The camp chair didn’t make the cut. Nor did the little table. For that matter, I’m leaving my hammock and back up camp stove.

I’m not really complaining, mind you. The aluminum paniers on my bike are cavernous and swallow enough equipment to make a pretty comfortable camp situation without having to go all ultra-light backpacking. My packing list started as a sprawling collection of “Would Be Nice” and eventually gets whittled down to “What will fit.”

Saturday my friend Terry and I are embarking on a nine-day motorcycle trip out through southern Nevada to Zion National Park and Capitol Reef State Park, and numerous other points of interest. It’s a trip many months in the making, but naturally you’ve got all the time in the world right up until you’re scrambling to put the final touches in place before it’s kickstand-up and we’re away.

The guiding principle of packing is trying to find that delicate balance between bringing too much and too little. That hammock? I’ve brought it on my last two road trips but haven’t actually used it in the field. It’s all about sorting the “Need Its” from the “Nice to Haves.”

But after a year where we all pared life down to a pretty spare version of “Need It,” it’s understandable that we all want to throw in a few “Nice to Haves.” I mentioned our itinerary to the bartender I worked with on Saturday whose regular job involved dropping off rented Sprinter camper vans to clients all across the West. He mentioned that people are out and about in droves these days – that jibes with the insane demand for campground reservations we encountered. But, seriously, after a year cooped up, who isn’t ready to get out there?

My tool kit is a lot more, well, useful this time around. I’m embarrassed to say that in trips past on this bike I’ve carried my requisite tire plugging kit and air compressor and then a hodge podge of screwdrivers and sockets I hoped I’d never have to actually use (you can take anything apart with a 10- and 12mm socket, right?). Getting back in touch with working on my bike myself has helped me build an extremely useful tool kit… that I still hope I don’t have to use…. But if I do I at least know what I’m doing.

It’s funny, despite having gone to grad school in Utah, I’ve traveled very little in the arid southern part of the state (broke grad school students, don’t you know). In fact, the only other time I’ve been down to that area was 25 years ago. Exactly 25 years ago I ventured out with my uncle Chuck on another epic motorcycle trip that took us as far east as Mount Rushmore in the Black Hills. The return leg followed the Colorado river down from Estes Park, Colorado down to Arches National Park outside of Moab. I remember our itinerary had us continue south to some ferry crossing on the river before heading home, but the unrelenting triple digit temperatures made us curtail our plans and aim a more direct path home to more reasonable temperatures.

This week one of those infamous “Heat Dome” phenomena of high pressure has parked itself over the southwest, with meteorologists predicting record-breaking temperatures all week, and I can’t help but think of the sweltering afternoon in Moab when we decided it was just too damn hot.

Three years ago, I thought it might not be that bad if I stay a night in Death Valley in early July. And, really, the Wildrose campground at 4,000 feet was reasonable at 96 degrees. It was just the 113-degree furnace I rode across for hours that did the damage.

Long pants didn’t make the cut. I know, I know, it could get cold at night. But I also know from that Death Valley stop that my tent has pretty lousy cross-ventilation; I’m not worried about getting cold even if the heat dome is supposed to start subsiding just as we start our first leg through the Sierras.

One of the complications of packing for this trip is anticipating some of the improvisations we may have to make to deal with the crowds. We weren’t able to get reservations for our ideal spots, so we’re going to have a few nights in “dispersed” campsites. If you’re not familiar with that term “dispersed” camping it means there are no amenities. Bathroom? Nope. Potable water? Nope. So, while I won’t need the 5L water cube the first couple nights, I need to leave room for when we’re going to rely on the water we bring in.

But that’s the nature of the adventure. Pare the list down to what you can fit on a motorcycle, point yourself out to places I’ve never been to and adjust to whatever comes.

Oh, and those aforementioned aluminum panniers? They actually make a pretty good chair and table in and of themselves.

PS: As always I’m bringing my Spot locator beacon in case things go completely pear-shaped. But it has a neat feature that lets me “check in” by sending an email with a link to a map showing my location to a pre-set list of email addresses. If you’re curious, drop me a line with your email address and I’ll add you to the list for the trip (Also, the locator beacon is named “Doug.” So you’ll get an email from “Doug.”).

PPS: I’m hoping to be able to post some updates and pictures from the road. I think I have these grand intentions every time and I never manage to get anything posted. But we’ll see! Stay tuned!