Kawi C14 Super Sport Trip Report Part I: Kawasaki Headquarters and First Impressions

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V
1400 cc's and 625 pounds? I had to be coerced to test ride the Kawasaki Concours 14 ABS supersport touring motorcycle. It won Rider magazine's 2008 Motorcycle of the Year award but gads, I toodle around on the likes of Urals and Enfields, and the power in my BMW K75RT is even enough to scare me sometimes. A while back I chose Moto Guzzi's  smaller Breva 750 over the 1100 for my trip around the Adriatic Sea, and it's been my favorite sport touring bike ever since. It's light and nimble, comfortable, has more than enough power for Italian highways, and is sporty enough to attract knee-scraping racers who like the occasional Iron Butt experience. Nope. I didn't sign up for the Concours. I wanted to try the redesigned KLR 650. But noooooo, "The Concours is the most comfortable sport touring bike you'll ever ride," they promised. I said, uh, okay. What was I thinking?

On the short flight from Oakland south to Kawasaki Headquarters in Orange County I was thinking all that; and that the Concours is an unlikely ride for a chick who likes light, nimble bikes. But then, at least I might be able to recommend it to all the big guys I know who like burning up the miles on the freeway: the Gold Wingers who think they might like to put a little sporty spice into their lives, or those racy supersport guys whose wives complain about the tiny pillion seat. Manny, my plumber, is considering buying a cruiser just to keep his marriage together. (Manny, keep reading! I might just have a socially-acceptable alternative for you here.)

In fact, I was so decided that the Concours was going to be overkill that I stopped studying the specs after a horrified glance at the power and weight. Yikes! I figured I'd just launch my 5"7' 130-pound frame up onto the monster and wing it. Wouldn't be the first time.

Assistant PR Manager Rachael picked me up at the airport in the Kawasaki truck after I waved her down the second time around using my helmet as a flag. During the ride to the facilities, this petite pro-biker told me she'd hopped on the Concours for a ride around the parking lot, but at 5"2' it just wasn't the bike for her. Then she looked me up and down. "You'll look tall enough," she concluded. And later, in the spacious, airy offices of Kawasaki Headquarters, Public Relations Manager Jan Plessner told me, "Donya Carlson likes it. But she's got legs up to here."

I suddenly have a bout of self-doubt. Am I too short for the bike? Am I going to have to launch myself on it, really? Perhaps seeing me cringe, Jan quickly adds "You're tall enough. I'm waaay too short for that bike. You'll love it. Really."

Okay, now I feel better. Sort of. I'm still nervous walking through Kawasaki Headquarters, which looks like an airport for motorcycles, ATVs, and jet skis, with so much eye-candy that the Concours, in understated Neutron Silver, was rendered invisible until Rachael pointed it out to me. And ha! It didn't look so dang big. I launched a leg over and settled in to find both my feet flat on the ground and in fact my knees were even bent a little. I whanged it around a little, testing its weight. A bit fat, but it felt like a much lighter, smaller bike.

Even before I started it up I got the feeling that it was based on a sport bike with touring features thrown in instead of a touring bike with sport bike features. Later I discovered I'd been right about that; it's based on the Ninja ZX-14: the biggest, baddest sport bike Kawasaki makes. Woah! I'm glad they didn't tell me that! I ain't no stinkin' sport bike rider, I am a touring bike rider! I will ride for days, weeks, maybe even months at a stretch, piddling my way around a place on backroads, revving it up on freeways, curving through mountains, and navigating the occasional packed dirt to a hidden campsite. No way am I going to be bent forward over some little bitty handlebars rattling my butt on some little bitty seat behind some little bitty windscreen splitting lanes in commuter traffic.

Fast forward two hours: I am bent forward over the gas tank using all my powers of concentration on the LA freeway tailing a little bitty Ninja who is lanesplitting at 20 mph faster than traffic idling along between zero and 5 mph. In these conditions 25 mph is admittedly too fast but it is in self defense--from the heat of the LA sun bouncing off the black asphalt baking me pink and dry--that I trust Ninja Dude to clear me a path.

Eventually though, Ninja Dude fails me, squeezing through a couple of SUVs who won't make room for my wider handlebars and luggage, but unlike the Gold Wing I passed miles back I am at least not stuck baking on black asphalt for long because the next love of my life appears: a big fat tattoed man in jeans and a black tank top riding a big fat tattooed Harley with black tassles on the handlebars. He agressively throttles his certainly-illegally modified pipes at the Frappuccino-sipping SUV drivers who have heretofore been listening to soothing, classical music. They jerk their vehicles over in alarm and following him around is how I enjoy my next half-hour. Then he dumps me. After all, to him I am a mere sportbike chicklet in a matching white textile suit and full face helmet and so he doesn't consider my feelings at all when he exits long before Highway 5 meets 60, 101, and 110 (thank you again Jan for loaning that Garmin zūmo GPS!) and I am on my own again in the gritty LA sunshine, right fingers poised over the brake lever, eyes scanning for non-signalling lane-changers, ready for anything.

At least my butt doesn't hurt. The Concours has a gel seat, of all things, and plenty of wiggle around room, and at the angle I'm tilted I feel properly postured, like a secretary about to take dictation. I'm not hugging the big, curvy 5.8 gallon gas tank and I'm not set back like I'm about to pop a brewski on the couch in front of the TV. Except for the engine heat on my lower legs, I'm about as comfy as as a girl can get in the fabled 24/7 LA traffic jam.

NEXT INSTALLMENT: Lunch with LA Times Throttle Jockey Sue Carpenter, and more lane splitting action to Palm Springs to visit with Christopher Baker, author of the Cuba motorcycle adventure classic, Mi Moto Fidel.