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.

Winterizing Your Motorcycle (Southern Style)

You can find all kinds of articles in print and online containing information on how to “winterize” your motorcycle. From what I can tell, the final step involves actually ignoring the poor machine, possibly for months, afterwards.

But whyyyyyyy?????

Speaking from my own experience, having lived as far north as the Baltimore suburbs for two winters, I can tell you all you really need to know to winterize your bike.

1. Make sure your tires have good tread and keep them inflated to the proper psi. Or whatever the metric equivalent is, if you live in one of those places.
2. Be sure to change your oil and filter every 3,000 miles or so. Again, or the metric equivalent. You do the math, because I don’t feel like it.
3. This one is very important, and can save you a LOT of trouble. As soon as possible after switching to reserve or seeing the fuel light come on, refill your gas tank.
These are the basic steps to winterizing a motorcycle, and should keep you running through the winter. Also, for the rest of the year, for that matter.

Advanced steps might include things like installing a windshield/fairing, a wiring accessory to plug an electric jacket/vest liner into, or memorizing the locations of the Waffle House locations in your area that tend to have the freshest coffee.


Ride ‘em, don’t hide ‘em, folks!

We All Need More Motorcycle In Our LIves

Saturday morning I got Lucy, my 2006 Suzuki Boulevard S83, back from the shop. It had been way too long. I’d tried working on her myself for too long before throwing in the towel and taking her to the pros. Electrical issues are damned tricky, I’m telling ya. As one of my club brothers once said when I asked him if he knew motorcycle electrical systems: “I know they got one lever. Lever alone!” (RIP Trippple Nippple, you’re GBNF). Total down time: three months. I was having withdrawals.

The rest of Saturday was taken up with attending a wedding and reception. I worked Sunday, and got sprinkled on on the way home, but no biggie. Monday was the magic day. Instead of heading toward home after work, I went the opposite direction. Because you know: motorcycle. I rode a couple of highways and several streets I’d never been on before, through a couple of towns I’d never been in (Union City and College Park, GA if you’re curious) before the road led me into southwest Atlanta and more new-to-me streets. A random turn wound up putting me directly onto I 75. I was pretty hungry by this time anyway, so I decided to head homeward.

I decided on a Waffle House near home for supper. I grew up on Waffle House, and in my opinion, it’s almost the perfect restaurant. Good ol’ greasy spoon food for any meal of the day, and everything available 24/7. The only imperfection is the serious lack of Tex Mex on the menu, but I digress.

Another cool thing about most Waffle Houses is the atmosphere. The grill is right behind the counter, and if it’s slow, you can end up being dragged into conversation with the waitresses and cooks. Almost like at a bar, only without the booze. Well, this was well past normal meal time on a weekday evening, so I was the only customer at first. There were a couple of (I’m assuming) off duty employees hanging out in a booth, plus two waitresses and a cook. I’m sitting there, happily eating my patty melt and hash browns (scattered, smothered, and covered), and the juke box is blaring away. It’s kinda loud due to the relative emptiness of the place, but not obnoxious. The waitress is doing her side work right in front of where I’m sitting at the counter, smiling as she and the other waitress sing along with one R&B song after another. I didn’t recognize any of the songs or artists, but they were obviously having a ball. She told me I had to pay for the food, but the show was free. We laughed and a few minutes later, the recent cover of “Tennessee Whiskey” came on the juke box, and I joined in the singing.

I hadn’t noticed, but a couple of older ladies had come in at some point during the song and were sitting in a booth at the end of the place. Next thing I know, one is at the door while her friend calls out to her: “It’s nearly over, come back”. I guessed she meant the song, both because it was fading out, and because the lady who was headed for the door started yelling about not sitting there with it so loud she gets a headache, and that’s why she stopped coming to this place, and, and, and, more sour, bitter things I couldn't keep up with.

Now, to be clear, I’ve been married to two migraine sufferers (I’m probably not the cause of the migraines), so I understand that can be an issue, but this wasn’t that. She was just an angry lady who wanted a reason to be angry. I finished, paid, and walked outside, where my waitress and one of the off duty employees were smoking cigarettes. I walked up, shaking my head, saying “Ain’t it a shame that some people don’t seem to be capable of saying something simple like: excuse me, but the juke box is a little loud – would you mind turning it down?”

