2025 Kawasaki Versys 1100 SE LT first ride: To Mexico and back

That’s especially true of the touring category. The segment to which the Kawasaki Versys 1100 SE LT belongs. The liter-plus adventure-tourer has one purpose: travel. It doesn’t shy away from a twisty road or the urban jungle, but covering vast distances is its primary objective. Team Green positions the range-topping Versys as such. That much was clear when the invitation for model’s press launch hit the Common Tread inbox. 

The destination was Baja California. But, our 10-rider group wouldn’t be flying into Mexico’s northernmost state. Instead, we’d pilot the new Versys from Kawasaki’s U.S. headquarters in Orange County, California, to Ensenada’s Valle de Guadalupe wine region.

Over the next two days and 355 miles, I’d learn the 1100’s ins and outs. I’d discover its qualities and quirks; its strengths and its weaknesses. In other words, I’d truly get to know it. 

El camino

By the time I met my new steed, the morning’s cloud cover started burning off. The Versys, fully kitted in its color-matched saddlebags, commanded the curbside like a classic car — all 571 pounds of it. There’s nothing small about this Kawi. Its headlights are the size of bricks. Its windscreen is as big as the head of a snow shovel. Even the handguards are overgrown. When it comes to the 1100, bigger is better. It doesn’t go light on the amenities, either. 

All tourers should come equipped with a center stand, heated grips, and electronic cruise control. I’m sure I’m not alone in saying that. Luckily, the Versys got the memo. The model doesn’t go overboard with its features, though. It boasts cornering lights but not blind-spot detection. It sports electronically controlled suspension but foregoes adaptive cruise control. It has everything a flagship tourer needs. It leaves the rest by the wayside. 

The provisions it packs make road trips more enjoyable, but they don’t push the Versys down the road. That distinction belongs to the model’s inline four, which receives a displacement increase (from 1,043 cc to 1,099 cc, like its Ninja sibling) for 2025. There’s more to the refreshed mill than three millimeters of additional stroke. That includes new cam profiles, updated valve springs, narrower intake ports, a heavier flywheel, a larger throttle body, and a retuned ECU. 

The result of that makeover, according to Kawasaki, is 133 horsepower (at 9,000 rpm) and 82.5 foot-pounds of torque (at 7,600 rpm). If you’re keeping score, that’s a 15-horsepower increase over the outgoing model. But, here’s the thing, peak power wasn’t the main objective. Team Green was more concerned with low- to mid-range torque. Something the Versys put on display as soon as it rolled onto the street.

With the 1100, Kawi engineers intended to put more torque where the rider can use it. Boy, did they ever. Throttle pickup is crisp, with strong low-end pull. My first thought was, “this is a four-banger?” I’m used to revving out inline fours. I’m used to their screaming exhausts. I’m used to their smooth ride. That’s not the case with the SE LT — for better and for worse.

Yes, torque is immediately available in the low- and mid-range, but the engine becomes buzzy as revs approach 6,000 rpm. To avoid those harsh vibrations, I short-shifted the Versys, leaving nearly half the rev range untapped. At least that was the strategy on the surface streets between Kawasaki’s front door and the entrance to Interstate 405. Fortunately, Kawi also lengthened both fifth and sixth gears, allowing the bike to hold highway speeds at lower engine speeds. The tach needle hovered just under 5,000 rpm when cruising at 75 mph in top gear. Smooth sailing, el capitán.

I couldn’t ask more from the green machine as the miles clicked away on the dash. With cruise control locked at 75 mph, I watched Dana Point turn into Oceanside and Oceanside turn into Carlsbad. “This is why you take a motorcycle,” I thought to myself. But like all good things, that open-road zen only lasted so long. That’s because the seat lost all semblance of comfort shortly after entering San Diego city limits. I was surprised for several reasons. For one, the seat pad is stacked high, placing a substantial slab of foam under the rider. My fingers easily compressed that foam, too. Sitting in the saddle didn’t produce the same results. 

With my full weight distributed across its width, the seat hardly budged. Comfort was asking too much. It merely remained bearable for the first hour. When our pace slowed for the customs check at the U.S.-Mexico border, several riders stood up on the pegs, a telltale sign that they were experiencing the same discomfort as me. “Oh, good, I’m not the only one,” I reassured myself. 

As my colleagues dismounted, complaints about the seat rippled through the group. Whether small or tall, heavy or light, the consensus was clear: The seat is far too stiff. It was tolerable for the first 60 miles or so. Rest was required shortly after. Most of my colleagues agreed. That’s a short period of time, especially for a long-haul adventure-tourer. Good thing lunch was just 30 minutes away, in Rosarito. 

