Saddlemen Saddlebags - Don't Waste Your Money

 

This summer, sitting around the house, laid off due to the ‘Rona, I decided to do a couple of things with the bike. One of those things was to get a nice set of saddlebags.Well, that was the goal, anyway.

 I looked around a few motorcycle accessory websites, and settled on a set of bags called the Saddlemen Cruis’n Teardrop Saddlebags. They were nice looking imitation leather with an interior plastic framework to hold the shape, and they had a yoke that mounts underneath the seat and the bags themselves attach via zippers for easy removal to take your bags into a tent or motel room. They even included chrome D rings to lock the zipper pulls to, and little padlocks for the illusion of security.

 

I spent most of the day June 10 installing them. I can’t really fault Saddlemen for that – we all know that “universal fit” is an optimistic term at best. I had to fight with my bike’s configuration and do a lot of disassembly to get those brackets in. But hey – it wasn’t like I had to go to work, right? The bags themselves weren’t all that easy to mount, either. The material was stiffer than regular leather, making it hard to get the zippers lined up properly. They also required two strings each (front and rear edge of the bag) to be tied to the support brackets, plus a nylon webbing strap with a quick release buckle on the bottom of the bag to strap to the bracket. So much for an easy saddlebag removal. Oh well – I always pack stuff in a bag before it goes into the saddlebags anyway and rarely remove the bags.

 

So, after all that, I used the turn signal relocation bracket that was included in the package, because the bags crowded the signals just a bit. Then, the bags went on. Looked great, too. I went on a shakedown run – about 20 or 30 minutes with mixed residential riding (frequent stops) and some interstate blast to see how they held at speed. All looked good. That was Wednesday. On Thursday or Friday, I went across town – about an hour round trip, mostly highway miles. They still seemed good.

I had a rare fit of insomnia Friday night/early Saturday (June 13) morning, so I went for a predawn ride. It was all going great – kind of refreshing to ride in cool night air as a break from the summer heat of the day. I was enjoying myself on a rural state highway, and then it happened. I heard a “whop whop whop” sound. At first I thought my tire had gone flat, then I realized the ride didn’t feel any different. I came to a stop at a red light and looked back at the tire, to find that the left saddlebag was almost off the bike and had been flopping against my tire. The zipper had come undone from the base – the opposite end of where the zipper pull was. Luckily I wasn’t on a long trip on an interstate when it happened, or it would have completely come off or worn a hole in the sidewall before I knew it was happening. As it was, the tire ate a hole into the corner of the bag, and there was a strip of melted bag plastic all the way around the wheel rim. I pulled over and used bungee cords to hold it off the tire until I got home and removed the bags. (Yes, you can see in the photo that I didn't attach the little padlock. That's because I thought they were more for security, but you can also see that the zipper completely let go at the other end.)

When I got home, I looked at Saddlemen’s website and the best information I could get was to call during business hours. I was kind of ticked at that, because I’d rather have sent an email then, so it would be waiting for the warranty people when they came into work on Monday. I left a voicemail and got an email reply the next day saying I’d hear from them in 24-48 hours. When 72 hours rolled around, I sent a reply email and never got a response from that. Finally, a week later, I ended up talking to a live person, who told me I should have emailed them with my information and problem. Now I was more irritated, since I’d wanted to do that very thing, but the website was misleading.

 

For the next three weeks, I’d be promised an update, and not get one in a timely manner. I’d have to leave multiple emails and voice mails before I’d get a response. The response usually didn’t happen until I allowed an angry tone of voice to come through (after a long retail career, I try to at least keep a neutral tone when I’m angry with customer service). At one point, I went over a week with no response. The customer service person apologized at one point, saying he’d been sick and out of the office. I can sympathize with that, but it seems like if he were going to be out for a while, knowing he had an unhappy customer, he should have asked somebody to cover the account for him. He kept having to talk to the warranty department and go back and forth between them and me. I have no idea why he couldn’t just connect me with them. I’d already decided I was done with this company once the situation was done. I can understand a defective part. What I won’t accept (again, after a retail career) is substandard customer service.

Finally, I was told since it had been so long, they would just send me a new set of bags and I wouldn’t even have to return the old ones. They’d ship the bags that afternoon and email me the tracking number.  I thought that was a good move, and felt like they were trying to make it right. That was a Monday (July 13). July 15 came, and still no email, so I emailed the rep again. I got a voice mail from him the next day saying they’d ship then (the 16). No tracking number either. No surprise.

 

The replacement bags finally came, and I installed them. Luckily I didn’t have to wrestle with the mounting brackets again, so it was just a matter of zipping them on and tying the support strings and straps to the brackets. I wasn’t entirely happy with the support arrangement, feeling like the bags rested too far aft of the supports, so a friend and I bent up some metal rods and attached them to the supports. I also didn’t like the idea of those strings either getting caught on the tire or coming united, so I replaced them with carabiners.

