Optimal Funksjon
May 6, 2026 Filed under Curious, Introspection
I woke up in the wee cabin with about 45 minutes to pack everything, which turned out to be enough.
I dropped off the key, washed my face in the common bathrooms, then headed down to a bakery and bought a croissant and donut. I ate the croissant immediately. Not bad! Still needed coffee though, so I went in search of that and found a tiny café with some outdoor seating.
When I walked into the café, a couple of women in the back were having a conversation about work in English. As soon as I ordered a mocha with an American accent, they both switched to Norwegian, with a few English phrases mixed in, possibly out of a desire to remain more anonymous around this American stranger, or possibly out of a desire to make it obvious that they weren’t talking to me.
Either way, it reminded me of how people back home would sometimes switch between Spanish and English in the middle of a sentence, and how I was witnessing in both cases the blending of two languages. How far did that blending actually go, here in Norway? As usual, I was curious.
I jammed my mocha into the bicycle cupholder and found the Eurovelo route again, headed northwest. It approached a tunnel and then sidestepped it, onto a gravel path that followed some train tracks at the shore of a lake.
Partway over a hill I found this sign, about a couple of World War II pilots who had died in the area:
After reading it, I was struck all over again by the way English translations are so frequently provided right alongside Norwegian, and thought about what it must be like to live in a culture that has a “native” language – at least, a language that did not clearly arrive by displacing an earlier one – and how it must feel to see that language being displaced in real time. Norwegians must be concerned about the loss, as young people find that English or Chinese are more utilitarian and give them access to a wider world.
I don’t know how well I can relate to that concern personally. My own language has certainly drifted a lot in the three or four cultural generations I’ve lived through, but the process doesn’t have the feel of a foreign invasion, more like change from within. Plenty of vocabulary in the cultural and technological moments I grew up in (“dialtone”, “hella”, ironic use of “yo” by white people, etc), has moved into history and nostalgia, and added to a sense of disconnection between me and young people, but … I’ve realized that I’m being subject to the same disconnection that I inflicted on my parents’ generation. So I can’t really complain.
I also believe that language is remarkably agnostic about morals. In fact, it seems more like a passive reflection of moral attitudes as they change — for example, the replacement of “he” as the default singular pronoun in English with “they”. To me, this change is a good thing because I agree with the attitude that’s prompting it: Why should an anonymous person be male by default, when men and women do things? If I didn’t agree with the change, I would probably feel a sense of panic, and probably feel like I needed to reinforce the old “rules” in order to prevent the cultural change from happening. But I’d be fighting a symptom, not a cause.
What the Norwegians are going through is something more profound than I’ve experienced though. English and Norwegian are not hybridizing into something else, as far as I can tell. There’s too much pressure on correct use of English from outside. If there’s a battle happening and Norwegian is losing, that means there is a real loss happening: The loss of easy access to history – written and spoken – to art, to personal family legacy, et cetera.
I can relate to that, but only distantly, which is kind of its own tragedy: One of my grandfathers spoke Danish as a kid, another grew up in a household that spoke German. Both habits were aggressively discouraged in favor of English because that was the common language of the country they immigrated to. There was a loss, but it happened before I was born. Perhaps that loss is now being addressed in some way by my exploration of these other countries…
Would it have been better for America overall, over the last few centuries, if the country had taken a much more relaxed view of multilingualism? If the pockets of German, Irish, Spanish, French, Dutch, Danish, Russian, Chinese, Vietnamese, had somehow been encouraged to grow, while remaining distinct, instead of being stomped on in public education?
I know it’s a very academic question, but I do wonder about it. Especially now that I’m wandering around in a region where you just can’t assume the people you meet will understand you, and you need to negotiate among two or three languages to start a conversation, which is then sometimes hesitant. Do Americans derive more benefit from generally speaking only one language, than the benefit they might derive from the experience of language diversity from one region to the next? Does the sense of unity and the ease of interaction with even distantly located people compensate for the lack of cultural diversity?
Or perhaps this question is based on a false choice: Perhaps what we believe is a unified experience of English has actually become cluttered with local idioms and slang, if we dig down past the surface in any particular place. My nephew Darren lives only a couple hundred miles from me, and could certainly speak exactly the same language as I do, but he also knows an encyclopedia of slang that I couldn’t keep up with even if I pursued it like a college curriculum. And if he used it while speaking to me, I’d be lost.
