Roy Exum: The Tale Of ‘Stålfarfar’

  • Tuesday, October 13, 2020
  • Roy Exum
Roy Exum
Roy Exum

Almost 70 years ago, it was decided there should be a bicycle race that would go from Sweden’s top to its bottom in northern Europe. Sweden, perhaps the most gorgeous of all the world’s countries, is also geographically demanding and the route – the length of the Gulf of Bothnia and much of the Baltic Sea – ain’t for sissies. Lest you forget, this is where the Vikings ancestry lives. Only the best of the nation’s straight-backed and flat-bellied bicyclists would dare such a feat.

Sweden is hardly known for its long flat roads and to say some of the ‘climbs’ are steep simply proves you are a tourist.

Several days ago, I came across a most-obscure story that instantly intrigued me. I’ve studied, in as much as I can’t read Swedish, and there is no doubt whatsoever of its validly or its worth to mankind. It is a lesson that must never allowed to be overlooked. Please relish this … and share it with a 66-year-old.

From the start in Haparanda, located at the northerly extreme of the Swedish coastline, to the finish at the southern tip of Ystad, the bicycle race course was set at 1,764 kilometers (about 1,100 miles). Called the ‘Sverigeloppet’ in native tongue (it means “The Sweden Race”), the country’s slickest athletes were gathering for the start when – whoa! what is this! – a 66-year-old man with a beard as full and as white as Santa Claus wheeled in to fill out an entry form. Everybody in the village of Haparanda laughed, albeit with kindness, at this apparent joke.

Gustaf Håkansson did not laugh. He was from the village of Gantofta in Helsingborg, where he drove a bus, while his wife Maria had a café. The organizers told him the maximum age was 40 and he answered that … well, he had ridden his bicycle 600 miles to take part in the race and it would take more than a senseless rule to stop him.

So, there he was, perched on a bicycle that would remind you of the cheapest model that Sears, Roebuck once sold. His “roadster,” as casual bikes were called in the day, had some rusty spots, a little headlight underneath the handlebars, two small panniers (“saddle bags”) over the rear tire, and a mud flap on the back fender. Mind you, a small mud flap! “Absolutely not, you are much too old, grandpa!” Privately, the race organizers were mortified the presence of Gustaf, this full-bearded outsider, would not only be an embarrassment to the other riders, but make a mockery of the race’s obvious allure as the world was desperate to escape the shadow of WWII.

A medical team was summoned, promptly disqualifying him on health concerns. So, Gustaf wasn’t in the official field when the starter’s gun sounded. It was about a minute later, wearing a shirt that had a big zero in its center as his race number, that “Gustaf the Grandpa” pedaled across the start line and took off in chase of the pack, which included about 50 hardy-and-hale descendants of the Nordicland’s finest.

Understand the Sverigeloppet – about half the distance of the Tour de France but every bit as physically challenging – was set in “stages,” when the riders would stop at the end of each day for bone-weary rest. They would replenish their nourishment, massage leg cramps, quaff a few beers and collectively groan. When Gustaf got to the first checkpoint, he was about 10 miles south of the pack in the race order.

So, he mingled among the riders, commenting on the course and studying the next leg. He had some hot soup, gnawed some hard rolls and then, as the competitors and their teams sought rest, Gustaf went out to the road, turned on his tiny headlight, and stuck out on the second leg. That’s right, and it ain’t cheating if you’re not officially in the race but focused on the finish line as your goal.

Throughout the night he rode, stopping at the next checkpoint to get some soup and bread, wash his face, and then press on. For three days he did not sleep, instead pedaling that bike over what to you and me would be an insurmountable course. The entire country became magnetized to the 66-year-old, front-page headline writers dubbing, Stålfarfar ("Super Grandfather" or "Steel grandpa" - from the Swedish name for Superman). Within hours the eagerly embraced race itself was dimmed and all the country wanted to know was “Where is Stålfarfar! How much further? Go, you Stålfarfar!!”

After three days with only five hours of sleep, he was leading the field – get this – by 120 miles. That’s when he was stopped by sympathetic police. “Please, why kill yourself?” Many in Sweden were concerned he would topple over unconscious, the strain and fatigue too much for anyone, particularly a 66-year-old. The police urged Stålfarfar to stop, to get medical attention, telling him he had more than proved his point, and this time it was Håkansson who laughed. Before he then pedaled on.

On July 7, 1951, Gustaf was about 800 yards from the finish line, when the unthinkable occurred. He had his one and only flat tire of the entire 1,100-mile race. He dismounted his bike, hoisted it onto his shoulder, and walked within 100 meters of the finish line. Then he mounted his bike and rode it, with its flat tire, over the finish line to the cheers and revery of an idolizing crowd. There was pandemonium as he did so, and his accomplishment still stands as one of the greatest human achievements in Sweden’s history.

When he crossed the finish line at 2:15 that afternoon, the Stålfarfar had completed the Sverigeloppet in five days and five hours – a full day ‘and change’ ahead of the first runner-up. Gustaf was summoned for an audience with the nation’s king. He then made appearances through the country, often singing his religious songs. He would later tour the Holy Lands on his bicycle, which he continued to ride most happily before his death in 1987 … at the age of 102.

* * *

So, what is it you cannot do, this because you are too old and too feeble? And what is it about the virtue of persistence that you cannot seem to grasp?  Forget the naysayers, my friend. Just keep pedaling. You can still achieve anything that you hold in your heart. Just pedal and never, never quit.

* * *

A SIMPLE GEOGRAPHY LESSON – For years school children in the South have gotten Sweden and Switzerland confused and the countries of northern Europe have caused many an eight-grader to use a cuss word. Here is a simple explanation: Sweden is bordered on the west by Norway, which fronts the North Atlantic on its far side. To the east of Sweden, although most of the border is split by the Gulf of Bothnia, is Finland. To Finland’s east – totally – is the Russian Federation. At the top of Norway, Sweden, Finland and Russia is the Norwegian Sea to the west and the Barents Sea to the east. Below Norway, Sweden, and Finland, is the North Sea to the west and the Baltic Sea to the east. Demark is the closest land mass beneath Norway and Sweden to the south, again narrowly divided by the Baltic Sea. Directly beneath Denmark – travelling east -- are the Netherlands, then Germany and Poland. To ride the ferry from southern Sweden into northern Poland takes about six hours. To Poland’s west is a stack of countries. Latvia is at the top, above Lithuania, Belarus and the Ukraine. To the west of Demark, well divided by the North Sea, is the United Kingdom, of which France its eastern neighbor. So it is to the east of France that you’ll find tiny Switzerland, nestled between Austria and the top of Italy. So, Sweden is at the very north of Europe, while Switzerland is about 1,400 miles due south.

royexum@aol.com

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