Despite the success of the post-Christmas hike, the Walking Idiots were still recovering from the disastrous Hike 17. We needed a win.

Fortunately Hike 18 showed hints of promise. Hiking in Kent always goes very well, and the Lenham to Rochester route had been on John’s itinerary for a while now. This seemed the time to do it.

As always, the growing number of dropouts in the run up to the day did little to help ease our anxiety. In addition to some of our beloved regulars, we also lost core crew Mat (roped into counting local election votes), Rob (Covid, bless him) and Alan (other), their absence casting an unhealthy pallor over the walk to come, but the wealth of new attendees give a glimmer of hope.

A flurry of activity over WhatsApp ensued – primarily a mix of arranging a taxi for some of us to get to our start point and John repeatedly but necessarily telling people to bring a packed lunch as we had too many miles to cover to allow for long breaks – and the day crept closer.

The morning of the hike those of us waiting for the cab receive a particularly unpleasant shock at 7am: the taxi has been cancelled, John having received an email from the company at 4am with no context or remorse. Absolute dick move, A1 Taxis or Rochester Cab. (Owing to online booking systems we are unsure which one it was, but both are now on our revenge list. No one tampers with our hike logistics except us. Count your days).

A panicked call from the taxi batphone in my hotel brings salvation and two cabs soon rock up to ferry us to Lenham. Our driver remains impassive as we inadvertently brag about the distances we cover, until he modestly shares that he used to be a postman, and that sort of mileage was all in a days’ work for him. Impressed, we ask if he wants to join us today, and he politely (wisely?) declines.

The meeting point for the crew is the Dog and Badger in Lenham, the same starting point as our Lenham to Rochester walk, exactly half our hikes ago. The pub has a quiet, almost cordial ambience as its guests calmly go about eating their breakfasts. Within moments we noisy buggers shatter this atmosphere, but no one seems to mind, or if they do, they keep it to themselves.

A particular shout out to the lady who took our orders – for those of us having the vegan breakfast she expressed her opinion on the egg substitute (oggs, best avoided apparently) and sagely observed later, “I can tell you’re eating, you’re all quiet!”

With our bellies full and the bathroom soon ruined, it’s time to head out, our last contingent of attendees joining us outside.

We get our standard departure picture before we go, although with no Rob we politely request people take as many pictures as they can over the course of the day. The pictures were great but I may have received more than I was expecting, something I come to regret as I compile this… 

Anyway, off we go!

Once the field is crossed we spend the next four miles walking along a road marked as Pilgrims Way, but might also be the North Downs Way.

A short while later we reach Hollingbourne, a charming little village which could have offered us an early pub stop, The Dirty Habit (great name), but it had sadly burned down. We leave the route for a moment to go see a very fancy Manor House, and a local stops us as we’re walking down to suggest we try the cafe for refreshments. “Otherwise we burned the pub down for nothing,” he chuckles, and we laugh along, unsure how serious he is, deciding it’s best we get on our way, just in case.

Back in the woods, some of us witness Paul slip and fall yet somehow manage to not only stop himself from falling into the nettles but also not spill a drop of his beer. I’m still not sure how he managed it.

Coming up on 11:30, we stop for a moment, Max disappearing far deeper into the undergrowth than is required to go for a wee, and to our amazement returns holding a stash of beers he’d planted there earlier in the week. Like a magnanimous pirate captain he distributes the booty amongst the men, all of us grateful and amazed; the beer is even still cold.

Mad cat beer because we’re on the approach to Cat’s Mount, we learn.

Only a few moments later we stop for a few minutes at a rather delightful viewpoint to enjoy our spoils.

From here we face the wrath of the North Downs’ elevation (always a challenge when you’ve got a beer in you) and head up and up.

However as we once more re-enter the woods there is one particularly sensory treat ahead.

Reaching the top of the hill we leave the woods and follow the footpath along the fields and into the field until the path… vanishes.

Some furtive checking for the path on OS maps and all the other apps ensues, until we reach a consensus that the path is around here somewhere, and we’d best head in its general direction until it either presents itself, or we find the next bit of our route…

Fortunately we’re not wading through legumes for too long and we’re soon back on track, although we allow for a brief diversion to stop at Thurnham Castle, the ruins of a castle probably from the eleventh century, according to the helpful yet uncertain plaque.

