"Put it in reverse... more gas... nope, we need to dig more..."

My fingers continue clawing at the turf. The van is clearly stuck, but we absolutely need to be in London this afternoon. So we push and dig and jam branches under the tires, desperate for them gain purchase in the greasy South Flemish mud. I sit out the next round of revving and shoving to catch my breath. It's beautiful here; the morning mist hugs the stubbled hayfields that surround us, glowing silver in the sunrise. But I've hardly slept in days, my back aches from the thousands of highway miles, and now my sleeping clothes are caked with dirt. I didn't really have to be here...