on a motorcycle?
Yeah. This was in the foothills of California and I was probably going at least 100 miles an hour when I passed a car over a blind crest. I couldn’t see what was coming from the other side. That could have been the end. Because if a car was on the other side, there’s no way that I could have avoided it.
That was a wake-up call for me. I said to myself, “You can get away with a lot of things, but not all the time.”
How do you teach risk awareness without killing the joy that draws people to motorcycles in the first place?
If you told me to slow down, I wouldn’t. And if it’s not going to work with me, why would it work with anybody else?
So what I promote in my clinics is improving riding skills and confidence as a rider. I talk about how to ride within your skill level, and I tell people to stick to a speed that’s exciting, but not too exciting—meaning you’re getting a wonderful feeling of freedom, but you’re not going beyond your abilities. I teach riders how to approach that speed and not go beyond it just to chase an adrenaline rush. You can get away with that a few times, but after a while it’s going to bite you.
Riders describe you as someone who explains complex, high-risk concepts in simple, almost disarming language. Do you have to work at that or is it just you?
Well, if you complicate things, it makes people confused and less confident. I’ve noticed that when I talk to some of the smartest people I know—real experts—they share very simple concepts that are easy to understand, and they do it humbly. When a motorcycle rider comes up to me and starts bragging about how skilled and how fast they are, the first thing I think is, “This person’s a danger to themselves because they sound confident but they actually have no idea what they’re talking about.”
When someone tells you that your training saved their life, how do you process that responsibility?
That’s why I’m here. My general purpose in life is to make things better!
You’ve encouraged riders to experience higher speeds in controlled environments like racetracks. Why does going faster—in the right environment—often make people safer on the street?
Let’s say you’re going at a certain speed on the street. That same speed on the racetrack would be going slow, because at the racetrack, the curves are more even and the rider can go much faster at the same level of safety. And if and when you do crash, typically you don’t hit a tree or a wall—you just slide. So it’s safer than doing the same speed on the street. That’s where riders can actually learn and understand their limits.
What do riders usually realize about themselves after their first track experience?
On the street, they usually feel fast compared to others. On the racetrack, they realize they have no idea what fast really means!
You studied psychology, walked away from it, and later found Scientology, which transformed your life. What were you searching for at that time?
I always had a yearning to understand what was going on mentally, emotionally, physically, spiritually. I investigated meditation, yoga, chanting, Zen Buddhism. I studied psychology for four years. But I was looking for something that actually produced results—and I looked for decades.
Nothing produced a result until my first Dianetics session. The Dianetics counselor explained how the mind works, how it takes pictures and how you go back in time to find moments of pain that are holding you back. And that is exactly what we did in session and I solved a lifelong problem of feeling stupid in half an hour. After that, the cynicism and negativity from past experiences no longer affected me, and I could live a life that was exciting and brand new every day.
As for how that ties in with motorcycles, for some riders, when something unexpected happens, fear often gets triggered by the reactive mind, the part of the mind that stores pain and that clouds judgment. While riding a motorcycle, anything that clouds judgment is a negative because you’re not going to be in full control. Scientology was the permanent solution to that for me.
Do you see any meaningful difference between how people seek spiritual understanding and how they seek mastery in physical disciplines like riding or martial arts?
It’s the same thing. Let’s say you want to be an expert mountain bike rider or bowler. First, you have to get the knowledge and then you have to practice a bunch of techniques till you master them. Spiritual enhancement is kind of similar in that respect. If you want to be at a high level of spiritual awareness, you have to get the knowledge, and then you have to practice it—you have to put the knowledge into operation to see that it works. And that’s why I was so drawn to Scientology, because it is a practical philosophy that, when applied, works every single time.
You’ve spoken about freedom often—but freedom usually exists in tension with responsibility. Who, in your personal life, has most influenced how you navigate that balance?
Two people: One is L. Ron Hubbard and the other is my wife. The teachings of L. Ron Hubbard make all the difference in the world—they keep me motivated. I’m always striving to live up to what I’ve studied in Scientology—principles focused on improving my own life and the lives of those around me. And my wife, who’s an orthodontist, helps me move toward my goals because she’s on a very similar track and brings a level of professionalism to everything she does.
Has your approach to relationships—marriage, partnership, friendship—changed over time?
Oh, my goodness, absolutely! I find that as I’m coming up the line as far as my own improvement or my mental-spiritual awareness goes, my sense of care for those around me increases proportionately. It’s the opposite of cynicism.
After more than 1,000 clinics and tens of thousands of riders, what matters more now: skill, enjoyment or longevity?
It’s having the skill, having the fun, having clarity of mind—and doing it all in the long run. I’m in for the long game, not the short game. I want to live to be 120 years old. That’s my version of a death wish.
What does a “successful” final chapter actually look like to you—professionally or personally?
The final act, as it looks to me, is that I’ve helped hundreds of thousands of people—by example or advice or guidance—to lead better lives.
