The George Parks Highway
Arguably the most celebrated guidebook for Alaska is The MILEPOST. There are other websites that reproduce its mile-by-mile account of Alaska’s scenic highways. First published in 1949, before Alaska was a state, and updated annually since, the guidebook has become a venerable institution. These days, modern travel has made the reference book less relevant, in my opinion. Someone touring Alaska by bicycle might find it useful, but would anyways be ill-advised to carry the weight of the book.
To be sure, there are certain points along the highway that are worth taking special note. But by and large, the road is analogue, one long stretch of continuous beauty. There are no on-and-off mileposts which can define or capture Alaska’s hinterland. And, especially for a group like me and my friends sharing a rental van, the whole point of driving the George Parks Highway is to pull over wherever you feel like.
There are several topnotch websites on general Alaskan tourism, and I recommend starting at travelalaska.com for additional information on the route from Anchorage to Denali. None, however, will quite prepare you. It’s an easy drive, a moderately long one at 240 miles that will pass as one timeless inhale/exhale for the vistas, and the scale, of America’s "Last Frontier".
Wasilla
Wasilla, 42 miles from Anchorage, has the last supermarket you’ll see for the next couple of days. Stock the cooler. Buy some snacks. Fill your cup with coffee. Etc.
Willow
Willow, 27 miles from Wasilla, has the last gas station. Fill your tank with gas, no matter the gauge’s reading.
State Wayside Rest Stop
If you need clean restrooms, sheltered ramadas, or large granite boulders that serve as tables, milepost 186 is the best place to stop. The tour buses originating from Anchorage go 10 miles further to a turnoff at the Broad Pass Summit for their mid-trip break. As for us, at Wasilla’s supermarket, everyone handed Tammy and Joey a 10-bill and asked them to surprise the rest of us with a full course picnic lunch. This was the perfect waypoint to enjoy our craft-your-own deli sandwich & scoop-your-favorite potato side roadside feast. The views from the rest stop gave us a good look at terrain changing into lush alpine tundra.
Talkeetna
I was a fan of a TV series from the late 80’s called ‘Northern Exposure’. Because of it, I have this romantic notion of the prototype small, isolated, eccentric and friendly frontier Alaskan town. A decision, on the fly so to speak, as we drove back to Anchorage on the Parks Highway, took us to Talkeetna and preserved this precious image I have.
We’d taken a leisurely morning’s leave of Denali, and were making good time. By the time we neared Talkeetna Junction at milepost 99, it was close to noon. We were getting hungry, and I think, itchy in each other’s close company on a road already traveled. We hadn’t planned it, but I took the junction. Fourteen miles along Talkeetna Spur Road, a country drive interspersed with houses and small patches of farmland, we rounded the wide arc of a meadow to see several modern structures, including a fire station garage. Slowing down along smaller and older buildings, the road abruptly ended in a 90 degree left turn onto packed dirt, apparently Main Street of the small town of Talkeetna. I saw several cars and railroad tracks to my right, so I turned that way instead and parked the minivan.
We did a sound check of our FRS two-way radios and dispersed, happy to be out of the van.
Main Street, all three blocks of it, was an interesting mix of craft stores, eateries, and a few souvenir shops. Nothing caught my fancy eye, as I hopped in and out of them. My nose though caught the unmistakable smell of a crab-boil from a restaurant with a narrow entrance.
Past the town’s corner petrol pump, the road took another sharp left. But, there was a footpath ahead through dense bush. The track opened up to reveal the magnificent sight of the convergence of the Talkeetna River and Susitna River. Walking a well worn path along the banks, I came to a cluster of buildings in the manner of alpine chalets. I went in and spoke with a woman at the desk of the Talkeetna Motel Restaurant & Lounge who confirmed my suspicions: it’s a good spot for river run salmon. But, she explained, most people charter boats.
Talkeetna is better known for mountaineering. Almost all attempts for the summit of Mount McKinley start here with registration at the National Park Service office across the street from the Talkteetna Motel. I don’t know how that works, but my bet is that the airstrip that runs through the middle of town has something to do with it, perhaps taking climbers aboard planes and helicopters to the mountain’s staging camps.
The airstrip notwithstanding, Talkeetna is a tiny town. There’s Main Street, 1st, 2nd and 3rd Street. And then, there’s B, C and D Street. Presumably, non-existent A Street is the footpath along the river. Seemingly every other house had a shingle or sign declaring itself to be a bed & breakfast inn.
One of my friends was calling in a hearty Boston-style clam chowder on the walkie-talkie at a place on Main Street. I can’t recall the name of the restaurant, but I did note its cute exterior, a converted country home painted yellow with white trim and an inviting screen door. And clam chowder sounded like good refueling grub for the final stretch of the highway back to Anchorage.