Tour de San Juan

Words and photos: Conor Courtney

By KAVU

June 1^st, 2021

A Classic PNW Bikepacking Adventure

There’s a simplicity that comes with pushing pedals all day long. Each day's destination becomes just a place to roll out your sleeping bags. Ditches, porches, and trees protect you from wind, rain, and sun. Joy is measured by the length of the descent and.... sweat by the grade of the ascent. Life becomes simple. Everything you do equals the ability to pedal just a little bit longer.

Our idea was to circumnavigate the three largest islands of the San Juan archipelago: Lopez, San Juan, and Orcas, once (and still) inhabited by the Coast Salish peoples. Fueled by baked goods, Starbursts, and the thrill of a repetitive task that wouldn’t feel monotonous, six of us set out to have our "best adventure" since the world changed in March of last year. Miraculously, it went (mostly) according to plan.

Our crew (from left), Zach, Porter, Erika, Lucia, Arendje, and myself, knew how to bike around Seattle, but not how to carry four days’ worth of gear while climbing the San Juan’s relentless, rolling hills. Our equipment was a display of borrowed and repurposed bags, tents, and bikes. I rode with weight for the first time after I finally finished packing...... about six hours before we left.

With all the blind confidence that adrenaline and friends provide, we set off from Anacortes on a gray, Thursday morning in early May. Our daily plan was simple enough – bike to our campsite, set up camp, eat, go into town.... eat some more.... pick up food for the evening, and then explore.

Spicy ramen powered our ride that day, resulting in raucous burps heading up Lopez’s steep, short hills. We rode to the southern part of the island - Iceberg Point, then to Watmough Bay under threatening skies, and I marveled at how fun it is to simply ride a bike. Frequent stops included feeding cows and horses, and snacks consisted of a healthy mix of protein bars and starbursts.

We stopped at a house where Lucia and Zach lived last spring, taking full advantage of a zipline and the shelter from the rain that soon was pelting down on us. Eventually the skies lightened, and we rode the 15 or so remaining miles back to camp in fleeting sunshine.

Day two started with sweat. We underestimated the time it would take us to reach the ferry and pushed full tilt, some 30 minutes after scarfing down breakfast, in order to make it on time. This may have been a sign that the day might not go according to plan. But we soon reached San Juan Island, stopped at a grocery store and bakery in Friday Harbor, and set off towards San Juan National Historical Park.

Six miles out of Friday Harbor, Porter blew out his back tire. Realizing this was more than a duct tape fix, Zach and Lucia set off to town to get a new tire, and the rest of us settled down to wait. Lying on slanted logs, we closed our eyes or watched as the thick storm clouds above us parted as they passed over our heads.

After a couple of hours, we were back on the road, and met the fierce winds and vast vistas of the south end of San Juan. It was the kind of riding where you push as hard as you can against the pedals but fail to move any faster. The views were the only respite. I kept my eyes on the Haro Strait, hoping to spot a whale moving north, trying not to think about my burning lungs or tired legs.

Afternoon turned to early evening, and ominous clouds hung over the roads to our campsite. We took a quick break, using a ditch as a shelter from the wind as we tried to wait out the clouds. The journey was turning into one where breakfast felt like days ago and an odd limbo of exhaustion and exhilaration. The rest in the ditch felt like an inflection point on whether the day would turn mind-numbingly difficult or one that we’d talk about for years to come.

Maybe it was the universe wanting to balance out the tire fiasco from earlier or make up for the drivers who swore at us and screamed to share the road, maybe it was sheer luck, but the next three hours of riding were the best of my life.

We rode along the coast in golden sun, speeding down long, winding roads and wondering how biking got any better than this, when Arendje and Erika spotted fox pups playing in a small culvert on the side of the road. We watched as the pups played, jumping on each other and diving in and out of their homey drainage pipe. My heart raced as my eyes locked with a pup’s, leaving me with a strange feeling of intimacy with something I would never know.

Our collective euphoria at seeing the pups soon turned to worry, as cars rushed past the foxes, and we wondered how wildlife was able to flourish on islands that used to be completely wooded and now were laced with roads. We rode the final miles to camp, reaching our home for the night as the sun set over the strait. With numb fingers and tired legs, we ate a gourmet meal of baguettes and cheese as we watched the sun fade over the horizon, feeling not quite ready to do it again the next day.

Day three signaled the halfway point in our trip and the opportunity to climb the biggest objective of the San Juan’s – 2,400 foot tall Mount Constitution. Riding on the busier roads of Orcas Island, cars passed with increasing negligence, cutting between us on the downhills, and yelling at us as they whizzed by.

Despite the unpleasantness of fearing "death by car", I found that "bikepacking" gave us much needed momentum. Time is spent on the bike, eating, or resting, so choosing to add ten miles and 2,400 feet of elevation gain doesn’t sound quite as preposterous when you’re geared to be moving.

Around 6pm, we set out to climb the peak, and I felt the same nervous energy I had at the start of the trip – enthusiastic and slightly naïve about the challenge ahead.

We climbed and climbed and climbed....

Brutal grades made us question why we didn’t decide to stay at camp like Erika, and each time a new switchback came into view, the thought of doing anything except sitting on a bike seat sounded appealing.

Although the mountain was relentless.... the temperature was cool, and cars nonexistent, and there was a strange comfort in constantly going up.

Our descent definitely made up for the suffer-fest.

After summit ciders and snacks, we bundled up and rolled downhill at dusk. With the road closed to cars, we fanned out across the pavement, feeling our fingers and faces go numb. Our lights illuminated the tight switchbacks and we let the brakes go, arriving at camp some 15 minutes later.

The next day, we laughed about how your body never gets too sore from biking, but when you stand up in the morning, your legs are decidedly exhausted. We gingerly got back in the saddle one last time and headed to town. One of the great things about "bikepacking" is that with food, anything goes. Craving pasta? You’ll burn through it in an hour, so better order two plates. San Pellegrino? Nothing tastes better. Crepes? I guess that’ll do.....;-)

Slowly making our way to the ferry, the San Juan’s couldn’t let us go without having one more driver harass us on the way out. But we cruised onto the ferry landing, reminiscing about our adventure that was now taking a curtain call. We got on the ferry, changing from t-shirts and shorts to wearing most of the layers we brought, hauling our bikes alongside us one last time.

In a year where the days feel tedious and the uniformity is unrelenting, doing the same, simple task – pedaling a bike – felt weirdly calming.

There’s a saying when traveling that the best trips leave you wanting to stay longer. "Bikepacking" is a little different. Not much could convince me to pull on the same bike shorts for the fifth day in a row, but..... give me a fresh chamois pad, great friends, and an enticing, partially thought out adventure.....