Maybe the “Jurassic Park” aphorism about natural selection is appropriate: “Diversity finds a way.” Dozens of languages were stomped on as America grew, clear-cutting a space for a unified but young culture to appear, and now it’s showing a bit of the depth that is much more common elsewhere in the world. For example, here in Norway…
The gravel path had a few very steep hills that made me grumble, but compensated for it with some cute tunnels and by being generally deserted. Only a few cyclists passed me, and a few more people on foot, over the next three hours or so.
The path met a smaller more isolated lake, and I stopped for a while to enjoy the scene.
Eventually I reached a country road, then a paved one with some real traffic.
The official route was taking me into a preserve, with an old road running through it that was closed to motorized traffic: The “Old Main Road Of West Norway.” It promised more hills and gravel, and I don’t mind hills but I hate gravel. I almost turned south to avoid it. Then I did some scrolling on my phone and realized the preserve wasn’t actually very big. I figured I could tolerate gravel for a while in exchange for nice scenery.
I also crossed another route, called “The Footsteps Of St Olav“. Compelling, but it would have taken me inland.
A rock wall ran along the north side of the road. Staring at it, I felt like I could identify a Norwegian farm in photographs just by looking at the kinds of rocks in the walls: They tend to be large and rounded, leaving big gaps, and also generally free of plants because of all the snow they get covered in.
The weather was great for the time of year. Still cold, but no rain. I reminded myself that I could go just as slow as I wanted because the daylight would last very long, and I was camping so I didn’t need to check into a room.
The old road had informative kiosks every couple of kilometers. I took pictures of them all, then translated them later and learned a lot about the region I’d crossed.
For those traveling over longer distances, it was necessary in earlier times to have guesthouses and carriage stations at regular intervals. There were carriage stations at Hegrestad and at Kvianes in Ogna. Here, travelers could change horses and carriages. They could also get food and accommodation.
Many traveling people stopped by Hegrestad train station, and it was a lot of fun to say the least. The house is now demolished. (It stood on the first hilltop up from the R44 in Hegrestad, on the right side of the road.)
As conditions changed, there was no longer a need for train stations and train interchanges. The train stations in Ogna and Hegrestad were closed in 1894.
One of the first people to get a car in Rogaland was grocer Ludvig Helland. He came from Hellvik, but lived in Stavanger. Late one evening he drove to Hellvik, but had trouble getting over a hill. He tried and tried, and the engine made a lot of noise. One of those who heard the commotion was Alette Hegrestad, and it is said that she wondered if it was doomsday. This is said to have happened around 1915.
In the 1920s and 30s, cars were still rare. If one came along the road, the kids would shout “Car, car”, and run to find out, said Lars Hegrestad. They always knew what time the grocer Johan Bjorheim from Stavanger arrived, since blew the horn before every turn.
In the summer months, the bandits would walk along the road, often in groups of two or three, but also whole families. The Fantasteinen just above Hegrestadgardane got its name from these. Before the forest grew, you could see the farm from the Fantasteinen. If the bandits arrived early in the afternoon, they would wait here until it was time for supper, and then go down to Hegrestadgardarte. There they would get food and sleep in barns or huts.
During Prohibition in the early 1920s, some smuggling is said to have taken place along Den Vestlandske Hovedvei.
Large quantities of alcohol were stored under Kjerringhedleren by Ulvhusvatnet, it is said. The alcohol is said to have come by sea to Egersund and the surrounding ports, and then been transported by car to Sandnes and Stavanger.
The mail had to arrive, cost what it would cost, in the old days.. When the post horn rang, other travelers had to wait. Stavanger was connected to the postal network in 1653, six years after the postal service was established in Norway. The mail was to go between Stavanger and Kristiania once a week.
According to a postal regulation of 25 December 1694, the mail was to go from Stavanger on Saturday afternoon, and from Kristiansand on Friday afternoon the following week. The mail did not arrive in Kristiania for two weeks after it left Stavanger. A reply could be expected at the earliest four weeks after the letter was sent.
In the beginning, the farmers were responsible for the transport. The postmen were obliged to take the mail on to the next post office, a mile or two away, every week, night or day in all kinds of weather. They did not receive a salary, but did not have to pay taxes and were exempt from military service.
