Chronicle The Reporter’s Journey

Wednesday, June 3rd 2015

When I was considered for the position as editor in chief for Wheels after Sture Torngren I did a couple of rounds down to Stockholm for negotiations. That was back when the publisher lived in the delusion of moving Krantz down to Stockholm was fully plausible. 

Before the second meeting I had arranged big, great facilities in Härnösand which was a part of my counter-plan to place the editorial office there. Cars are a suburban thing. Why would the editorial office of Wheels be placed so off-base as in our least car-accessible town?

I asked Anna Bromberg, who represented Lindström publishing house, how they planned on drift into Fridhemsplan with the Wheels DeSoto overloaded with cameras or how the car enthusiast readers could come visit Wheels would fit with their Chryslers, Checkers and Camaros outside the office?

– We don’t have that kind of parking possibilities here, we haven’t planned for any spontaneous visits and we aren’t planning on having any Wheels-cars, she said.

I gaped, mouth-wide-open.
– How are we supposed to get to the centre of reality, that is the car enthusiasts in Långviksmon and Sibbarp, I asked?
-Taxi or rental, she answered.
This brought on another open-mouth-gaze.

I saw myself arriving to hot rod Bob the builders in a rental Skoda Octavia. Krantzen, that always strive to roll an American car year-around and that would ride in rented recycled plastic for the, at the time, leading motor magazine.

The presentation of a spacious editorial building in Härnösand with a loading dock and everything you could imagine plus a space for small talk in patio furniture with creamy visitor-donuts on the asphalt a couple of miles from Sweden’s geographic centre point was met with silence.
– We tabled the discussion with insurance of further negotiation but in reality the spirit to the editor in chief post had been destroyed, from both ends. That was late November 2003. 

My first journey as reporter for Worldkustom started recently, twelve years later Wednesday the 13th of May 2015. The cream yellow project car Lincoln Mark V from 1977 baptized to Cuba Lincoln stood with a full tank on the yard. First stop Järvsö.

 

It’s the strangest thing, cars and their age. A Ford 55 was a really ancient car when I was 18, 1975. It was then 20 years old. In 2015 I drove a Mark V from 1977 with a bad conscience showing up to the enthusiast’s house in such a new car. In reality, twice the age of a 55 in 1975.

I had a feeling of chickening out. What can happen with a car as new as a 77 Lincoln? At least I felt better knowing that I threw out the spare before the 600 mile journey. People driving with spare tires are bureaucrats turning papers on Social Services.

Järvsö went great. Sun and key starts and no noise. Next stop Lobonäs, a Mecca of cars, then hobby city Holmsveden and then a hotel night somewhere but the Lincoln felt too cozy to stop driving so we rolled into the night and enjoyed everything. In Hofors the rain paid a visit and in Långshyttan the exhaust pipe fell down.

Clogs, Krantz jacket, rain, black asphalt and crawling alongside a car with sawed off springs. Found a grass ditch. Got the arm to reach underneath the rocker and there I reached a stop. No flashlight. Fingered for the parted pipe joint. Blindly tinkered with it with my three longest fingers, looked up in the black sky, felt the rain in my face and chuckled out loud. THIS is when you live!

Searched for the keys in the grass for a while. Found them, drove off.

After just twenty yards the exhaust pipe fell down again. The front end was scuffing, giving a clinking sound.

Turned up the stereo and drove to Hedemora.

The OK gas station in Hedemora was closed but positioned the rear wheels on a road bump next to the pumps and started the operation with seriousness and a 13 spanner on the exhaust joint. Exhaust  work in the darkness. Kept the eyes on the ceiling.

Do you know how many down curves there are on OK’s roof between outer edge and first fluorescent light in Hedemora? Ten. Wiped my hands off a cloth in the trash and waved to the surveillance camera at 11:20 PM.

Headed north, slept at Scandic Hotel in Borlänge.

Thursday. Brushed off the gravel on my jacket in the hotel room and headed for the breakfast buffet, got recognized.
– Aha, Krantz are you here?
Southbound again. Crazy rain. The distance between Säter and Hedemora was a 100 mile automatic wash. The reportage at Zacke’s was mostly coffee and carrot cake around the kitchen table.

Speaking of automatic wash. In Enköping I was about to drive in when the side window fell down into the door. That little electrical that’s an option you know.

At this time, it could be a window-less drive back home to Norrland. A loud noise came from the window, like it had been pulverized or at least cut in half when I pushed the button in a try to pull it back up.

Backed out, got the wash credited and tore the door apart in the parking lot.

Off with screws, interior, handles, wires, sockets, paper, plastic and speakers to reveal the triangular window in recovery position at the bottom of the door and would you look at that. Totally intact, not one crack.

American steel, I mean glass, some sturdy stuff!

Tinkered back the window and was just about to take it for a test run before assembling back the door. The batteri was dead. Coffee break. No, let’s celebrate the win with the unbroken window first. The issue with the battery will be fine.

A chocolate bar and Peps Max on the roof top. What a day. Enköping, sun, car trouble, Lincoln, black hands and not a Skoda reporter-car with a magnet sign as far as the eye could see.

An old battery that really was meant to be thrown out was stored in the trunk. It could never…? I had jumper cables. Chose anyway the inconvenience of putting it in. This to give it one last maximal chance, by eliminating the power loss that comes with the use of jumper cables.

– The Cuba Lincoln jumped on half lap, fired up and I had all the power in the world. Don’t worry, be happy.

Assembled the door back together. Two clips as leftovers, of course, as always. Rolled up the windows. Tight. Was just finishing up when an old man rolls in with a 69 Cadillac to fill her up.

A nameless friend. Ha doesn’t know it but he’s my friend.

Washed car and hands. Victory.

– Almost.

 

The backseat pillow became a life saver during the car wash. It didn’t leak from the option vent window but a lot alongside the entire upper edge. A 40 year old car it was, yes.

Before I got home the motor mount had slipped on edge and the tailpipe rested against the tank. It burred like a grader the last couple of miles.

Just like it’s supposed to be when it’s for real.
– In the real world kustom.