The next morning I look over at Batman who’s dressed in head to toe lycra that may be a tad optimistic. He’s wearing his undies on the outside, tennis shoes and thick soccer socks. He looks like he’s about to give birth to a rabbit.
We turn east and spend the first hour in elated naivety. The fresh air, staring cows, vivid colours towering trees, we are spellbound by it all. An hour into it we take a break and batman pulls out his only rations, a pack of spicy Dorito CC chips and 3 litres of warm water in an old apple juice bottle. He quickly realises he may have misjudged things but doesn’t stop eating, even when tears are streaming from his mask. He drinks more water which only makes it worse and we laugh like we did when we were kids.
We battle the day, a day of straight roads punctuated with locals who pull over for selfies and flies that appear to us city folk to be in plague proportions. Our conversation rambles but never stops and despite the pain, we know this is a great day. The last 5km are the hardest. Batman’s tennis shoes have produced some chunky blisters and he has a bad case of dry mouth. We crawl into the campsite where we lay down on an ants nest and promptly fall asleep.