"...Then I Ripped That Borrowed Seat To Shreds."

There was a butcher shop on West Side Avenue, in my native Jersey City, where my mother would occasionally buy veal cutlets and sausage. I remember two things about this place: the sawdust on the floor and a poster on the wall. I wondered why anyplace would spread sawdust on the floor but later learned this was the trademark of upper crust saloons. The poster depicted the profile of a steer, divided into sections representing each cut of beef.

I was fast to make comparisons as a kid, and I referred to this artwork on the wall of the butcher store as the “map of the cow,” as each outlined section reminded me of a state in a beef-shaped country. I once asked my mother if she could buy all the separate parts of the cow so we could reassemble it back in the kitchen. She looked at me like I was a twit, apologized to the butcher, and explained that I had been dropped on my head five or six times on the day I was born.

Yet the idea never left me that some things should be easily broken down into their more obvious components and reassembled nearly blindfolded, like the way a US Marine can assemble a .45 automatic with his eyes closed. Motorcycles should fall into this category.

Consider the profile of the average motorcycle, a cruiser if you like. Most everything is exposed and in plain view. Visually, it is like the profile of the steer on the wall in the butcher store. Plugs, air filter, the battery, essential wires, tires and drive train are all in plain view. To the child in me, these should just pop off and pop on again, with a minimum of aggravation. But despite an incredible mechanical evolution (or as a result of it), motorcycle maintenance continues to require an intuitive ability to read engines, an understanding of spatial relationships, patience, and a high degree of manual dexterity. Attempting to address a clutch issue, a transmission issue, a Hall sensor issue, or even a question of a blown or loose relay, demands a good deal of experience, knowledge and sense.

Nothing is ever as simple as it should be, or even as it looks, when it comes to mechanical issues with a motorcycle.

Even aftermarket stuff that is advertised as “bolt-on” generally requires some fiddling, or a degree of customization to make it fit. When a part or an accessory is described as “universal,” this means it will seamlessly mate with 680 models of 12,000 kinds of motorcycles. The unspoken line is, “not necessarily yours.” I have purchased a number of items off the shelf at Hermy’s Tire and Cycle, my BMW dealer in Hamburg, Pa, only to discover the bolt holes are off a bit; that a wire is shorter than it’s supposed to be; or in one case, the directions were mislabeled and the roles of the connecting posts on the relay were reversed. This last situation upset me so badly that I poured myself three drinks trying to figure the damn thing out. It was much worse for my friend Jim Sterling, who was actually out in the garage attempting to install the new horn. (This sometimes happens with aftermarket products but is never the case with OEM BMW parts.)

While most shade-tree motorcycle mechanics are delighted by this kind of challenge, I am not. It is my thought that if I have to drill a hole in something, solder a connection, or fashion a bracket out of another existing part, then I am undoubtedly doing permanent damage to an already functional design. And on a BMW bike, mistakes become the subjects of new chapters in thin checkbooks.

Some adjustments or replacements look ridiculously easy, and give the expectation that they can be addressed by an idiot in an hour or an expert in ten minutes. Yet attempting to resolve the issue (by any means other than by throwing money at a dealer) is often met with frustration and aggravation. Dedicated Twisted Roads readers will remember when I ordered my custom “really fat-assed saddle” from Russell Cycle Products last year. This meant sending off my existing seat pan, leaving bare metal for a few weeks of the early spring riding season.

Gerry Cavanaugh — a fellow member of the *Mac-Pac — came forward with another K75 stock saddle for me to use until my custom number came back. On the second day of riding on this borrowed saddle, I managed to catch the upholstery with the metal eyelets of my riding boots. There were six little tears in the vinyl. Looking down at the damage, I thought, “I should be able to fix this myself for under $50.” That simple assessment was interpreted by the motorcycle gods as pure hubris... And they smote me accordingly.

Above: Mac-Pac member Gerry Cavanaugh was kind enough to lend me the seat from his BMW K75, while my seat pan was off getting rebuilt into a work of structural art at the Russell Cycle Products facility. I repaid his kindness by ripping it to shreds — but he didn't know that. Cavanaugh is seen here getting stuck with the tab for lunch at Crawdaddy's, a local Cajun gin mill. He suspects he is getting screwed but hasn't felt the bite yet. Photo by the author.

I got one of those kits that claim you can repair a tear in vinyl upholstery “with invisible results, just like the pros.” There are several kits out there ranging from $18 to $29. Mine was acquired at the local auto parts store on the low end of the pricing scale. It included some backing to be inserted into the tear, chemical filler, and five little paint containers, the contents of which could be mixed to match the vinyl in question. There were also a handful of patterns to emboss on the soft vinyl and a device like a little soldering iron to heat everything up.

Above: Gerry Cavanaugh in his red "Stitch," beside his trusty BMW GS, which he named "Faded Glory," in honor of his years of motorcycle riding. In the picture above, Gerry is saying, "If we all split lunch, how come my bowl of gator gumbo cost $361?" This was one occasion when a certain red K75 lived up to its name (Fireballs), and shot out of the parking lot before Cavanaugh could get his "Stitch" zippered. Photo by the author.

According to the directions, you shove the backing into the slit, spread some filler over the wound, color it, cover the soft smear with a texture pattern, heat it with the branding iron, and buff it with a little stick. Five minutes later, the tear is miraculously repaired and invisible to the naked eye.

Bullshit.

I followed the directions like a novice on the bomb squad. In print so fine as to be mistaken for a crease in the paper, the directions warn against overheating the vinyl, which can occur in .03 seconds. When this happens, the invisible repair looks like an acid burn on the face of a Victoria Secret model. Two attempts left Cavanaugh’s seat with vinyl leprosy five times larger than the original tears. The whole thing was a complete waste of time. And then I had to ask myself the question, “if you lent a flawless motorcycle seat to a friend and it came back covered with invisible tears hidden by seat cancer, wouldn’t you feel screwed?”

I felt so sure of the answer that I decided not to let Cavanaugh in on the joke.

Calls to two dealers regarding torn motorcycle upholstery produced the response, “We send it out.” But no one would tell me who they sent it out to... Which led me to believe that motorcycle seats are repaired with living tissue taken from dead bodies by unscrupulous morticians. I also suspected that my initial cost estimate of $50 was low by a factor of five.

So I started calling places in the phone book that dealt with automobile upholstery. I figured that vinyl is vinyl and a bike seat has to be easier to repair as it can be tossed on a workbench. Wrong again, Bullwinkle. A number of places that repaired car seats wanted nothing to do with a bike seat. One guy offered to take a look at it, but couldn’t tell me when he’d get to it, or what it would cost (not even a ballpark figure). Another guy told me that I could drop it off there, but that they would “probably send it out.” (Repairing motorcycle upholstery is apparently on a par with international espionage.)

Enter Chris McClintock of Bux Customs. An unassuming but incredibly talented artist in vinyl and leather, McClintock turns motorcycle saddles into bold statements of contemporary styling that go far beyond the stock seat.

Above: From a Yamaha, two colors and two textures create a unique seat statement. Photo courtesy Bux Customs.

Above: Cross-brushed suede coupled with a carbon-fiber texture create a one-of-a saddle. Photo by Bux Customs.

Above: Sculpted foam and one-of-a-kind blue flame stitching added an extra dimension to this black solo saddle. Photo courtesy of Bux Customs.

“Two areas that get minimal attention by motorcycle manufacturers are horns and seats,” observed McClintock. “ The horn is invisible. Yet next to the gas tank, the seat is one of the most noticeable characteristics of the motorcycle. And whether you are screaming on the asphalt or riding cross country, the design of the seat impacts the rider from the bottom up.”

“Do you have any experience with vintage motorcycle seats,” I asked?

“Like from a ’47 Harley or something like that,” McClintock asked in return.

I explained that the pinnacle of vintage motorcycle seats was the stock unit from a 1995 BMW K75. (He hadn’t known that. And when I showed him the K75 seat, he thought it had come from a Vespa. Not that coming from a Vespa would make it a little girly seat or anything like that.)

McClintock produced an album of his high-end custom work, which adorns some of the highest powered squid-rockets in southeastern Pennsylvania, Delaware, and Maryland. These saddles flow with the lines of the bike, combining different materials, textures and patterns to create an extension of the machine’s (and the rider's) personality. While some of his unique designs can best be described as “crescendoes in understatement,” each emphasizes “lethal power” and “raw sensuality.” These seats ooze hot, screaming bike sex.

"Will one of your seats get me laid," I asked candidly?

"I'd have to make it big enough for you to wear," said McClintock.

Above: Bux Customs seats can be made to compliment any custom paint job. According to Chris McClintock, a custom seat can add a new dimension to a bike with a "near custom" or limited edition paint job. Photo courtesy of Bux Customs.

