We hit the Humber around noon. In front of us the sullen brown water churned despondently. We looked over to the monumental Humber Bridge and wondered why it was ever made. Sure, it was good for us and our current needs, but it seemed a little over the top as a solution to the problem of connecting one sparsely populated rural county with another. Apparently the Bridge is so wide that the two towers aren't quite parallel due to the curvature of the earth. When it was built it was the largest suspension bridge in the world, and is still the longest that allows bikes. All this to connect Grimsby and Hull. Or Hessle and Barton-upon-Humber. The countryside either side of the Bridge is perfect for fast, purposeful cycling. The rolling Wolds are criss crossed with wide, well maintained roads but little traffic. Olivier, however, still had a problem with Lincolnshire. 'It lacks. . .' he said, when we'd stopped for a bisuit break by yet another enormous field, 'any salient features.' He had a point, but was proved wrong when we got to Lincoln itself. In a sparsely populated county, in a small medieval town, they had managed to created a traffic jam the size of Manchester. The traffic entwined and engulfed the city, clogging the narrow streets and gridlocking junctions. There wasn't even room for bikes to snake past. There were simmering, stationary streams of cars pouring into the city as well as pouring out. It was an awe-inspiring sight. I had a Doodleart poster in the 70s that had imagined a very similar scene, with a future city of flyovers filled with stationary cars. It had been entitled, in that slightly preachy, heavy-handed 70s way, 'Progress?' Well, Lincoln at rush hour might not be Progress, but as a salient feature, it was world class.
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