Norwegian wood
Nov. 5th, 2002 09:47 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lproven- or, two Norse holidays
I'm very fond of Norway. Good things come out of it. My fiancée, for example. In the last couple of years, I've spent a lot of time there, and since the future Mrs. Proven moved to England, I've missed my monthly trips to Oslo.
Apart from Oslo, though, I've not seen a lot of it - and there is a great deal to be seen. It's a huge nation; if the entire country were picked up bodily and moved its own length southwards, so that Narvik in the far north were at the latitude of Skien in the south, then Oslo would end up at the latitude of Rome. I have long been toying with the idea of a motorcycle tour there in the summer; if I ride up to Newcastle, I can get a ferry over to Kristiansand in the south and then ride up. The sheer size is daunting, though; at what I consider a comfortable riding pace, it would take some three weeks to get up to the Arctic circle. The choice of vehicle is vexed, too: the trike is the obvious choice, as mile-munching is in its nature, but a ZZR1100 is happiest (and most comfortable to ride) at well in excess of 100mph - even with an extra back wheel it cruises happily at 120. Norway's national speed limit is 80 to 90 kph - only 60-odd. The Kwack is not happy at such speeds, even if I am; below 70-80 odd, there's not enough air pressure from the wind on your chest to support you and you have to hold your weight on your arms. Well above the ton, the wind pressure on the helmet becomes tiring, meaning that cruising speed is very very illegal in Norway - and they don't muck around with fines, they lock you up.
The sidecar outfit, which is, by contrast, most comfy at 60-odd and has masses more luggage capacity, has far less wind protection, though, and I'm not sure the 25-year-old BMW R80/7 is up to a five-to-six thousand mile tour.
So any means to explore the Norwegian countryside by other means is to be seized. Kjersti's father lives well outside Oslo in the small town of Stathelle, near Porsgrunn, outside Skien (bizarrely pronounced Cheyenne, pretty much) in the fylke of Telemark, famed for its sweaters and unique skiing style. The town is on the edge of the fjord, and the views from the house are, to English eyes, spectacular. Across the placid dark blue waters of the fjord, near constantly crisscrossed by shipping of all sizes, rear green-blue pine-covered mountains. This is by Norse standards a fairly densely-inhabited area, but the houses and roads are largely concealed amongst the enveloping forest; it's not wilderness, but Britain has nothing to match the combination of rugged landscape and habitation.
I'm very fond of Norway. Good things come out of it. My fiancée, for example. In the last couple of years, I've spent a lot of time there, and since the future Mrs. Proven moved to England, I've missed my monthly trips to Oslo.
Apart from Oslo, though, I've not seen a lot of it - and there is a great deal to be seen. It's a huge nation; if the entire country were picked up bodily and moved its own length southwards, so that Narvik in the far north were at the latitude of Skien in the south, then Oslo would end up at the latitude of Rome. I have long been toying with the idea of a motorcycle tour there in the summer; if I ride up to Newcastle, I can get a ferry over to Kristiansand in the south and then ride up. The sheer size is daunting, though; at what I consider a comfortable riding pace, it would take some three weeks to get up to the Arctic circle. The choice of vehicle is vexed, too: the trike is the obvious choice, as mile-munching is in its nature, but a ZZR1100 is happiest (and most comfortable to ride) at well in excess of 100mph - even with an extra back wheel it cruises happily at 120. Norway's national speed limit is 80 to 90 kph - only 60-odd. The Kwack is not happy at such speeds, even if I am; below 70-80 odd, there's not enough air pressure from the wind on your chest to support you and you have to hold your weight on your arms. Well above the ton, the wind pressure on the helmet becomes tiring, meaning that cruising speed is very very illegal in Norway - and they don't muck around with fines, they lock you up.
The sidecar outfit, which is, by contrast, most comfy at 60-odd and has masses more luggage capacity, has far less wind protection, though, and I'm not sure the 25-year-old BMW R80/7 is up to a five-to-six thousand mile tour.
So any means to explore the Norwegian countryside by other means is to be seized. Kjersti's father lives well outside Oslo in the small town of Stathelle, near Porsgrunn, outside Skien (bizarrely pronounced Cheyenne, pretty much) in the fylke of Telemark, famed for its sweaters and unique skiing style. The town is on the edge of the fjord, and the views from the house are, to English eyes, spectacular. Across the placid dark blue waters of the fjord, near constantly crisscrossed by shipping of all sizes, rear green-blue pine-covered mountains. This is by Norse standards a fairly densely-inhabited area, but the houses and roads are largely concealed amongst the enveloping forest; it's not wilderness, but Britain has nothing to match the combination of rugged landscape and habitation.
