It was not entirely clear, at first, why The Boy fell off his bike last August whilst out on a ride along the river path. After he had picked himself up, or rather scraped his youthful face off the loose dirt and dripped a bit of blood from his cerrated limbs onto his retro- Renault-Elf-Gitane cycling shirt we crowded around to conduct an investigation.
The path had always been a good surface to ride along. It had been established as part of the flood defences parallel to the main Hull to the rest of England Railway line and was popular as a scenic route to get from the Humber Bridge at the eastern end and the first settlement of North Ferriby. Beyond and westwards it formed part of a long distance cycle path that ended up at Liverpool and the Irish Sea.
In terms of Civil Engineering it was, to a lay persons eye, not too much of a challenge. Large profiled metal shuttering had been driven into the shoreline. Between the tide line and new steel barrier had been positioned huge granite boulders which were unnervingly set amongst deep voids that deterred those seeking to clamber down onto the foreshore mud. After stabilising the river bank a layer of chalk and minerals was laid and compacted to form the public right of way. A further raised level of soil formed the railway embankment carrying the twin passenger lines.
However, something was not quite right with the surface of the path. The Boy had taken the middle line, equidistant from the snarly teeth top of the driven piles and the security fence onto the track. This, on our closer scrutiny was now creased and torn. Squinting at the cracks and fissures gave a similar aspect as flying at a few thousand feet over the San Andreas Fault. The path was also no longer generally level and with a pronounced camber towards the river. A bike tyre entering the long groove had caused the rude introduction of grainy stones to teenage skin.
We took a photograph, not out of any thoughts of commencing litigation against anyone, but out of concern that if the condition worsened we may be deprived of a good cycle ride route.
Below is the photo from August 2012.
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| The lie of the land- August 2012 |
As points of reference please note the position of the Humber Bridge in the distance, the trails of rupture in the path, the far right side of the path with the top of the shuttering and boulders in view and the fencing just visible in the summer vegetation at the foot of the railway embankment.
Between the date of the photograph and November 2012 we did regularly speed along the track. At roughly weekly intervals this section of path did certainly appear to be on the move. We were doing a sort of time lapse study.
Subsequent negotiation of the 100 metre stretch became increasingly like taking the boards on a velodrome. There was still a lot of water sat against the metal piles, seemingly prevented from draining away. Whoever managed the land did erect some warning signs to cyclists, walkers and other uses. The Boy had his picture taken under the post and sign in the belief that he had indeed been a prior victim, perhaps one of many given the apparent acceptance that there was something amiss.
It was therefore a complete shock to me and The Boy at the weekend, just past, when we saw what had taken place in the same location over a matter of mere weeks. The same reference points can just about me made out on the next photograph. taken from just about the exact same spot from the summer.
Our very own landslip. The piles are now distorted into the appearance of the ribs of a ship. The red oxide bars running horizontally are, it seems, an addition to keep the metal lengths together. The flooded area is still present. The pathway is now kinked and with a steep downward slope from the foreground. As for the railway embankment it is slowly tearing apart. The line is still very much in use with a couple of inward and outbound journeys very few minutes.
Me and The Boy will continue to pass along the track at our own peril.
We are seriously thinking about wearing red flannelette pants under our cycling shorts in the event that the railway line collapses and we have, in Jenny Agutter style, to whip off our undies and wave them frantically to bring the train to a safe halt.
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