Dawn. The sun rises over the sleepy Surrey village of Merstham, the fading frost glistening in the rising sun. All is calm and quiet in the Quality Cafe, a does what it says on the tin establishment. 

Then, in small batches, we arrive, shattering the silence, demanding coffee and assorted fried foods. The fry ups are needed more than usual; the Kent contingent had drinks at John’s the night before and I am informed that when the minibus rocked up at 6am, our leader greeted it in a dressing gown. For my part, Richard and I were out the night before with his mates, and I think I managed about four hours of sleep. 22 miles of hills in the sun. It was going to be fun.

Breakfast sorted and a kindly cafe owner coerced into taking our departure photo, we make tracks. Today’s route continues to chip away at the North Downs Way, this time heading from Merstham to Sevenoaks. It’s a location we’ve been putting off for a while because of the travel logistics involved, and despite the spectre of the M25 looming over us, it offers the possibility of some great hills, views, and quite pleasant looking towns. Max is determined to go old school with the navigation and has brought a map, and while I have the route on my watch, I agree to not consult it. I will mostly honour this.

It’s probably for the best that throughout this opening stretch I find myself deep in conversation with new bestie Kayne, the hills melt away as we deep dive all things incredibly geeky. (He also has his Star Wars priorities in order). And there are a lot of hills that need melting away.

At the top of an especially tall hill just past the Caterham viewpoint at mile 7, we take a sharp right and head downhill and realise we’ve lost those bringing up there rear. Richard heads back to find them, recruiting a mountain biker to inform them of where they need to go. By all accounts the cyclists’ instructions are accurate but somewhat curt. As we wait, we have to endure the increasingly tedious sound of a clay shoot, setting at least the dogs on edge. Kayne and I use the time to put the world of Tolkien to rights.

A good, solid stretch of hiking complete, 9 miles in and just before noon we reach our first scheduled pub stop, The Old Bell at Oxted.

Much like the Quality Cafe, our arrival shakes things up a bit as the bar staff quickly find themselves needing to pour more than a few pints, a bit of wine, and some water for those of us who remember to rehydrate. Driving for the first time on a hike, I only have mild FOMO. At the Old Bell we’re also greeted by Angus, last seen steering us to success on the Guildford to Alton Bentley trek two years previously.

As nice a time as we’re having, we know we have to get going and the team drink up and get ready to go. It’s still quite early, and Alex points out as we’re departing that the silence will return once we’re gone.

Our route from here leads us past a very traditional English cricket green complete with players and then into Oxted’s town centre, which is also very traditional and English.

It’s also the best place to get lunch, and those who don’t already have it disperse to get supplies. This is fine at first but then stretches on. In the notes I take so I remember what to put in these posts, I have just written “We wait around for f*cking ages sorting lunch.” Those who know me probably know what mood I was in by this point.

Eventually enough of us regroup to form a collective and we set off, confident those behind will catch us up. Our route takes us through some quaint suburbs, which Will is quick to point out don’t feel at all like our group’s natural environment. “The Walking Idiots in Suburbia.” Ugh.

It’s not long before we return the leafy woodland that we’re used to. A fairly chilled, if hilly, few miles follow, with one particularly noteworthy landmark an absolutely immense house on Pains Hill which we hope is at least a school, because the council tax bill would be sickening.

The Carpenters Arms is our next stop, only four miles later. As we approach the improbably-named village of Limpsfield Chart, a local quickly gets the measure of us and succinctly says “the pub: not far,” which earns a good chuckle.

The Carpenters Arms is busy but we’re served quickly. It has an excellent beer garden which easily accommodated over a dozen new arrivals. Matti sneakily orders cheesy chips which go down a treat with the crew. After a couple of drinks and the reapplication of suncream we’re good to depart and head off once more, although we notice John has secured a cheeky bottle of red for the road, the scamp.

This next stretch of the hike is probably where it became most challenging. Normally it’s in the evening, when we lose the light, people get tired or, let’s face it, shitfaced. But the stretch that followed here was harder because of the hills and the sun.

Pacing’s varying, we naturally fracture into what I think was three groups. The heat intensifies, and the shade is only intermittent. When we find ourselves in woodland it’s okay, but on exposed areas like fields it gets quite full on.

We face three significant hills back to back as the altitude continues to climb, seemingly without end. The fact we’ve fifteen miles in our legs already doesn’t help, and my four hours sleep the night before reminds me I’m not dealing with a full battery.

There are other issues to contend with too, but I won’t go into details as Alex won’t thank me. They were mercifully resolved at the next pub.

The next pub, The Cock Inn (honest) is our penultimate stop and sorely needed.

We gain a new arrival – Adam and Bert’s mate, Anjay – and we realise sometime later, lose one, as Johnny pulls out.

The confusion that sets in (to misquote 90’s post-grunge band, Live) is because only 9 of us have made it to the pub, we’ve no idea where the others are, and absolutely no signal whatsoever to contact them.

Our biggest obstacle now is tiredness and getting hangry. Over the last few miles Adam and Anjay tell me about their band, which has a couple of tunes on Spotify and sounds awesome. Kayne and I had made it to DC Comics by now on our nerd-fest.

An hour passes. We debate whether the others are even coming, and whether to carry on without them. People are cramping up. Others are even starting to get cold now they’re out of the sun. Kayne distracts us by giving us the rundown on how intimacy scenes are filmed (he’s an actor) and they sound thoroughly unerotic.

Hopping on the pub’s wifi we receive a voice note from Max: “I left Johnny in the competent hands of a blonde at the stables… I will have a pint of ale please.” A few minutes later he appears, but without the others, who appear eventually. John informs us that they had been circling the pub for ages trying to find it but without success.

Finally, the group is reunited, except for the aforementioned Johnny, who is medically retired for the day.

Shortly before we depart, my watch dies, depriving me of the route I’d been quietly keeping an eye on. Max is quite pleased at this victory of the analogue over the digital, and having one less navigator (Angus also has the route) and a tricky part route-wise to follow encourages us to stick together for the final stretch.

Even with a few delays we’re still absolutely fine for light and while the route meanders from hill to hill, it’s nothing we’ve not seen before.

Outside of Sevenoaks, we encounter one final split when Richard and Evan decide their way to The Chequers (our final stop) is closer than ours and peel off, while the rest of us stick together. We’re feeling very smug as we get to the end before them, the pub we intended to finish at for the last hike, the –

Oh crap this is The Restoration, where we finished last time! (It was shut then). Whoops. Best keep moving!

Anyway, we leg it over to the Chequers to reunite with our crew, and it doesn’t take much work to persuade some patrons to very kindly take our victory photo (people tend to do this when you tell them you’ve walked 23 miles to get there).

The North Downs Way is nearly done now. The last major stretch is Alton to Winchester and then we’re almost done, barring a few optional extras.

It’s only taken us 7 years. Please join us for the next one. We need you.