So far on the walk along the old tracks and streets of Hull there has been no cause to make any decisions on a life determining scale.
Granted, the judgement of where and when to cross a busy road has had to be made.
On reaching the river it is surely that time to make a pivotal choice on whether to take the path along the top of the tidal defences or another route. It is an easy choice. The southerly wind is now storm force sending showers of flume and spray into the air and over the parked cars on the viewing area. Although the prevailing winds would be from left to right on the return walk to the city centre and therefore pushing a body away from the sloping defence wall there are, from frequent use of the route, three distinctly hazardous points where there would be no mercy from the gale.
The first is the 'U' shaped section of the path around the sluice of the land drain at its convergence with the estuary. Within a relatively short distance the storm would hurtle you towards the parapet wall of the drain outlet and then batter you head on in a struggle to get around the corner and back onto the path as it heads westwards.
The second is the narrow walkway along the top of the huge lock gates at the dock entrance. There is but a single strand chain link on either side which would be totally ineffective on such a tempestuous day.
The third, a section of the path fully open to the onslaught of the waves with no tidal barrier or respite from either the wind or the waves.
I was convinced by taking the worst case scenario to just back-track past the tractor and container compounds and head into town on the footpath of Hedon Road. It was still parallel to the river but quarter of a mile inland and therefore almost calm by comparison. Opting for caution or the cowards way was disappointing as the wide open views to the river and out to the North Sea are magnificent but they would still be there on another day.
More traffic noise, this time from the shoppers on the way to their rural homes from a good day in the city centre and retail parks. There is a return to the segregated path for bikes and those on foot and a few keen cyclists and dedicated joggers loom up in the far distance or sneak up unnanounced from behind. The cycle path is a bit of a compromise, mainly to improve the environmental credentials of the city. This is no more evident than the dramatic deviation in an otherwise straight and true route to allow for a King George Reign post box. On closer inspection the red paint is chipped and scuffed from pretty frequent impact by inattentive or just trusting bike riders.
The dominant industrial use on the Hedon Road corridor is the manufacture of static caravans destined for holiday parks around the UK and in Europe. These are rapidly produced on black metal chassis by workers armed with nail guns, glue guns and skilled in affixing composite panels to a wooden framework. Row upon row of statics sit in the yard, in quite unglamorous surroundings compared to their final destinations.
After a mile or so there comes the forecourt of HM Prison Hull. It is visiting time and family groups queue up at what is a very tiny door for what is a huge establishment. They fidget and brace themselves against the february wind from which they have no protection until they get inside the walled complex.
A hand car wash on a disused petrol sales forecourt is doing good business and a line of vehicles, which to me do not look at all grubby, await their turn to be swarmed over by a half dozen or so sponge wielding operatives.
There is a short stretch of sheltered road in the shadow of a large man made embankment. This was formed by the scrapings from the old Victoria Docks in readiness for what is now a big and affluent housing estate. The area has roads named after notable mariners or parts of ocean going ships and the housing ranges from balconied executive dwellings with river view to small two bed starter homes and flats with none. For such a populated area there is no-one to be seen out and about apart from three dog walkers.
The return to the walkway on the flood wall is not as hazardous as expected. At least there is now a low concrete barrier to deflect the strong wind up and over head height. It is a case of negotiating piles of driftwood and vegetation that the last high tide threw up and deposited on the path. There are also large, stranded pools of water from the same event. In the tidal surge, now some 8 weeks ago in December 2012 a number of the houses in the dock area were inundated as the flood walls were overwhelmed quite easily. I expected to see a few properties still under repair but could see none. Perhaps there had been a big push to get houses returned to normal in time for Christmas.
In front and in plain sight is the angular shape of The Deep, the world's, is it largest or only submarium. It is a truly striking intrusion into the skyline of Hull but there is no time to stand and admire it as the force of the gale blows us across and through the surface car park.
In the Old Town the blocking effect of the Georgian buildings from the wind means a noticeable increase in temperature, well at least peaking out at 7 Celsius. It is time to grab a well deserved coffee and there is quite a choice of outlets from the Multi-nationals to the small independents. Starbucks get the decision. There is a stool and counter seat in the window overlooking McDonalds on the opposite side of the pedestrianised area and after a relatively lonely three hour walk it is nice to get back in the midst of civilisation.
Unfortunately, in the space of only a few minutes indoors my limbs have seized up and I can hardly stand up to leave. My stiff jointed stance obviously amuses the more agile and Sanatagonised coffee drinkers and I hobble lamely out into the darkening late afternoon.
It is another two miles back to the house but in a due north direction I am given great assistance by the still potent force of the southerly gale and my cagoul fills out like a sailing ship hurtling me along Beverley Road and to the starting point of the ten mile round trip.
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