Fourteen hours in a car sounds rough, right? Now double it. That’s right — 28 glorious, butt-numbing hours on the road over just two days. Was it worth it? Absolutely. Would I do it again? Ask me after a few weeks of physical therapy and emotional recovery.

This past weekend, we road-tripped to Homer to visit family and hand-deliver our youngest to the grandparents for the summer, since we’re a bit short on childcare. (And by “a bit short,” I mean completely out of options.) It was a sweet visit… sandwiched between two epic driving marathons.

Let me start by saying: my husband never lets me drive. Ever. I am the official passenger princess — no, scratch that — passenger queen. Am I complaining? Not really. But this man drives like he’s in a Fast & Furious reboot set in the Alaskan wilderness. Gotta pee? Too bad. Missed your snack opportunity? Should’ve planned better. His motto: “We’ll stop when we’re there.” Though as I read him my new blog post he denies this, but does agree  that he does not like to “lollygag around”- his words.

Now, I’m not exactly a slow driver myself, but he turns every road trip into a high-speed challenge — and trust me, Alaska’s roads are not for the faint of heart in the summer. You’ve got daredevils passing on blind corners, folks crawling along at 25mph enjoying the view (bless them… from a distance), and enough road construction to start questioning whether the road actually ever existed in the first place.

We kicked things off by leaving right after work, spirits high and coffee in hand — only to be turned around an hour into the trip due to fire activity on the highway. A rational person might have gone home, gotten a good night’s sleep, and left bright and early the next morning. But us? No. We took the scenic route — literally — via the Glenn Highway, but it also meant we rolled into Homer anything at five in the morning anything but bright eyed and busy tailed. However the views along the way were  stunning (I have added a few photos I was able to capture while my husband was driving, because again we don’t lollygag).

After a lovely visit (including actual meals, conversations, and non-vehicular time and a hike or two), we hit the road again — this time at 5:30 AM. Normally the Homer-to-Fairbanks run is about 10 hours, give or take a coffee stop. This time? Fourteen hours. Why? Well, we had to reroute through the Denali Highway because our usual route was still being temperamental with closures. That said, it was easily one of the most beautiful drives I’ve ever been on — potholes and all (more pics below). And when I say potholes, I mean the kind that could swallow a tire… or your whole car. Alaska’s reputation for them is well-earned, wouldn’t you say?

Now add in three dogs — yes, three — and the fun multiplies. The real MVP (read: chaos coordinator) was our anxious sheep-a-doodle, who decided around Summit Lake that her Benadryl had expired emotionally. She has never really liked the car. She pants like she’s just finished a marathon and climbs all over me in a hot mess of 70lbs of fluff, nerves, and no sense of personal space. Some people get emotional support dogs — I am the emotional support human for my dog. We’re two anxious peas in one cramped pod.

My husband, meanwhile, is sandwiched between my nervous energy and the actual nervous dog. While I try so hard not to be a backseat driver — really, I do — but sometimes it slips out. “Are you sure you want to pass here?” “Maybe slow down just a little?” “Watch out for that—oh never mind, you saw it.” I know he’s a perfectly capable driver. I also know my comments are… less than helpful.

By the time we pulled into our driveway at 8 PM, I think all five of us (yes, I’m counting the dogs) simultaneously launched ourselves out of the car.

And then came the ultimate question…
“What do we do for dinner?”

Reader, we settled for some very questionable leftover rice — the kind that had definitely crossed over from “leftover” into “living on borrowed time.” But hey, hunger lowers standards. The true highlight of the day? Climbing into bed like victorious road-weary warriors. Goodnight, and here’s to no more marathon drives anytime soon (please, universe, be kind).