In a decree from King Frederick in 1650, it was stated that the bailiffs were to see to it that the postmen were always ready with a cart and a horse. They couldn’t slouch by sending the postbag with “small children or Quindfolck…”
The instructions said that the mail must not rest. From a post office in Dalane it was said that a sack was hung from the ceiling and it was swung back and forth for a whole night to avoid having to go out in the dark and bad weather.
The volume of mail was not large in those days. At the beginning of the 19th century, no more than one letter sack was sent to Kristiansand, and from there only one bag of letters to Stavanger. Next to the sealed mail was a “flap” for the local correspondence. This was mostly used by the civil servants.
The first half of the 19th century saw a rich development of postal services and the postal network. The volume of mail increased and numerous post offices were opened along the routes. In 1837, the postal administration ordinance was introduced. The farmers were now paid for their work and began to drive the mail by horse and cart.
The postage varied with the distance until in 1854, a uniform postage was introduced for the entire country. The first stamp came the following year and had the value of four shillings. From 1866, books and printed matter could be sent together with the letter mail.
1857 the telegraph came to Rogaland, two years after the Norwegian state telegraph had officially been opened. The telegraph line followed the road between Hegrestad and Hølland, and the government proposed a new main line should be laid from Mandal to Bergen. Parliament approved money for the facility in March 1857. Several main lines had already been built. The telegraph was seen as very important for the economic development of the country.
A hectic work season began. Pole after pole was erected on the line between Mandal and Bergen in late summer of the same year. The telegraph stations in Flekkefjord and Egersund opened in August, while in September, stations were opened in Stavanger, Haugesund, Leirvik and Bergen. 16,000 people were connected to the 4 stations along the Mandal – Stavanger line. Most of them – 12,000 – lived in Stavanger.
The area was so quiet I decided to try using the tiny drone again, for a dramatic picture. Pretty cool!
The first road over Hegrestad Mountain was built as a bridleway in the period 1810-1820. Before that time, there was a bridleway from Ogna via Sirevåg to Hellvikbukta – from there you had to take a boat.
In the early 18th century, the bridleway was re-laid and shortened somewhat, but even now it ends in Hellvik.
At the time when it was only a bridleway, the villagers still usually walked when they went to church in Ogna. The priest came from Egersund. According to an agreement from 1710, the villagers in Ogna were to keep riding horses for the priest over the mountain, when there was a service in the church in Ogna.
Around 1820, the road was improved, so it could be driven by cart. Few people had such vehicles at the time. Farmers did not have carts until well into the 19th century. When they had to transport goods, they used sledges in winter and forked in summer.
Around 1800, the principle for road construction was that the road should go as straight as possible. This construction method was a legacy from the Danish era. In hilly landscapes, there were many steep slopes, which were often called horse-drawn carts. With all the inclines, the road was not very suitable for horse transport with large loads.
The construction method also created difficulties for newer vehicles. The cars that were put into use over Hegrestadfjellet in the early 20th century had to accelerate downhill to make it up the next hill.
Right up until the First World War, there was great opposition in the Storting against a large-scale investment in the car.
In 1908, the Rogaland County Council passed the “Regulations for the Use of Motor Vehicles on Public Roads within the County”. County Engineer Bassøe wanted to restrict the permit to apply to cars on the road:
“The horses will soon get used to such cars. On the other hand, in my opinion, no permit should be given for pleasure driving with cars, as such driving will be an extremely large inconvenience and of almost no benefit.”
The Road Act of 1912 stated that in principle it should be permitted to use cars on all public roads, streets and squares. The speed limits were 15 km per hour in built-up areas and 25 km per hour outside built-up areas. When it was dark, no one was allowed to drive faster than 15 km per hour.
Traffic along the road increased dramatically during the almost 100 years that the road over Hegrestadfjellet was in use. In the late 1930s, chief engineer Th. Riis declared this road completely impossible, and it was closed as a national road in 1940.
I tried to deploy the little drone in “follow” mode, but after about 100 meters it smacked into a tree branch and fell into some bushes. I was very lucky to spot it afterwards. It should make some kind of ‘ping’ noise after it drops…
Much of the Western Main Road was built by forced labour in accordance with the Road Act of 1824. Many farmers had a staunchly negative attitude towards road construction. A story is told about this from the time when the main road was to be built:
Crew from the entire county were ordered to participate in the construction, but several of the farmers from Karmøy refused. This was seen as a rebellion and Danish warships were therefore sent to Kopervik. The ship’s commander arranged a party on board and invited the city’s best men to participate, primarily Knud Syre, who was the leader of the farmers. After treating them to good drinks so that several fell asleep, the ship put to sea, and the rebels were thus taken to Copenhagen. With the exception of Syre, everyone was sent home the next day with a fatherly admonition to “be obedient to superior authorities” from now on. Knud Syre was held prisoner for one year before he was released.
