Travels as Charley: Alcan Roadtrip

In the summer of 2023, Cillian and I returned to Anchorage after a couple months driving around Canada and the western U.S.

We drove through nine states, four Canadian provinces, five national parks and innumerable coffee shop takeaway windows.

Preparing for this kind of trip is as fun as the trip itself, at least for obsessive list makers like us, and in advance of the trip Cillian spent weeks mapping a route, calculating mileage, identifying fuel stops for the Alcan roadtrip portion and booking hotels.

I contributed to the trip preparations by re-reading the road trip classic “Travels with Charley” and pretending to be John Steinbeck.

For anyone who hasn’t read it, “Travels with Charley” is Steinbeck’s 1962 account of driving around much of the U.S. to rediscover his home country with his prostatitis-prone poodle, Charley, in tow.

I’ve read this book many times (it’s one of only a few books that I hang on to during every move) and it’s accompanied me on multiple journeys: long plane rides, train trips, and international moves. Up until 2023, I had never read it while embarking on a road trip of my own.

Finally! I was going to realize my dream of living the Travels with Charley experience.

I had visions of the open road, scenic views, and ending each day by jotting down astute observations and transcribing humorous exchanges I’d had with a barista or gas station attendant. I was sure these notes would reveal something fundamental about the human experience.

Never mind that I am not a disciplined writer or a confident driver or particularly inclined to striking up conversations with strangers. I was sure that the road would fundamentally change my personality for the better (I also started saying things like “the road”).

The only possible obstacle I saw between me and my dream travel experience was the lack of a Charley sidekick. I love my husband, but going on a road trip with your partner doesn’t convey the same free-spirited aesthetic as hitting the road with your dog, ears flapping out the window.

Since we’ve never once lived in a rental unit that allowed pets, I resigned myself to the fact that adopting a dog before the trip was not the right move.

What I had failed to consider is that it’s always possible to be the dog you wish to see in your passenger seat.

I soon discovered that I was not John Steinbeck, I was Charley.

Point one in evidence: Unfortunate medical parallels

The morning of our departure I woke up with a raging UTI that had me whimpering and requesting bathroom breaks every 40 minutes for the first week of our trip. Note that this was the Alcan portion of the trip, where pharmacies and clinics are virtually nonexistent and bathrooms other than roadside rest stops (i.e. cement outhouses) are few and far between.

It was impossible to dodge the Charley comparison, as at least two chapters of the memoir hinge on the dog’s urinary complaints and visits to the vet.

Point two: My contribution to the workload

During the Alcan portion of the trip, I was happy to split the driving time once my pain killers had kicked in each morning. A single lane highway through pretty much the middle of nowhere, with no possibility of getting lost as long as you turn the right direction leaving your hotel each morning? That’s my kind of driving.

But as soon as we re-entered the U.S., I hung up my driving moccasins.

Immediately upon merging onto our first six-lane freeway in Washington, it was clear to both of us that I was going to be useless behind the wheel.

You have to understand the strengths of your partner. My husband’s strength is driving. My strength is eating snacks while staring out the window.

Which sounds suspiciously like a pet poodle’s strengths…

I shed all self-imposed pressure to be a great thinker and leaned into my identity as the trip mascot – measuring my days in bathroom breaks, interesting trees, and crunchy snacks. In my heart, I knew this was a better fit for my personality and abilities and interests and…you know, everything about me.

As a result, I returned home to Anchorage having not written a travel memoir or contributed to an interesting conversation or even really done much driving.

I didn’t have one wise observation to make.

I do, however, have a shit ton of pictures. Here are a few, if you’d like to see.