Adding the Tour Pak

I came back from last week’s camping trip with a pretty plain conclusion: if I’m serious about doing this regularly, the Tour Pak probably needs to go back on the Ultra Glide. That’s how I bought the bike in the first place, and honestly, it wore that setup well. It had the silhouette of a machine built for distance, the kind of long-legged cruiser that looks ready for the Grand Canyon and every sunburned mile beyond it. More importantly, the thing swallows a fair amount of gear, which saves me from lashing a backpack—or some other awkward bundle—to the sissy bar and hoping it behaves.

I only removed it because I felt like it made the bike noticeably top heavy, and truth be told, that feeling was not imagined. It absolutely does. Still, practicality has a way of winning arguments. I need a weather-tight place to stow camping gear without fooling with detachable luggage, shifting straps, or trying to recreate the same loadout every single time I pack. The Tour Pak solves that problem cleanly. My only irritation is that it still does not quite hold everything I’d like to carry. Even so, the built-in luggage rack gives me another option. I can cinch a tent up there, maybe a blanket, maybe even a small cooler, though I do not want to get carried away and turn the whole arrangement into a wobbling freight cart. There is a line between useful packing and foolish overloading, and I have no desire to cross it. Extra weight will nibble away at fuel economy too, so that has to factor into the arithmetic of longer rides.

And then there is the balance issue again. The Tour Pak itself likely adds another forty or fifty pounds before I even begin filling it. Once I toss in fifteen or twenty pounds of camping equipment, the scale keeps inching north. That is exactly why I keep circling back to an ultralight, stripped-down approach to camping. Minimalist packing is not just some trendy phrase in this case—it is self-preservation for the bike’s handling. Every unnecessary item becomes a small tax on comfort, control, and range.

As it stands, the Tour Pak gives me enough room for the sleeping bag, rain gear, propane fuel, air mattress, and pump, but after that the interior gets crowded fast. There is barely enough space left for gloves, glasses, and the smaller pieces of riding gear that always seem harmless until you are trying to find a place for them. I can strap the tent, an extra blanket, and a food container to the luggage rack, and I still have some real estate left on the passenger seat if I absolutely need it. But that opens up the larger question: how much do I truly need to bring, and how much can I simply pick up along the route? That is the real puzzle. Perishables, of course, will need to be replaced as I go, so I need to think less like a pack mule and more like a planner. Water is the obvious example. How much I carry at the start depends entirely on where I am headed. Crossing dry, empty country demands a different calculation than moving through greener, better-supplied stretches. That is where thoughtful pre-trip planning stops being optional and starts becoming the whole game.

I have been thinking I may put together a proper pre-trip checklist for different regions of the country and post it on the website, the same way I did with the preparedness survival guide for Slasher Designs and the multimedia publishing guide for Green Country Magazine. That actually feels like a worthwhile project—something practical, not ornamental. It could help other riders sidestep avoidable mistakes and sort out what matters before they ever thumb the starter. Half the trouble in motorcycle travel begins long before the road; it starts in the driveway, when a rider packs badly, plans loosely, and pays for it later.

So now I am still mulling over where the next motorcycle camping trip ought to be. At the moment, I keep drifting between Sequoyah State Park and Robbers Cave State Park in Wilburton. Weather will probably cast the deciding vote. Wilburton gets hammered with spring rain often enough that planning a trip there during that stretch feels a little like volunteering for a soaking. Even so, Robbers Cave keeps tugging at me. It is only about an hour from here, and the scenery has far more character than Sequoyah. Still, I do not want to rush into the choice just because it sounds better in my head. There is a decent chance I will do Sequoyah first and save Robbers Cave for later. That may be the smarter order of things. Then again, plans have a funny habit of changing the moment a motorcycle is fueled, packed, and pointed toward open country. So, I guess we’ll see.