Dynamite was not used in road construction until the 1860s. The rock was blasted by first drilling holes with a hand drill and chisel. The holes were then filled with gunpowder. Other tools used were sledgehammers, chisels, hoe, diggers and shovels. The largest stones were dislodged with picks and the masses were moved away with troughs and wheelbarrows.
Hølland Bridge was built as part of the Vestlandske Hovedvei in 1843 by the famous bridge builder Andreas Aanonsen. A total of 16 stone arch bridges were built on the Vestlandske Hovedvei, with spans ranging from 6.9 to 8.7 meters. The county paid for the bridge without any subsidies from the state. The cost of the Holland Bridge alone is not known, but Ogna and Hollarrar Bridge cost a total of 2,164 spesiedalar (NOK 8,656).
The bridge was built of natural stone. The stone was divided using wedges and blocks, which were placed in a row. The wedge was driven between the blocks and helped to split the stone. In order to straighten and fit the stone precisely, different sets of wedges were used. The “double” set was used to give the stone shape, the “spike” set was used to level the surfaces so that the stones fit together well.
The construction method is briefly outlined as follows:
- Lay a foundation with coarse stone and crushed stone
- Build a bridge deck, possibly of pillars.
- Stabilize the riverbed around with large, flat stone slabs
- Erect wooden scaffolding as a framework for the arch
- Construct the masonry of the stone arch
The principle of the arch bridge is that the stones should transfer the pressure from each other down to the foundation. The capstone, or crown stone, is the name of the stone that “locks” the arch at the top. The more pressure you put on the arch, the more the stones are pressed together, maintaining the structure.
Holland Bridge has required little maintenance.
The entire Gulating Act from the year 950 mentions road rights and road maintenance.
“The road shall lie where he always has a doctor”, the law states. The road was to be as wide as a spear was long, about three meters. The farmers were to maintain the roads.
Magnus Lagabøter’s Landslov from the year 1274 contains many of the same provisions as the Gulating Act. The road width on the main roads was now to be 8 ells (about 5 meters). The king’s ombudsman was given responsibility for inspecting the roads.
He did the inspection by holding a bowstring. An 8 ell long spear with wicker handles on the spear tips was placed across the saddle button of the horse. For each branch or twig torn from a wicker handle, the farmer in question had to pay one ørtug of silver (9.83 grams) to the king.
More recent laws also maintained the principle that farmers should be responsible for the maintenance of the roads. In the 18th century, farmers with this responsibility were given the title of “Rode”-Master, a title that gave status. The “rode” was the portion of the road that they were to maintain. “Every rode-master shall make a road post, which is placed at the beginning of his road” was stated in a royal decree from 1792. The farmer was to see the road as his property, and “show diligence”.
In 1824, the first special road law came from “Carl Johan of God’s grace, King of Sweden and Norway”. It contains, among other things, provisions on the division of roads into main roads and rural roads, the sharing of costs and the sectioning of roads. The law stipulated that the county should cover the costs of public roads, and that the county governor should supervise the roads.
The law maintained the system of compulsory work, even when it came to new construction. When new roads were to be built at the county’s expense, farmers were obliged to perform up to 8 days of road work, without payment, each summer until the road was completed.
The rules for road standards stated, among other things, that:
- All bridges on main roads must be built of stone.
- All roads must have ditches.
- All main roads must be marked with milestones and signposts.
The law did not say anything about maximum gradients, and gradients of up to 1:5 were accepted on roadways and 1:3 on bridleways.
The Swede Edvard Fölch rode across Jæren in 1817, and wrote the following in his diary: “Near Varhaug I began to follow the low-lying seashore, after half an hour’s ride I came to the most eerie mountains I have yet crossed.”
It is the rare bedrock rock anorthosite that makes up these “most eerie mountains” in Dalane. The anorthosite was formed more than a billion years ago, from molten mass that solidified 25 kilometers below the earth’s surface. Later, the mass cracked open, and new rock types – norite and diabase – floated into the cracks and solidified there. Along some of these passages, the blue-black, matte titanium igneous rock – ilmenite – was precipitated.