La costa

People say that things move slower in Baja. I often question if that’s really the case or if it just seems that way to those on vacation. Coasting down Mexico’s Highway 1D proved the former over the latter. Seen as an extension of the Pacific Coast Highway (by gringos like me), the four-laner was far less hectic than the 10-lane freeway we rode in on. Coastal cacti crowded the hillsides to my left. Waves lapped on the sandy shores to my right. The winter sun beat down from its zenith. Here, the villas sit next to the shacks. Whether the roofs are Spanish-tiled or thatched, they share the same ocean view. 

With nothing but sand-dusted blacktop ahead of me, I lowered my windscreen and switched from Sport mode to Road mode. If cruising is your ambition, Road mode abides. Not only is the throttle response gentler, so is the suspension. The Showa setup automatically adjusts its damping schedule based on the selected mode, with Sport favoring the most direct settings and Rain delivering the softest. For the route ahead, Road mode was the Goldilocks zone. It was neither harsh nor squishy; neither rigid nor loose. It simply steamrolled everything the road threw at it, allowing me to take in the view all the way to El Nido Restaurante.

Located on one of Rosarito’s busier thoroughfares, the establishment is one with the land. Water trickles down the patio’s living plant wall. Philodendrons and monsteras spring from between the cracks in the bricks. Rattan pots hang from the ceiling. A little over two hours ago I was in a corporate industrial park in Suburbia, U.S.A. Now, I’m inhaling the best shredded beef tacos on either side of the Río Grande. All while a tía rolls fresh tortillas tableside. That’s the power of touring motorcycles for you. You can be there one moment and here another.

With my hunger sated, it was time to get down to business. (This is a job, after all. Sheesh.) Up to that point, we’d blasted down the interstate and moseyed past the coastline. Light work if you ask me. Now it was time to put the 1100’s handling to the test. The nearby canyons were calling. The Versys was quick to respond. Well, it was once I put it in the right ride mode.

I tipped into the first bend full of gusto. The front tire tracked true. The apex approached. Then, out of nowhere, the bike sunk and wiggled. It was startling but it was also clear as day. I was still in Road mode. A long press of the up button and the Versys was on the attack. It dispensed of S-curves here. It dispatched a hairpin there. There was less pitching under braking and none of the wallowing mid-corner. The suspension wasn’t alone, either. The inline-four also thrived in this environment.

When I’m picking up the pace in the canyons, engine vibes don’t even register with me. All my attention goes to details like camber and available grip, not the buzzing footpegs or handlebars. If anything, some extra vibration is welcome. It only adds to the frenetic energy. That’s why I ventured well beyond the 6,000-rpm mark in the twisties, pushing the i4 closer and closer to its 10,000-rpm redline. In that sense, the engine has two very distinct personalities. It’s like your travel mate who enjoys both museums and the local nightlife. The trick is learning the proper time to utilize each side.  

Mi casa es su casa

The sun was retiring behind the nearby hills when we rolled down the dirt road to the Banyan Tree Veya Wellness Hotel. (Kawasaki doesn’t market the Versys as an off-road adventurer but it can trundle over a service road with the best of them.) With more than 180 miles behind us, much of our group had two things on their minds: a hot tub and a cold cerveza. Two luxuries the resort was ready to supply. 

In the morning, we made our way back to the States through the Tecate border crossing. Like most returning trips, it flew by (for some odd reason). I attribute some of that to my newfound comfort with the Versys. I was no longer fussing with the windshield or levers. They were perfectly positioned. I rarely switched from the custom Rider mode, which I tailored to highway travel (Sport throttle response and Rain suspension settings). That’s what an extra day in the saddle can do for you.

The more you travel with someone, the more you get to know them. The more you get to know them, the more you can adjust to them — and vice versa. The same goes for motorcycles. Finding the perfect travel companion isn’t easy. There are the let’s-make-an-itinerary types and the go-with-the-flow crowd. Compatibility isn’t guaranteed. When it concerns traveling, it all comes down to flexibility. The Versys has that spades.

The beauty of the SE LT is that it offers the right amount of options. I’m a simple man. Give me Hard, Medium, and Soft suspension settings. The Versys does that by default. But if you prefer 20-odd clicks of compression and rebound adjustability, it can do that too. Simplicity and adaptability. Oftentimes, those are the best qualities to have when traveling.

The Versys 1100 SE LT doesn’t come with as many luxuries as its European competitors. Its windscreen requires two hands to adjust. Its dash doesn’t display the heated grips settings (the button itself does that in a series of blinks). Its seat sure isn’t the lap of luxury, either. What it offers instead is a luxury lite. It’s your travel buddy who books premium economy, not first class. It reserves a table at the Michelin Bib Gourmand eatery, not a Michelin Star restaurant. 

Traveling with someone (or in this case something) doesn’t just show you who they truly are, it shows you who you truly are. If I know myself, this is the kind of traveling I like to do. Something tells me a lot of touring riders feel the same way.

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