 

All was well until I’d had them reattached a couple of months and noticed the “chrome” hardware was already showing rust. Granted, I don’t have a garage, and my bike sits in the weather, but it seems to me that saddlebags are a touring item and should be able to hold up to inclement weather for years. 

Shortly after noticing the rust, the carry handle on top of the right saddle bag tore. I was attaching a small overnight bag to the passenger seat with a bungee cargo net. The hooks went to the fender and the saddlebag supports, and I just hooked the middle hooks to the carrying straps to keep them from flopping. You’d think a handle intended to carry a full saddlebag would stand up to a bungee hook that isn’t bearing any weight at all. Anyway, I took that bag off and used the right bag from the original set.

 

That was okay until last Friday when I went to bungee my lunchbox to the passenger seat to go home from work, and saw that the right bag zipper had come undone. Once again, it didn’t just come unzipped like a jacket would – it came undone from the base.

So, now I have to call Saddlemen after work Monday and see if they’ll give me a refund. I doubt it since they already replaced the bags once. At best, they’ll probably offer me another set of bags, but they can keep them. My experience with Saddlemen has been nothing but negative, and I’ll never buy another thing from them. Lousy customer service, and from my experience, consistently shoddy merchandise. They have a good reputation for their seats, but apparently that’s where all their effort goes, and they don’t care about the bags.

We Don't Need No Stinkin' Baggers (repost)

In the interest of making regular posts, I'm once again throwing out a repost from my original blog (handgrenadesandhorseshoes.blogspot.com).

This one is actually timely, in a way, as the world just lost rider/writer Robert Pirsig in the last week. If you've never read Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, go pick up a copy. Especially if you ride.

We Don't Need No Stinkin' Baggers

Photo taken from http://ww2.usca.edu/ResearchProjects/ProfessorGurr/gallery/Pictures-Robert-Pirsigs-original-1968-trip/aam

In the late 1960s, Robert M. Pirsig took a motorcycle trip. He told the story of that trip, and mingled in philosophy and a bit of autobiography in the book "Zen And The Art Of Motorcycle Maintenance".


Here is a list, excerpted and compiled (and  paraphrased in places) from lists of his own in the book, telling what he carried on his trip:

1. Two changes of underwear
2.  Long underwear
3.  One change of shirt and pants for each of us. I use Army-surplus fatigues. They're cheap, tough, and don't show dirt.
4. One sweater and jacket each
5. Gloves
6. Cycle Boots
7. Rain Gear
8. Helmet and sunshade
9. Bubble (he refers to a snap on face shield available for the helmets of the day - full face helmets weren't around yet)
10. Goggles
11. Shop manual for his bike
12. Chilton's Motorcycle Troubleshooting Guide
13. A copy of Thoreau's Walden
14. Two sleeping bags
15. Two ponchos and one ground cloth. These convert to a tent and protect the luggage from rain
16. Rope
17. Maps
18. Machete
19. Compass
20. Canteen
21. Two Army surplus mess kits with knife, fork, and spoon
22. Collapsible Sterno stove
23. Aluminum screw top cans for food and condiment storage
24. Brillo
25. Two aluminum-frame backpacks

Toolkit containing:

1. Large adjustable wrench
2. Machinist's hammer
3. Cold Chisel
4. Taper Punch
5. Tire Irons
6. Tire patch kit
7. Bicycle pump
8. Chain lube
9. Impact Driver
10. Point File
11. Feeler Gauge
12. Test Lamp
    

Spare Parts:

1. Plugs
2. Throttle, Clutch, Brake cables
3. Points
4. Fuses
5. Headlight & Taillight Bulbs
6. Chain Master Link
7. Cotter Pins
8. Baling Wire
9. Spare Chain

Notice he had no cell phone, no rainsuit, was prepared to make major repairs including changing tires and/or the chain while on the side of the road. Also notice his tent was no lightweight, waterproof nylon thing with lightweight shock-corded aluminum poles that set up in five minutes.

Also notice he was traveling with his teenage son, and had all this stuff piled onto the bike. For seventeen days. No interstate travel, either - back roads and two lane highways as much as possible.

What kind of bike did he use? A Harley-Davidson Electra Glide? Nope. Indian? Nope. A Honda CB360. Including the passengers and gear, the bike was probably carrying its own weight.

And nowdays we feel we need fairings and windshields and radios and CBs and CD players and mp3 players and GPS and a big monster engine.

No. We just need two wheels and to get on 'em and RIDE.