Natural forces took 1,000 million years to wear away the 25 kilometers of mountains that lay over the anorthosite. After another 50 million years of new chemical and physical weathering, the landscape became what it looks like today.
Anorthosite rocks provide loose soil, which is why the area is dominated by bare hills and mountains.
Along the Vestlandske Hovedvei you can also see labradorizing anorthosite. Labradorization is a play of colors in blue, green, or yellow, which is visible in fracture surfaces in the anorthosite. The colors come from internal reflections in feldspar crystals with a special composition.
Place names such as Ulvhusvatnet and Skrubbemyra testify to the presence of large predators here in earlier times. Today, hikers will not see wolves in the Hegrestad Mountains, but you can encounter many different kinds of animals and birds.
The largest predator in the area is the badger. It is a distinctive animal, with a black and white “mask”. The rest of the fur is gray and even though the badger is around 80 cm long, it is not easy to catch sight of. The badger is also a distinctly nocturnal animal.
The king of the forest – the moose – is a newcomer to the area. If you do not see the moose itself, you may be able to find traces of it in the form of hoof prints or dung.
Moose tracks are 13-15 cm long and 11-13 cm wide. A somewhat smaller deer, the roe deer, is also found here. Roe deer tracks are 4-5 cm long and can resemble sheep.
The hare is the most common larger mammal. The spring hare does not turn white in winter, as it is adapted to the mild snow-poor climate.
The largest owl of the spring – the hubbro – lives here, but is rarely seen during the day. Barn owls also nest in the area in small rodent years.
The pied piper and the tern are two of the more common bird species, and you have a good chance of spotting them along the way.
The stone plover is easy to recognize by the fact that he sits and wags his tail. The tiny grey-brown pied piper lets out a characteristic sound (ist-ist). Both the stone plover and the pied piper have adapted to the barren landscape.
The bridge is part of the road 4328 over the Ogna River at Holland, about 1 km east of the center of Ogna. The bridge, which has three openings, is built of natural stone laid in mortar.
There are brick railings at the ends of the bridge. Above the bridge there is an iron railing with cast iron pillars. The riverbed under the bridge is paved with stone.
Holland Bridge was built as part of the Vestlandske Hovedveg. It was built by Andreas Aanensen. It was paid for by the county without any subsidies from the state.
The costs of Holland Bridge alone are not known because Aanensen had tendered for this bridge and Helgå Bridge in the same contract. Both bridges cost 2,164 spesidals (NOK 8,656).
From 1843 to the 2020s, there has been little need for maintenance. | In 1901 and 1919, the bridge was pinned, i.e. smaller stones were wedged into the cracks. New cement was also added to the joints and a stone fill was laid on the southeast side of the bridge.
Towards the 2020s, it became clear that the bridge from 1843 was not built for traffic with semi-trailers and milk trucks. The wall in the northwest was collapsing and the bridge itself showed signs that its load-bearing capacity was occasionally exceeded.
In 2024, the bridge was therefore reinforced with reinforced concrete in the arches and a continuous concrete deck along its entire length. The two walls on the Ogna side (northwest) were rebuilt. On the remaining side, only minor repairs were necessary. The bridge also received a crash barrier on the inside, and the outer railing was replaced with a new one in the same style. The repair cost around 22.5 million, and it was assumed that the bridge’s lifespan would be extended by at least 100 years.
The bridge was part of the main road network until 1940, when the national road was realigned and Holland Bridge was downgraded to a rural road. In 1964 it became part of the county road network.
When I rolled into the campground I discovered it was fully automated. Campers paid for their spots and got access to the bathrooms by loading money onto a plastic card at an ATM-like installation. I wasn’t certain I was doing the currency conversion right, but it looked like they charged seven bucks to get into the bathroom and use the showers.
I’ll toss my pee in the bushes, thanks. What’s that? You don’t want pee all over your campsite? Hey, I’ll use your toilet instead, no problem … just pay me seven bucks.
I found a nice spot with some wind cover. When I crawled into the sleeping bag I kept all my layers on, since it was going to drop below freezing.
Pretty soon it got too cold to use the phone or type. Keeping my hands outside the sleeping bag made them numb.



















































