13.04.2008 - 13.04.2008
Well, that was it; our epic journey was over, all of the highs, lows, planning, excitement and disappointments. It had lasted three years and had been the hardest three years of our lives. It had started in a nasty bar in Leeds where we both drank over priced beer and shared our stories of previous failed plans for travelling round the world. It had ended here, standing on the curb in Wolverhampton bus station waiting for the National Express to Stanstead. True enough, the journey of planning this thing was over, but now the real adventure was right in front of us.
Some clever person once said that even the longest journey must start with a single step, but before we could take that step we had to do the hardest thing of all. The thing that we hadn’t built into any of our plans, it wasn’t written in any of our lists or maps, we’d probably forgotten about it intentionally. We had to say good-bye. We all hugged the kind of hug that families do when they don’t want to let go, but we all knew we had to. The tears didn’t stop until well after our ass cheeks had gone numb from the bus seats. I had already said good-bye to my family in Nottingham, and had hugged the same hugs and cried the same tears.