ANCHORAGE — Tomasz Sulczynski had been driving for nearly four hours through rural Alaska on Friday when the biggest earthquake to hit the state in half a century began twisting the road beneath him.

He had begun the day in Homer, a remote fishing village down the coast, and was headed for the Anchorage airport with his girlfriend, Rebecca Taylor, in a red 2014 GMC Terrain. Now they found themselves stranded in a sinkhole about 10 feet deep.

Images of the wrecked road circulated nationally all weekend, an emblem of the destructive force that Alaskans endured when the magnitude 7.0 earthquake struck on Friday. The frightful scene elicited astonishment that anyone could have survived.

Mr. Sulczynski, 46, felt that sense of awe, too. But he also had a flight to catch.

Among the broken concrete slabs, he and Ms. Taylor got out of the S.U.V. and climbed out of the hole. Then they hitched a ride to Ted Stevens International, a few miles away — and made the flight.

“That part wasn’t that big of a deal,” Mr. Sulczynski said later. “It was all so surreal and happened so fast that there was no time to get scared.”

Many in the state reacted gleefully to the story: That is so Alaskan.

The state is called the Last Frontier for a reason, and residents pride themselves on their rugged endurance. That entrenched attitude may seem hokey in the Lower 48, but it is etched into the very skin of Alaska residents, winter after winter. Daily life in the state can be harsh, but there is also much dignity to be found in resilience.

Mr. Sulczynski and Ms. Taylor have become the latest embodiment of that ethos: When nature sends its worst, an Alaskan moves along without complaining. “Drive to Anchorage didn’t quite go as planned!” Mr. Sulczynski posted later on Facebook, his pictures drawing shock and laughter.

Julie Davis, another Homer resident, summarized the terror and the joy in her response to his post: “An eyewitness, interviewed on TV, just said you left your car and headed to the airport to catch your flight! You are a true Alaskan!”

The earthquake drew instant comparisons to the one that heavily damaged downtown Anchorage in 1964. That earthquake, the most powerful on record in the United States and the second-strongest anywhere, was magnitude 9.2; it killed more than 100 people and caused a tsunami that destroyed many small towns along the Alaska coast.

Friday’s earthquake struck just seven miles from Anchorage, but the fact that it was relatively deep — nearly 30 miles below ground — combined with the rigorous building code enforcement in the region helped mitigate a potential catastrophe. There have been no casualties reported in connection with the earthquake, and only two reports of structure collapse.

And so, even though significant aftershocks continue to awaken people in the night, by Sunday most Alaskans had already started putting the quake behind them.

Teodore Odena, 27, said that the response has been true to Alaska, through and through.

“We have tough skin” Mr. Odena said during breakfast at Snow City Café in downtown Anchorage. “No offense, but you look at the Lower 48, and you hear every time they have a snowstorm. Dealing with the elements, Alaskans have that resilience, we just push forward.”

Mr. Odena was on his way to work at the Alaska Department of Fish and Game on Friday morning, and at first he thought he had a flat tire. He realized it was an earthquake when the road started bouncing up and down and the swaying streetlights began to flicker. When he got to his office, furniture had toppled over and had partially blocked a hallway as people were evacuating.

Cleanup may take a while, he conceded.

Alaska became a state in 1959, but it remains deeply misunderstood by many Americans who have never lived there. There are plenty of stereotypes that make Alaskans bristle; questions about igloos draw particular ire. And there are disagreements about what an Alaskan really is. Few people can truly live up to the myth of the self-reliant frontiersman, and sometimes that can cause dissonance. The state itself falls short of the ideal, relying heavily on the federal government, especially in rural areas.

But if there’s one shared quality most Alaskans will agree on, it is that the state’s people are tough, because they have to be.

Amber Lindstrom, 31, a lifelong Alaskan, was at work in Palmer, about 35 miles northeast of Anchorage, when the earthquake started. She said some ceiling tiles fell, but that overall, things returned to normal very quickly. She said on Sunday that Alaskan toughness has been a key theme in the response to the earthquake, but she stressed that tough does not mean callous or selfish.

“Alaskans can take care of ourselves, but we also try to take care of others,” she said. “The big thing afterward was checking in on everyone to make sure everyone was O.K.”

The earthquake, she added, was “one of those sort of things that’s like, O.K., now this has actually happened. It was weird, but once we checked in on everyone and cleaned up, it was fine.”

The Anchorage fire chief, Jodie Hettrick, urged residents who had experienced any anxiety or trouble sleeping after the quake to pursue mental health services. Aftershocks on Friday night in particular kept many people awake.

“Now that the aftershocks have slowed down a little bit,” Chief Hettrick said, “is the time to really focus on some self-care.”

Even the most enthusiastic Alaska evangelists will acknowledge that living in the state has some drawbacks, not least the cost of living. Mr. Sulczynski said food is “super expensive,” gasoline can be very pricey, and housing can be difficult to afford on regional salaries.

The state is also prone to all kinds of natural disasters, not just quakes.

“The earthquakes don’t faze me at all,” Mr. Sulczynski said. “I’ve lived through a couple of volcano explosions where our town was covered in ash. Yeah, it’s always kind of interesting, I suppose.”

In fact, he said, his main complaint is much more prosaic. “The only thing that kind of gets me once in a while, especially when I’m working a lot, is the winters, when it’s dark,” he said. “You go to work, sit in an office all day, and then you get out and it’s still dark. I get pretty grumpy.”

But he also deeply enjoys life in his coastal town, he said; he can kite-ski, kayak, surf, hike. He particularly enjoys long rides along scenic Alaska highways on his motorcycle.

Like many Alaskans, he was born elsewhere, moved to Alaska on a lark, and has fallen in love with the state. He grew up in San Jose, Calif., and moved to Homer 18 years ago to be closer to his wife’s family (they have since divorced).

His hometown was “suburbia at its finest, or worst, depending on your take,” he said. “It’s a great place for me to visit and to vacation for a week. But the millions of people and freeways and traffic and strip malls and all that — I’m just so over it.”

He said he would never move back: “Alaska is home. Once you’ve been an Alaskan long enough, you really don’t belong anywhere else.”

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