From the beginning, Peter and I had regarded the trek as a sort of quest, a diversion from the norm rather than a test of our fortitude or stamina. As our journey progressed, it evolved into an on-going adventure to be lived within – a taste of forgotten freedom. In Great Broughton there were two places to dine. For only the third time on the trip someone called heads when they should have chosen tails. The result was stale, flat beer and bad food. Even the horror of Hugh’s gravy encru...