An epically irrelevant way of saying Happy Mother's Day

Many people have described Chasing Spring as an epic journey so as we're pausing for a day in Manchester I've decided to ham up the Homeric scope of our tale; I am the springtime Odysseus finding my way home after the war of winter.

I have left my personal Calypso far behind and this journey is in many ways a voyage of adventure. It is also a homecoming, a search for identity and meaning that can only be truly uncovered by travelling. My mother is my anxious Penelope, endlessly refreshing the Chasing Spring Twitter feed, her fingers knitting the cord of the mouse to fend away unwelcome thoughts.

The Siren song is the snoring of bunk-mates in cramped hostels, the sound of which has forced me to plug my ears with beeswax-coloured foam to avoid the urge to dive onto sharp rocks. Scylla and Charybdis are undoubtedly the mountainous national parks - the Pennines, Dales and Moors - that we will be navigating our way between over the coming weeks.

I fear I have yet to encounter my springtime Circe, who will try to turn half my crew into swine (Matt - watch out for women offering beer and crisps, and if you start to grow a curly tail, well, I've got a cream for that).

For Homer, Odysseus' journey was as important, if not more so, than the destination. Likewise, spring is not a discrete season punctuated by winter and summer, but a series of fortunate and fantastic events that humankind has chosen to weave into a single narrative. It's an eternal story in the true oral tradition, repeated annually but subtly changed, the frost forcing a late start one year or drought bringing destructive fires that rework the whole landscape. The plants and animals that populate this story arrive at different times and in various combinations each year, affecting their success or failure in surviving another season.

And as with all bardic stories, much of this tale is told in verse: birdsong, the beat of bicycle pedals, the tinny sounds  of the Beatles emanating from Matt's iPhone.

And what happens to Odysseus? Well if you can spoil the end of a several thousand year old story he gets home OK, gets dressed up, tricks a few people into thinking he's someone else and does some slaying; I'm not taking the comparison to Chasing Spring that far. I am, however, looking forward to going home.