I did not plan a photoop ride. Around 3 pm, I strapped a 25 kilo rucksack to the pillion rack in Pushkar, set my navigation for Delhi via Jaipur, and rolled out knowing the monsoon would catch me somewhere on NH48. If a motorcycle calls itself “Adventure,” this is the kind of shift it should handle without sulking — long, wet, heavy, and mostly in the dark.
The Yezdi Adventure 2025 is a tall motorcycle, with a seat height of 815 mm. At 5’7”, I can almost plant both feet on the ground, and while it isn’t flatfooted comfort, it never feels intimidating. Once the bike is in motion, the ergonomics make sense — the wide handlebar, natural rise, and justright elbow bend keep the shoulders relaxed. It’s a stance that feels settled rather than strained.
Comfort across distance, however, is a different story. The split seats look plush, and are generous when it comes to space, yet they nudge you into small shifts every hour or so. It is not a dealbreaker, just a rhythm you adopt: throttle, breathe, saddle, shuffle, carry on. What helps is the bike’s balance with luggage. The rear never feels pendulous, even when you dodge a crater or change lanes late because a truck has decided to be the law.
Cruising between 90 and 100 km/h, the Adventure feels composed. Beyond that, it begins to strain and vibrate. Vibrations can be felt on the handlebar, footpegs and the tank. They’re present enough to register, but not at all the kind that numbs your hands or makes you want to cut the ride short. Suspension tune is competent. You do not get that float that hides everything, and I am glad you don’t. The bike reads the road and takes bigger hits with a single thud rather than a shudder. I found the tyres honest on the tarmac and off it.
Adventure bikes often feel oversized in cities, yet the Yezdi managed crowded stretches with relative ease. Jaipur’s busy markets and Pushkar’s narrow lanes demanded lowspeed balance, and the bike delivered. The clutch action stayed light, which matters during long spells of stopgo riding. The lever itself is on the shorter side; in bulky gloves you’ll notice it. Inside Pushkar earlier in the day, firstgear crawling didn’t turn choppy; the bike will trickle without nagging you to feather constantly.
The instrument cluster’s turnbyturn navigation saves faff. Pair once, follow prompts, and forget the phone. On a ride where water tries to colonise every pocket, fewer mounts and screens is a blessing.
It was between Jaipur and Delhi that the real trial began. The sky opened up and the highway turned into a glistening sheet of water. Switching to Rain mode transformed the experience: traction was predictable, the bike stayed surefooted, and there was none of the nervous twitch that usually creeps in when tyres meet slick tarmac. The traction control doesn’t cut power abruptly; instead, it feeds it back in gently, which is what gives you confidence when the surface changes under you.
It’s in these moments, with trucks looming and visibility dropping, that technology justifies its presence. A note for the forgetful: ABS mode goes back to default every time you cycle the ignition. If you’re hopping in and out of dhabas, you’ll get used to tapping through the options again.
On a rainheavy night, what impressed me most was the twin headlight setup. Its wide, sharp beam cut through darkness, letting me pick up the edges of the lane without hunting for them constantly. In stretches where visibility dropped to almost nothing, the beam became the reason I could keep rolling.
The bike stands tall and looks like it means business. You will sit above almost every other rider. Every tea stop turned into miniQ&As: price, mileage, “does this show Google Maps”, and “kitna bhari hai” were the most common. Closer inspection is kind to it. Switchgear feels grownup, panels line up properly, and the graphics are restrained enough that the motorcycle wears its size, not its stickers. The headlight design and handlebar stance add real character.
By the time Delhi’s earlymorning traffic began to switch the lights on, I was tired in the good way — the kind that comes from being present for hours. The Yezdi Adventure did not throw surprises. It did the boring, crucial things right: stayed composed with weight, stayed reassuring in rain, stayed manageable when the road narrowed and the patience of everyone around me ran out.
What would I change? A saddle with longerhaul give, a lever friendlier with bulky gloves, and the vibrations. What would I keep exactly as is? The “Rain” calibration, the headlight spread, the ergonomics at cruise, and the builtin navigation that keeps your cockpit clean.
For riders who travel at realworld speeds, at realworld hours, on realworld roads, the 2025 Yezdi Adventure makes sense. It isn’t a sprinter. It is a companion that holds its line when the weather turns and your thoughts need the distance.