It's Not Junk

I haven't had much chance to get out and about since my last post, but in the interest of keeping this blog active, I've decided I'll allow myself to occasionally repost entries from my other blogs.

With that in mind, one that comes immediately to mind concerns something that took place right here at this house I'm sitting in. The original events transpired in 2003, and the original post was published on July 24, 2011.

Here it is. I hope you enjoy it as much as enjoyed living it and writing it.

It's Not Junk

There's a cut up piece of sheet metal that would look like trash to anybody in the world, but I keep it in my toolbox. To me and my father, it's not garbage at all. No, it represents a memory of a shared experience. How two non mechanics put a motorcycle back on the road with improvisation and stubbornness. But I'm getting ahead of myself here.

Back in 2003, I was riding an '81 or '82 Yamaha XJ650 Maxim. Great bike. Small, but comfortable and powerful enough to power me and camping gear down the road to a rally at 85 mph or so. It wouldn't go any faster than that, though. I know, because the speedometer stopped at 85.

I'd had a little trouble here and there with the taillight going out on me. I messed with it a little, but I'm no mechanic, and definitely no electrician. Our brother, Gypsy Trippple Nippple once told me about automotive electrical systems: they have one “lever” - “Leave 'er alone”. I tried to stick to that philosophy when I could, but I also didn't like the idea of being rear ended because of a nonworking taillight. So I fiddled, I checked fuses and wires, and found nothing. Couldn't trace a broken wire, a short, nothing.

I was going to the Aardvark rally, hosted by the San Antonio chapter of Gypsy MC, and had an independent motorcyclist pull up next to me at a red light to tell me my “red light” wasn't working. Thanks, dude. Figures. Well, he rode next to me to the rally so I wouldn't be invisible from behind, since the sun was already down. I parked the bike at the gate, registered and paid my way in. Got back on the bike. Turned the key. Got curious. Looked back. Whaddaya know? I had a taillight. Huh. Well, problem solved. For now.

Next afternoon, the problem was back. I'd noticed while I was on the poker run that if I put pressure on the key while it was in the ignition, it would affect the taillight. So, I broke out the tools, pulled off the lens, pulled the bulb, checked the wires. Again. Thinking about the key situation, I started messing around the ignition switch area. Various people stopped to help, and/or to give helpful advice. Oh, wait, I meant “helpful” advice. The quotation marks are necessary, because free unrequested advice is usually worth every single penny. Anyway, Gypsy Mr. P.M. stopped and offered some actual helpful advice, but being a Harley man, wasn't familiar with the Yammie. Wizard and Aquaman, of the Knight Riders MC, both long time friends and brothers, stopped and helped for a while. The only thing we figured out was that there was some play between the ignition switch and the dash housing around it. The switch moving around was what was causing the problem, as far as we could tell.

Well, the problem actually got a bit worse, and once in a while I'd lose both taillight and headlight function. Not a huge deal. Well, during the day, anyway. Problem is that I ride day and night. Having figured out that if the ignition is pushed all the way forward, things tend to work okay, I started looking for a way to keep my headlight on. I tore up a business card, folded it and wedged it into the gap. Perfect. I went days with no problem. Eventually, the paper would compress and stop working. I started picking up matchbooks wherever they were offered free just so I'd have some cardstock to “fix” my problem.

I'd been planning a bike trip from San Antonio to Atlanta to visit Mom and Dad. Now a sensible person might have postponed the trip or even gone in a car instead. A person with a better budget might have put the bike in the shop to get it fixed first. Had I paid for the repair, I couldn't have afforded the trip. I'd already canceled trips home on the bike in the past, so I didn't want to do that again. Besides, I figured I'd just check the taillight at gas stops and I knew how to metaphorically Band-Aid it to keep me going.

It all went great, until I got alllllmost to the Louisiana state line. The day had been sunny, hot-but-not-too-hot, light traffic. Great day for motorcycle travel. Then, BAM!! Suddenly, all traffic came to a screeching halt. The “not-too-hot” became “too hot” as it took nearly an hour to go one mile. Finally, I saw an exit. I needed gas soon anyway, and I saw there was also a Waffle House restaurant at this exit. I grew up eating at Waffle House, but at the time there were none in Texas west of Houston, so I thought I'd fuel up, get something to eat and maybe wait out some traffic. Sitting at the counter, talking to a couple of locals, I found out the traffic was due to a lot of road construction. I was in for at least ten miles of this crap. Ten hours for ten miles? Hell, I could walk faster. One of the guys suggested an alternative route that, as luck would have it, started on the state highway that the exit we were sitting at was for. He said it would take me way out of the way, but at least I'd be moving and would probably make better time anyway. He also said it would be a better ride than the interstate. He was right on all counts. Interstate highway riding can numb the mind with boredom, and this was a fairly scenic route. I looked at the route on a map days later and it probably added close to a hundred miles before putting me back onto I-10, but I bet it was still hours quicker than staying on 10 would have been.

