Sven – A Hillbillyland Genius

SWEDEN. In 1982 a plane took a turn for the worse and crash landed in Halsingland under tragic circumstances. The engine later ended up in a hot rod located in the deep forest of north Sweden. Incoming call: -He has promised to see us now … tonight. by Lars Krantz. Translation Ellen Kay Krantz.

The date had been pending for a year and now got the go ahead. I oversaw the countryside. It was raining. It was now or never. Grabbed the camera and entered the rain.

A home made airplane motor in a hot rod. The rumors about the car had to be confirmed. My old -66 Bonneville cuts through wet puddles and the worn-down hood plays with the reflection of the moon. Waves of water from the semi-trucks hits the long side with precision and flows straight in to the window vent. Covering this scoop now? Sounds insane, but we had been spending 12 months at the edge of our  seats befor we got the call. The airplane that crash landed 26 years ago was a two- engine Piper Cub. The remains ended up on the local junk yard were, supposedly a customer showed interest in one of the obscure engines.

The editors have known about the finding since a year back and lots of phone calls have been initiated. But up here in Hillbillyland the residents have integrity and lots of it. What are you coming here for? We exit the turnpike from the E4 and head for the coast. Soon the asphalt gives way for gravel, the road lingers steep, the curves widens, the Bonneville purrs like an old cat up hill. The window wipers works with full intensity and our trip is embraced by the dark, heavy clouds above us. We take a left to enter a narrow path with bushes and branches that tenderly brushes the gravel from the sides of the big boat. To the south a cloud covered ridge rises 440 yards from where we stand. The rest of the surroundings consist of a deep forest, clearings, leafy bushes and leaning barns. Hillbillyland. If you break a leg in these parts of the woods you will be waiting for the paper route boy in the morning.

The man we are about to see was in a terrible firestorm 40 years ago. His home, some motorcycles, a great Citroen Traction, machines and tools were all lost in the fire within the hour. None of it was insured. The man was seen the day after the fire, loading the distorted scrap in his crane into rusty containers.

As the forest loosens its grip on us the country side stretches out in front. A short front line of a lumber mill peeks up at us as well as some worn down garages and a small cottage. We’re here. The man is standing underneath a raggedy roof, smoking without fingers on his right hand. His name is Sven Norell. I’m heading towards him with the camera sheltered by the jacket.
– Hi, I say.
– Aha, he answers.
His tone is frank and abrupt but not impolite. Straight forward but not alienating and as soon as we reach the work shop his words are pulsating with enthusiasm. Enthusiasm for the great, the divine.
– I was just about to fire up an ignition bulb motor. Pulled the piston straight out. It weight about a 440 lbs, ha! The Mercedes he’s driving has a V8 he put in. The Fergus tractor has a V8 he put in as well but what about the airplane engine?
– Weeeell, I crank that thing up with no problem!

On the foundation of where the house used to be it stands on all four. A Ford T-23 with the A-ford frame and something fundamentally ravishing reaching for the sky in the front.
– Naaaw, made the block myself, are you hearing me, son? The camshaft, the plunger and the greasing. The crankshaft I shorted in some way and earlier I drove around with two distributors, one on each camshaft.
– Wanna hear it?
The rain is literally pouring down, the sky is fiercely black and Sven runs straight into the rain to snag a t-shirt from the open top box on the airplane engine.

He slams two cables together and the starter roars like a bear in July. BRAAAOM. The two-cylinder engine snaps into rotation on thrilling 1450 cc per cylinder 88 ci (!) and starts fumigating from the gasoline. The little hot rod is busting for a ride down the hill and starts vibrating like an anxious T-rex. Sven smiles and puts the pedal to the metal. A bright flame escapes the induction pipe, the engine races, the plungers pumps frantically, the enormous cylinders are roaming and the super twin starts to circuit with wheezing thunder . I no longer give a dang about the freakin’ black clouds, the bad lighting and frustrating rain. It start firing of flames like there was no tomorrow. The old man has built an engine in his work shop and it runs like  the sound of it would wake any old grandma in the next town! The car seat has enough water for a small lake and a trip in the pouring rain is not necessary. We get it now.

– But it drives fine! Sven is shouting at the top of his lounges to drown out
the noise. He points to a Volvo transmission box and something that looks like
a gear case from a VW. He turns off the ignition, the thunder dies down and the
questions are queuing up cause I’ve got 108 of them.
Later, beneath the rickety roof he tells me:
– You have to have imagination, do you get what I’m saying?
The engine he came over by spending time at the junk yard.
– A wry, air cooled Avco Lycoming boxer six from a dashed Piper Cub.

– I cut the crankshaft and then I just had to weld the pulley, Sven explains.
– But….?
– Gots to start it. It’s more fun when it’s roaming he says with his newly lit cigarette dancing in the corner of his mouth while the super twin snorts and roars. The exhaust pipes heats up within seconds and the rain makes a sizzling like  frieing bacon  on the stove. The cold reign on the pipes turns to smoke and gives the entire picture a mysterious glow. It’s not at all like putting a quarter on the hood to see if it’s standing tall. It’s more like even a brick from World War II would combust from the oscillations.
– Interesting.
This is as far out as it gets and it sure feels extraordinary to witness this engine come to life.
– Fantasy, he screams…. and time. I have both. I’ve built a wood splitter that’s strong enough to get through 66 tons. It goes through a tree stem that’s 11/16 inches in diameter like it was a toothpick. As we walk back to catch a break from the rain he continues:

– The first order of business I attended to after the house burnt to the ground was to drive to Småland to by a lathe. And with it I built the wood splitter to ensure an income and survive. My fingers went straight through one day but my hand works. I found housing in a wood shack until I got the house back up again.
He stops talking and reaches from some photos taken during the creating of the engine. I ask for his address to mail them back to him.
– Address, Sven responds with heightened eye brows. How the heck should I know?
He starts walking to the car were he searches for a received letter addressed to himself.
– I guess this is it, he says and reads it out loud.
After I copy the address I turn the ignition to leave.
– I guess this is it, I reply.
He doesn’t answer me but lingers in the rain and nods quietly as he listens to the sound of the Bonneville engine.
– Hillbillyland.