The Cardinal Rules of a Dilly Dally Bikepack

Our first flat tire came before mile one of our bikepacking trip. Cue an Office style direct-to-camera smile, giggling at our misfortune as we found an open spot for a flat repair aboard the Washington State Ferry bound for San Juan Island. Sprawling on the car deck amid holiday weekend vehicles, the blue green ocean swelled beside us as we pried off the offending tire and removed its tube.

Rule One: Laugh with the road bumps.

While I (thankfully) have been trained in the art of an ill-timed flat repair, it would be a stretch to call me a serious biker of any kind…I’ll peddle to a local beach or follow friends on a social ride around Seattle’s landmarks, but long distances or technical trails have yet to call my name. A bike tour of San Juan Island’s bakeries and coffee shops, though? That I could do. 

Meet the Dilly Dally Bakery Tour. The concept is simple: Gather some friends, round up some bikes, land on a scenic route with a stunning campsite, and stop for all the little treats along the way. To dilly dally is to say yes to all the little side quests. If you’re coasting down a road wondering, “Oh, should we stop there?” The answer is yes. 

The wandering, the pit stops, and the unplanned coffee detours are essential to a Dilly Dally Bakery Tour. They make for silliness, relaxed fun, and a spontaneous sense of exploration. 

This particular weekend, I’m dilly dallying with three friends who have never been bikepacking before. For their inaugural trip, we will travel via ferry to an island just off the Washington coast, docking in San Juan Island’s port town of Friday Harbor in time to catch the Saturday farmer’s market. Our route—flexible, of course—will take us on a roughly 50-mile loop of the island, following the paved San Juan Scenic Byway. We’ll camp on a bluff overlooking Victoria and Vancouver Island just beyond the Haro Strait. 

Even before the ferry ride and its scenic flat change, we’d already swung by a roadside coffee stand for a morning treat. The dilly dally ethos was off to a strong start, undeterred by a ferry to catch. I hope ferry travel never loses its magic…the mammoth white and green vessels cart passengers where Washington’s bridges and roads cannot. On board, there are epic views with sea air filtering through your hair, frequent whale sightings near lush islands, and communal puzzles worked on by countless previous passengers. 

When we docked at Friday Harbor’s historic facades and bustling town, we peddled straight for the farmer’s market. It wasn’t long until I located the bakery table, a veritable buffet of handmade cinnamon buns, lemon bars, muffins, and sugary goodness. Spotting my friends through the crowded frenzy was easy; I just scanned for helmets—on heads and secured to Escapist Velocity packs—as we weaved through stands of local artisans, admired cut flowers, tasted island-made wine, and noshed on local bagels. 

Before leaving the food-filled haven of Friday Harbor, we needed supplies: to-go sandwiches packed into our frame bags, and matchas grasped in our hands while we peddled unsteadily. 

Rule Two: Stop for the matcha. And the bagel, and the coffee, and the pastry and the…you get the idea. 

Finally settling into the saddle for a 10-mile stretch to the northern end of the island, we cycled past sprawling farms, oh-so-cute wineries, and swaths of orange poppies. We marveled at the various landscapes, from marshy lakes to towering trees to the soft greenery of fields dotted with grazing cows. 

We rolled into Roche Harbor, the island’s northern, curiously upscale marina, with a problem on our hands. The new tube was flat. Nothing we couldn’t fix fueled by an order of fries, live music, and those packed sammies. An investigation found a piece of glass lodged in the tire, continually puncturing new tubes and patches we’d attempted before. Mystery solved. 

Our bikes are a motley crew: My steel mountain bike once belonged to a friend’s mother; my bike mechanic friend swapped out its fork, restored old parts, and swapped in commuter tires. Needless to say, it’s not a featherlight touring setup, but it has a story and it gets me to beautiful places. Many bikes of our bikepacking fleet have been cheap finds on Facebook Marketplace; a fully titanium Revel (named Daisy!) is part of our crew today. Most of our trips involve borrowed bags and gear. Like a van build, you can make bikepacking as simple or complex as you’d like: If you have access to camping gear and can find a bike that fits your body proportions (more or less, no need for perfection for a short trip) you’re in bikepacking business. Spotting other bikepackers becomes a fun exploration into how they’ve rigged gear, the bags they choose, and their just-for-fun accoutrement, like our stuffed dog hitchhiking in my friend’s water bottle bag. We named her Poppi, and she is loving the sights. 

Rule Three: No gear gatekeeping. Does it roll? Does it fit your sleeping bag? It will work. 

Next up, we took Poppi and our freshly patched tire to a funky sculpture park. The sprawling 20-acre park hosts over 150 sculptures, perfect for a dilly dally detour. We wandered through, spotting metal orca sculptures, wooden birds, and ceramic prayer wheels. 

Another 10-mile stretch brought us to our campsite, a stunning spot on a rocky bluff overlooking the ocean, and the rising hills of Vancouver Island just beyond. Washington, like a few other states, has designated hiker and biker campsites. These spots can’t be reserved in advance, but are saved for overnighters who walk or roll up day-of. They’re perfect for a spontaneous, low-pressure adventure, as you’re essentially guaranteed a spot without the administration hassle of snagging a spot months in advance. 

Rule Four: Type A planners, avert your eyes. Spontaneity rules.

After freeing tents and sleeping bags from our saddle bags, a crowd gathered at the cliff’s edge. Campers running towards an ocean overlook can only mean one thing: Orcas. Washington’s three pods of Southern Resident killer whales frequent the San Juan Islands in summer months, and spotting them is a quintessential PNW experience. Two orcas surfaced and dipped below the ocean surface, presumably munching on salmon in the waters. 

For our part, we didn’t pack dinner. Finding food along the way was part of the dilly dally, so we hopped back on our (now lighter) bikes and headed back towards Friday Harbor to complete the southern part of the island loop. A sign for Lime Kiln Point State Park beckoned, and we took the detour down to a lighthouse that boasts some of the best whale watching in the world.

On previous trips, I hadn’t taken this slightly longer southern route because I’d been more focused on saving time—or avoiding hills. But biking winding roads on the brink of the ocean with stunning overlooks, the dilly dally route was well worth the slight added distance. 

Rule Five: Yes, the scenic route is worth climbing that extra hill.

Back in town, we snagged takeout Thai food and crossed our fingers as we ski-strapped the paper to-go boxes to a back rack. Hope and Voile straps paid off for the pad see ew; the rigging system held while we biked a new route back to camp under golden hour light. 

Rule Six: Take the silly little risks. 

Being so far north, Washington’s summer sunsets are gloriously late. We’re talking golden light lingering until 10pm in the summer. The long days breed an ease, a refreshing absence of rush. After noshing with a view of the receding sun, we strapped on headlamps for a round of Bananagrams before calling it a day.

Rule Seven: Use all your daylight; don’t rush. 

Boarding the ferry the next day—or, more accurately, waddling onto the ferry with hands full of handlebars, lattes, and breakfast burritos—we returned home with a renewed sense of silly adventure, of the magic that can happen in the absence of a strict itinerary.

Photo Credit: Taylor McKenzie Gerlach, @taylormckenzie.creative (Se abre en una nueva ventana)