It was only two hours later, when we reached Greenwich, that I started to comprehend the improbable distance we had ahead of us, and that the journey might not be as easy or as fast as the hour drive that the Michelin Route Finder had suggestedβ¦. I pondered the idea for a moment but it took little to convince me and two days later we stood beneath Horatio Nelson in Trafalgar Square about to embark on an unknown journey across Europe with nothing but rucksacks full of the lightest of possessions, a single Beef Stroganoff ration pack and a map to get us to Dover.
The key to our success was in daily routine and in setting a minimum distance that we had to cover each day. Each morning we would rise just before dawn. The reason for this was two-fold. Firstly we often needed to break camp undetected before being caught by a local farmer and secondly, we found that if we could walk or sleepwalk for two hours before breakfast the distances that we needed to cover became more achievable.
We soon found that the map became our ally. Every evening we would take great pride in marking out a 40km route for the next day. The days soon merged into each other but the red line we drew on our maps kept extending across France from Calais towards Geneva. On the horizon soared the Alps that we knew we would have to climb to reach Italy.
As complete amateurs, plagued with tendonitis, in beaten up trainers and with a complete lack of any all-weather gear Paddy had abandoned his coat on day four , were we perhaps chancing our luck?
The scenery was breathtaking in both senses of the word but we strode on, only stopping to refresh ourselves in the icy cold mountain glacial streams. It was a relief to leave the roads and footpaths behind and to be able to enjoy walking without the constant fear of being run off the road by another incompetent driver.
