It becomes military in the sense you break camp in the morning, try to pack your stuff as tightly and drily as possible and then find a three- or five-point way to hurl a 22 kilo sack over your shoulders.
This presents a fine picture to the outside world where you look like you are undergoing St Vitus's Dance as a result of extreme ergotism. Flinging your shoulders now one way now another, hopping to tighten the waist strap so the weight digs into the hips not the shoulders and then brutally tightening the chest strap to eliminate road wobble.
Thus far I have abandoned two backpacks. One before departure due to unsuitability and a second (dating back to when I was 17) because it offered only a rogue sumo strap for support at the waist and two knife-like bands at the shoulder. The second is in a bin by a playground somewhere in Kent. Hence the American football shoulder pads made of cut up sponges of previous photos.
The military element is like a forced march. The distance for the day is set, often non-negotiable and a camp site of some sort envisioned at the other end. There is no officer, no external agency to enforce discipline which is why doing it alone might be much more challenging. I know for one, I would likely see each roadside offering of fruit, veg, each village cafe, as an insurmountable temptation to stop. Go local. Be authentic etc.
So on current form we are covering somewhere between 12 -17 miles a day.
The main thing though is to somehow accept that the pack on your back is not going away. You cannot relieve yourself of it. It is like a family member, it will be there as you stumble, as you breach a ridge, as you find a bit of scenery that makes you sit down with an 'oompf' of inarticulate joy.
That said, I do feel that there are improvements to be made to pilgrims' travel. A horse, equipped with a suitable cot might work. See above. Or as most tourists do it, a transport that carries the baggage and let's you go from A to B at your leisure without the murder of crippling blisters and obscene nerve twinges that make you sway like John Merrick.
Yet, being open to the road, and open to the kindness of strangers matters as much as the discipline of moving on. We were treated to a tour of the area south of Calais by the irrepressible character of Olivier Caulier, a factory worker cum bus driver whose damaged foot from a motocross accident did not stop him a) driving b) shimmying up and down stairs c) offering a motormouth guide to his corner of the world. Without him, the Pas-de-Calais would have remained what it is to most Brits when they get to France...the bit you hurtle through as you head south.
As it happened we ate well and discovered a gem of a restaurant in Ardres called L'Authentique. The single best starter platter I have had for years with exquisite hams from Spain and France, the freshest tapenade with chunks of uber fresh garlic, olive and anchovy and a novelty on me - goat cheese combined like putty around fresh herbs and attached to a kind of thick hair pin. Utterly delicious. Cracking, if limited wine list, as they have only been open a month. I will try to put something up on Tripadvisor as this place is a worthy stop and we were clapped by the cooks as brave stout pilgrims attempting the long road south who needed a decent meal to see us on our way.
The great minds behind L'Authentique. Hats off, you guys provided the best meal of the trip so far.
It seems improbable but we are still in the Pas-de-Calais and now at the nunnery of Wisques. I never imagined I would bed down in a nunnery and any Sister Act nonsense is soon dispelled. We were greeted by Soeur Lucy who has been here for 53 years and makes the most ridiculously good jams and chutneys. I am not a Christian but I am looking forward to supper tonight in the Abbey. Slightly worried there will be no wine so I am taking the precaution of visiting a local hotel in advance. As it happens there is a huge birthday party here and I have managed to insinuate myself as a shaven headed northern cousin. The road breeds necessity if nothing else. And the view is awesome from this hill looking out towards St-Omer.
Love the ove the horse with cot. You shall find wine at most of the convents made themselves but they don't offer copious amounts for intoxication. Hope you've found a better bag.
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