It was also starting to get more interesting in other ways. I was hitting rain here and there. Nothing bad, but I did get wet. As did the cardstock holding my ignition in place. Good thing I'd stocked up before leaving San Antonio, eh? Picture me packing for my trip: Clothes, check. Tools, check. Helmet, check. Spare helmet, check. Book, check. Rain gear, check.

Two dozen matchbooks and assorted business cards, check.

Then things got interesting. Not only were the lights doing their little trick, now, once in a while when I'd hit a bump in the road, the ignition would cut out and the engine would die. I'd reach up and slap the key and it would come back on. Odd, eh?

After dark, the rain got bad. Then it got worse. Then it got “oh my god” bad. I wasn't making much progress, only going about 45 mph due to limited visibility. It was after sundown, and it was really, truly. Raining. That. Bad. I was stopped for gas and a cup of coffee to wake up and warm up. A Sheriff’s deputy happened to stop by and told me it was really getting bad on the interstate: wind was picking up, rain ruined visibility, and there were wrecks all over. He told me there was a motel at the next exit, about 10 or 15 miles east. I decided to take his advice.

The next morning, I turned on the Weather Channel to see what I should expect out of my ride for the day. Wow. Turns out the night before, several tornadoes had touched down in the area. Guess my decision to stop for the night was the right choice. I also had a mixed bag for the ride to Atlanta. 400 miles of rain, sun, rain, sun, rain, sun. Oh well, at least it wasn't all rain, right?

Well, I spent that Sunday of Labor Day weekend, 2003 riding to Georgia. Pull over to put on the rainsuit. Pull over an hour later to take off the rainsuit. Pull over and shove fresh cardstock into the ignition gap so I can keep riding. Yup, interesting day, it was.

I got to Mom & Dad's house. It had been years since I'd been there, but I grew up in that house, never moving. Every single time I walk in that back door, it takes me back to childhood and the sense that I'm Home. With the capital H. I can't see myself moving back to Georgia, but there's just something about the house you grew up in, isn't there?

So, once I'm settled in and rested and all, Dad and I talk about the ignition issue. The next day, we decide to tackle it head-on. Like I said in the beginning, neither of us is a mechanic, but he grew up in the Depression. Suffice to say he's practical minded and knows how to improvise. We took the ignition out of the bike entirely and found the problem. I guess it had been too faint to see before, but had gotten bad enough to be visible. There was a hairline crack running along the side of the switch housing, almost the entire length. Hmmm....there could be the location of an intermittent short, eh? I bet that just might even be worse in the rain.....

We called the only motorcycle salvage yard around. I'd already had experience in the past paying for new ignitions from dealers, and that just wasn't an option. Not to mention the bike was only a couple years from being an antique, so most dealers wouldn't even have the part, anyway. It turned out they didn't have an ignition to fit my bike. Not exactly, anyway. They did have Yamaha ignitions, which meant the wire connections would match up. The catch was that the only one they had was from a dirt bike, and was physically quite a bit smaller than mine. Well, it wasn't going to let rain water in, or vibrate and short out, so I took it.

Dad and I got to work. There was no way this pencil thin ignition switch was NOT going to rattle around the hole where it went in the dash. The dash was smooth, so I couldn't zip tie it, either. Dad took a look at the whole arrangement, told me to hang on a minute and walked away. He came back with a piece of sheet metal left over from some home improvement project or other. We held it over the dash of the bike, made some measurements, and went to the workbench, aka the picnic table on the deck in the back yard. We drew a pattern onto the metal, and drilled out mounting holes where we'd measured the mounting screws needed to go. When the tin snips turned out to be too dull, Dad was not to be defeated. He went and got a flat head screwdriver and a heavy hammer and chiseled out the piece we needed. He even chiseled out the hole for the ignition switch with that screwdriver/hammer combo. The edges and the edge of the hole were left a little jagged. Only so much smoothing out you can do with a hammer and improvised chisel.

We took it over to the bike, connected all the leads to the ignition, and put the sheet metal in place. It wasn't pretty, but it was better than pretty: it worked. Damn near perfectly. It took me around Morrow (the Atlanta suburb I'm from), took me to my grandparents' house in northeast Alabama, and took me from their house all the way to Austin (just over 800 miles) in one day. Our improvised repair lasted longer than the rest of the bike, even. I wound up selling the bike a few years later, but I kept our sheet metal dash. I consider it an heirloom now. It's the time my non-motorcycle riding, non-mechanic Dad and I put a near-antique bike back on the road.