Back on track we clamber up possibly the world’s most dangerous stile and continue uphill, walking for several miles over the contour of the North Downs, looking down over the vineyards below.

Finally we reach our first pub stop (bottles in the woods excluded,) The Cock Horse at Detling.

The Cock Horse was a decent pub. Pretty good range of beers and they filled up my water bottles and bladder without protest (the latter is a real pain to do so and I spilled a load of it like a right tit). We got the impression the pub is a bit of a rest stop for hikers from the amount of people in backpacks who optimistically approached the pub only to look crestfallen to see a dozen sweaty men hogging all the benches.

Still, it provided a great spot for a sock change, a quick lunch and a pint or two. Paul sadly took the opportunity to leave us here, needing to get stuff done, and we reluctantly bid him farewell.

Drinking up, we cross Jade’s Bridge over the main road and head back into the countryside to enter Boxley Downs.

It’s not massively later that Max once again performs some magic and from under the nettles whips out two bottles of wine, which help pass the next stretch of our amble, which is admittedly much smoother going than our hilly first section.

While hills might not be a problem, the nettles are starting to become an irritation, until we realise that there’s a parallel path in the woods to our left, which we hop down into pretty much as soon as the rain starts.

Fortunately for us the hike gods are smiling on us today and the rain doesn’t last, and we enter woods full of Yew trees that drops steeply downhill, triggering John’s knee injury, something we haven’t seen kick in since Hike 2, nearly ten years ago.

Aside from us, the woods are utterly silent, and John points out that Yew is toxic, so everything living has the sense to stay away, except for us.

Regrouping at the bottom of the hill, Richard consoles John about his knee with a chilling anecdote about a sternum injury unsuitable for print and we pause briefly to admire the White Horse Stone and resume.

Here’s a picture of us crossing a railway bridge, as these pictures are far too rural at the moment.

Actually here’s some more urban grit:

Aaaaand one more for good measure:

After that we climb a hill known as E2, which apparently is classified like this because it’s such a bastard to climb, and at the top we stop to admire a slightly more impressive stone or two.

This is Kit’s Coty House, or The House of the Dead, a six thousand year old burial chamber. This thing was two thousand years old when the last of the mammoths died. It’s one thousand years older than the Egyptian empire. It’s old. You get the idea.

From here we close in on pub no. 2, The Robin Hood at Burham.

The Robin Hood offers a good break as our legs are starting to tire and we’re grateful for a rest and a beer, but with the end only a quarter of the hike away no one feels the need to pull off a sock change or relax too much. Max sadly departs us, also having places to be, and we’re sorry to see him go after his above and beyond services to hiking and drinking on this day.

Leaving the second pub is always a challenge and with the golden hour approaching none of us are particularly moving fast.

Anyway, tired legs be damned we power through, becoming increasingly aware that we’re somewhat over the expected mileage we had planned for the day, but that’s okay. Got to get those steps in.

Taking a moment to appreciate the valley before us, we descend onto the Medway, walking under the impressive bridge last seen on Hike 7.

Walking along the river pathway as the sun sets is a nice change of landscape, and as the path ends we pass through a park full of never do well kids who ask (yell at) us what’s in our bags. Alex deftly earns their respect by replying “Just booze, man.”

Coming up on mile 24 (of a planned 20) we pass Rochester Castle and reach our finish point outside the Cathedral.

Inexplicably, Max’s wife, Emma turns up at that moment and takes our victory photo, which was greatly appreciated.

Our hike happens to coincide with Rochester’s Sweeps Festival, and we can hear the noise from the town as we approach. The pubs are packed out and the group goes in search of well earned beer and a bit of rest.

Well, I say rest. The WhatsApp messages exchanged the next day imply anything but. I think my favourite phrase might be, “I am slowly emerging from my husk-like form.”

So there you go. The perils of hiking and drinking. Totally, totally worth it.

Let’s end this on a nice picture: here’s Richard, stoically looking down a valley, able to cover any distance. With me next to him, spoiling the picture by taking a photo that didn’t make the final edit of this post: