A Regularly Irregular Saturday in Sweden
The local leaders in the Ljustal region had a problem. A former military airfield left in disuse. What should they do? What would you do? If building a military museum like the F15 Flight Museum in Söderhamn isn’t your idea of a good time, what do you do with your disused military airbase? You rent it out to car groups of course! After the end of the cold war, Sweden’s BAS 60 and 90 airbases were more or less abandoned. For a surprisingly low price, car or bike enthusiasts are able to rent access to the facilities for a more exuberant level of driving from local racing organizations which took over facilitation. While the bases could also be used for other events, I don’t expect them to become destination wedding grounds anytime soon. Last weekend Blacktop hit the tarmac at Föne Flygbas where we were invited to join Six51 for their yearly gathering. Composed of a solid group of friends with a shared interest in JDM performance cars, Six51 is an impressive car club based out of Ljusdal (rougly pronounced '“you-starl”), Sweden.
Our first interaction with the group came by chance. While leaving a local department store, we saw a gleaming white RX-7 and a light blue Supra filling up at the gas station in the shopping center. I hopped out of our camera car and ran up to the duo. I spoke with a man called Erik (there are a lot of Eriks around here). We briefly chatted about their cars and what they were doing. His RX-7 was spotless with metallic white paint and subtle design customizations. The right hand drive rotary marvel still retained the original engine with some modest modification. The car sat on a performance suspension without ungodly levels of camber. Overall a refreshing sight to see a functional but bespoke JDM build in the time of stance-nation. The duo had driven roughly 350 Km from Stockholm to meet their friends at Föne Air Base the following day. Erik casually invited us to attend on a whim.
The airfield was built in 1963 as part of the large Swedish military buildup in response to cold war escalations. Föne possesses four runways. The main runway is 2100 meters long and is supplemented by three smaller 1200 meter runways. The base itself covers roughly 180 hectares. Connecting each runway is a complicated collection of smooth asphalt and rough gravel roads. Beautiful aromatic pine and birch trees hug the installation. Closed in 2005, the airbase quickly became the regular home of motorsport enthusiasts, racing events, and other gatherings. 13 years later, the runways and adjoining roads are still in surprisingly good condition.
Not quite sure what to expect, we drove out to Föne the next morning. We arrived at a closed gate at roughly 11 am. We could hear tires being shredded in the distance but had no way to get to them. Thankfully, a convoy of sharply modified, low, and loud imports cruised up five minutes later. After a brief wait, we were able to gain access to the facility. Dropping our humble camera car into the back of the line of cars, we drove around the place for a few minutes until a final turn revealed the lauded main runway. On the right side, a pretty large gathering of calendar quality JDM cars sat parked. Six51 banners waved vigorously in the crisp breeze. As we walked amongst the various Nissans, Toyotas, and Mazdas, a black lifted diesel Chevy Silverado lumbered up and the group unloaded fresh tires from its bed as well as from another truck. Soon, the drivers took to the tarmac. A makeshift autocross track was being developed as the cars took laps. Eventually, a course was finalized and the members began to hit the apexes with the smooth precision of a time attack driver or the wanton abandon and tire smoke of a drifter. There was no in between.
After a few hours, we were ready to head off to continue our day. Since we didn’t have a purpose built drift missile to play with, our jealousy was getting the best of us and we felt it best to sober up. But then… a glorious roar emanated from the opposite end of the runway. A group of American drag cars were test and tuning for an upcoming race the following weekend. While import and muscle may not always play nice together, when you have a runway longer than the horizon it turns out there is room enough for the both of them. Despite being over two kilometers away, the vicious machinations of the big blocked and open headered speed demons could be heard over the higher pitched but equally powerful turbo noises around us. Like a dog hunting a scent, we took a looooong walk down the runway to see what was what. Lugging the camera bag down the runway felt pretty silly after 20 minutes. Especially considering we were still unable to see the source of the intense sound. Even more so after we remembered we left our car with Six51’s meet. Thankfully, it was worth it.
The noise we had heard came from a vastly powerful black first gen Camaro with a beast of a naturally aspirated big block. Along with the Camaro, we also were treated to two old school front engine dragsters, a proper classic funny car, and a hyper focused ’67 Chevy Nova running 8 second quarter miles. The gentlemanly dragsters were welcoming and offered to drive us with them for lunch. After a delicious reprieve, we returned to the spectacle of muscle car torque application. With hamburger remnants still upon my cheek, I ran out to watch one of the front engine dragsters disappear down the runway. A distant parachute blasting out of the back at the halfway point way out on the horizon signaled the end of the festivities.
Later in the afternoon, we joined up with two members of MAD Delsbo, the car club responsible for the wicked cruise you can read about HERE. Keeping up with the original name trend, the two individuals joining us was Erik, a local tradesman (Erik #1 ), and Erik, a local welder (Erik #2). Both men have a passion for classic American automobiles and classic hard work. At Erik #1’s, we partook in more than a few libations while discussing Erik #2’s new engine for his matte black Torino. The blacked out car will be receiving a self-built 460. The conversation then shifted to Erik #1’s Chevelle. We were supposed to do a photoshoot in the weeks before, but the car wasn’t running right. Turns out Erik #1 is getting a new engine too. He’s throwing down some hard earned cash for a drag race ready 417 ci motor being sold locally. We continued the conversation late into the night at their clubhouse.
The day we had was not remarkable. Nor was it unique. If the Hälsingland was a carburetor and classic Americana was race gas, the float bowls would be flooded. Car culture has surpassed itself here. Instead of being a subset of a subset, the enthusiasm for classic American cars has simply become the culture. It was refreshing to see some modern Japanese marvels sliding their way around orange cones. The sounds of high strung four and six cylinder turbo cars (in addition to rotaries) was pleasant. The turbo spools echoing off the natural beauty that surrounded the eerily unused airbase filled us with adrenaline. However, there was something missing with the imports. It took me a little while to figure it out. There is something truly special that is interwoven with the Raggare blood here. It may be a result of the small town atmosphere or it may just be a fluke of modern society, but I have never experienced a more welcoming community of enthusiasts. While Erik (#3?) invited us to the runway to watch them drive, Erik #1 and #2 invited us into their homes, their cars and their lives. If I stuck my thumb out on the side of the road, I wouldn’t have to wait long at all. If I asked to just take their other car instead of hitchhiking, chances are, they would be ok with that too. There is truly something special to be found in the Hälsingland. I challenge you to see it for yourself.