McClintock works with each rider to match the expectation of the seat’s comfort and practicality with its overall visual appeal. He offers a broad selection of materials, including vinyl, leather, and suede, in a range of colors to compliment every paint scheme. And depending upon the application, he can sculpt seat contours to order.

McClintock explained that making six repairs to a motorcycle seat was ridiculous and that the unit should simply be recovered. Evden so, he found my order to be extremely challenging. My directions included no sculpting... No exotic foam compounds... Nothing more elaborate than basic industrial black vinyl, typical of soft cafeteria seating at federal penal institutions. His biggest challenge would be in not falling asleep while meeting my specs.

“How long will this take,” I asked?

“I’ll call you in a few days,” McClintock replied.

“To give me an estimate of completion,” I prodded.

“No... To tell you to come and pick it up,” he smiled.

Above: The Bux Customs seat on this gorgeous Hayabussa captures the lines of an exquisite paint job, carrying them throughout the length of the machine. Photo courtesy of Bux Customs.

Above: Here is a variation on a similar theme, but using three colors, instead of two. Bux Customs seats are very popular with the "heavy power crowd," but McClintock has done a great deal of work on cruiser seats as well. Photo courtesy of Bux Customs.

The seat was ready in five days. It had the crisp appearance of a uniform shoe at a really tough Catholic school. Yet instead of the stark, totally austere look of the least expensive vinyl, it had a cool textured appeal that would go great on Gerry’s otherwise stock K75. “All of my seats have to have a slightly unique aspect to them,” said McClintock. “It’s not the K75’s fault that you are an unimaginative, cheap pain in the ass.”

The job was more than $50 bucks too... But it was well within the parameters of great value and service for the price charged.

“Are you sure this is my seat,” said Cavanaugh, as I returned it to him with a bottle of Scotch. “This looks brand new.”

“Gerry, I take care of stuff people entrust to me,” I said.

Cavanaugh grunted in total agreement, looking at me the way a prosecuting attorney sizes up a carnival barker.

So if you’re looking to get a highly personalized, highly-visible, high-end crafted saddle, or just looking to get a good one repaired, I highly recommend Chris McClintock at Bux Customs. The riding season is already over for many in the "savage power bike" catergory, and a seat from Bux Customs makes a dandy Christmas present. Why not put a bug in your spouse's or significant other's ear and get something you'll really like? (And if they surprise you with a wheelbarrow or a 12-step book on relationship building, you can piss away their Valentine's Day gift cash on a little reward for yourself.) The number for Bux Customs is 610-505-2042. Or reach Chris McClintock online at www.buxcustoms.com. Tell him “Jack” at “Twisted Roads” sent you.

I have no financial interest in Bux Customs, nor did I receive products nor services by way of compensation for this story. This story is factually presented and accurately illustrates my attempts to get a stock motorcycle seat repaired at minimal cost. If I had another issue with a torn motorcycle seat I would have no qualms about taking it to Bux Customs for repair, recovering, or redesign. You shouldn't either.

*The Mac-Pac is the BMW riding club serving southeastern Pennsylvania, chartered by the BMW Motorcycle Owners of America. With some 250-members, the Mac-Pac advocates safety, training, and camaraderie through a common interest in BMW motorcycles and social networking. The club routinely aligns itself with local charities ranging from free clinics to the MS Foundation. They have also raised funds for local hospitals and sponsored participants in three-day walks to defeat breast cancer. While interests of members vary greatly, the Mac-Pac pursues motorcycle restoration, advanced riding technique, track days, seasonal group rides, and long-distance riding. The group meets for breakfast at the Pottstown Family Diner, (Rt. 100 in Pottstrown, Pa) on the third Sunday of every month.

Advisory:

I'd like to thank everyone who contacted me about my article (The K75 — A Love Affair) which ran in the November 2010 Issue of the BMW Motorcycle Owners of America's publication: ON (the Owners News.) December's story in the same publication details the previously undisclosed facts regarding the questionable credentials I used at the BMW Rally in Burlington, VT (2006), and how I found ethics in the moonlight that week. If you ride a BMW and have not yet joined the MOA, this magazine is but one of many membership benefits. Click on the MOA logo at the right for details.

©Copyright Jack Riepe 2010
AKA The Lindbergh Baby (Twisted Roads)
AKA Vindak8r (Motorcycle Views)
AKA The Chamberlain -- PS (With A Shrug)