Personally, I’d just had a pretty enjoyable and fun hour or so after work, simply by riding down some roads I’d never seen. I’ll be honest – I’m not typically the world’s most positive person. In fact, I’m quite often fairly negative, but there are two things I can say about myself. One, I never try to spread my misery to others when I’m in a low place. Two, I can almost always find a way to have some fun. Assuming I’m not waiting a month and a half for the shop mechanic to chase down my electrical gremlin…

Anyway, I’ve found that motorcycle people generally are able to find a way to make the best of bad situations. I’ve been at bike rallies where we had a blast camping in sub freezing temperatures, and at others camped in triple digits. Yet, here was this lady, who essentially walked into a spontaneous party on a random Monday evening and got pissed off about it. She obviously needs more motorcycling in her life, huh?

Don't we all?

Maybe I should start carrying a spare helmet with me. If I run into her again, I can offer her a ride and teach her how lighten up.

That's Not How Uber Works

I saw something a couple of weeks ago that I had to share with my readers.

We all know certain stereotypes exist on TV and in the movies about bikes and riders. We also know that we see a lot of behaviors depicted that just aren’t realistic. Sure, they’re great for entertainment, but we don’t expect them to happen in real life.

Well, most of us don’t.

Here’s what happened.

I’m on my way to work one afternoon, and hear a bike coming up from behind on my left. Naturally, I glance over as he passed me. Cool, a Yamaha Bolt, with a spare helmet hanging from the side. Yes, the spare lid is relevant. Bear with me.

Well, he passes on by me (I was going slower than usual because I was in my car, because work uniform).  Anyway, a bit later, he makes the same left turn I was making. Right after the left turn, he shoots across both lanes of our side of the road to zoom to a stop at a bus stop. I saw him saying something to a pretty young lady waiting for the bus. He even patted the back seat and pointed at the spare helmet, all while she was (kind of disgustedly) looking him up and down from head to toe, and stepping back from the curb.


Oh. My. God.

Dude, did you just……?


Did you really think that move from Hollywood would actually get a modern woman to just hop on the back of a motorcycle with some dude she’s never even seen before and ride off into the sunset?


I shook my head and laughed the rest of the way to work.


Thanks for the afternoon entertainment, Mr. Hopeful.

Keeping It Going

It's been nearly two months since I posted. The problem is that I've been working so much that I haven't had time to create new experiences on my poor, neglected bike to write about.

In an effort to keep the blog active, I've decided to post regularly, even if it means simply posting a photo once in a while.

This entry is from May of 2010, and is in keeping with the title "Keeping It Going". This is me teaching the young 'un about maintenance. Hopefully he'll be riding on his own soon and will remember some of these lessons.

A Day's Ride (Fiction)

(An attempt at some really short fiction)

He sat on the deck in the back yard, the coffee mug at his elbow pouring steam into the cool morning air. As the sun broke over the horizon, his gaze wandered from the lightening sky, across the freshly half-lit dawn yard to his bike. He’d prepared the motorcycle for this journey over the last couple of evenings after work. Fresh oil and filter, newly adjusted and lubricated chain, brakes adjusted and suspension dialed in. He admired the slope of the fuel tank from the neck down to the seat. Took a glance at the V twin engine that seemed to him in his dreamy, still-half-asleep state like a race horse, chomping at the bit, impatient to get running. He stretched his sleepy back and took a sip of his coffee. He loved this bike. She’d always gotten him down the road and back again with no hassles.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………

He sat on the deck in the back yard, whiskey and Coke at his elbow, beads of condensation from the humid evening running down its side. His gaze wandered from the purple tinged dusky clouds across the newly shadowed yard to his bike. He admired the slope of the dented tank from the neck to the torn seat. He glanced at the bent handlebars now missing a mirror. He saw the dust stuck to the lube on the links in the chain. His eyes took in the leaves and grass stuck to the side of the V twin motor, now seeming more like a horse ridden hard and put up wet. He took a long pull on the cocktail, wincing at the way the fresh scabs on his arm pulled against the skin. He loved this bike. She’d always gotten him down the road and back again, alive and in one piece.