The town where I used to live had its annual fair in the tree-lined park by the river. Wide, gravelled paths between the plane trees - a fantastic experience, taking a jury-rigged rollercoaster that's actually smacking its way through foliage with every loop and turn.

The trucks involved in setting all this up would, as you say, crush all the gravel into the mud already created by the fact that the fair was in November, when the weather was lousy, but the local patron saint had chosen to be martyred that month. He got his revenge on the invading French by releasing a plague of flies. True story. (Might not actually be true.)

So every year the council (i.e. the local taxpayers, i.e. me, in my self-centred way of seeing these things) would hire a company (probably run by the mayor's cousin) to re-gravel the whole park.

Centuries from now, archaeologists and geologists will be mystified by the metres, perhaps kilometres, of compacted gravel deposited in this one location.

Ah, yes! The Great Catalonian Anthropocene Gravel Deposition! I wrote my doctoral thesis on that phenomenon!