Frederic Kwesi Great Agboletey

Tallstigen 10, 1 tr.

186 70 Brottby,
Sweden.

The Express Crawler

The Train from West Staden on the North Pacific to the other end of
the continent, across the Sierras to the North Canadian Atlantic city
of Nova Scotia, through the Great Lakes, border cities of Toronto,
cutting across to the French speaking states, was appropriately
called the express crawler for very good reasons. It is a Express
Train racing across the vast terrain at edge of technology speeds of
550 kilometres per hour on the gentle descents, of which there were
many on these transcontinental trip of unimaginable distances, but it
still took a lot of hours to traverse across the giant landmass from
beginning to end station. Thus the “crawler” appendage by the
drivers, who were a breed apart from the normals.

These were men and a single woman who managed to make the cut
by providence other than some far sighted regard for equal rights of
the sexes. She was as straight as they come, a tough soul, hardened
by life's experiences encased in a deceptive shell of medium height,
no flesh to spare, sharp faced female body. She cut no slack and
was given no slack, she did her job, expected nothing of none and
gave nothing other thann her fair share of the cut. Among the corps
of tight knit drivers of the Express Crawler, one found the tightest
association of individualism that ever found earthly expression. From
different walks of life, fate brought them together, to be the drivers of
all drivers, on the long stretches of the North American ways, albeit
their way is defined within a twenty four gauge track of the heights of
metallurgy and the isolated world of super speed trains. The super
trains were a technology above the norm, these were the
technologies that have given railway a future and a certainty of
maintenance just as the luxury cruisers ensured the adaptive survival
of large ships.
 These were the heights of moving comfort, the simplicity of
excellence attained in the design of moving parts, and the clean and
renewable and inexhaustible ion energy that powered their engines.
The development of ion splitting energy for civil employment beyond
the space pograms in the primitive era of modern age had gained
mundane earthly relevance in these super trains. Three hundred
years of avid enthusiasm among the seemingly inherited trade of
locomotive engineers, although the term locomotive engineering, is
an accolade of a past engineering era that has absolutely nothing to
do with the age of technology engineering under consideration, yet
they still called themselves locomotive engineers, just like the
meaninglessness of Epicurean in this time, as a social grouping, is
as far removed from the origin of the word as it could. Like the
Epicurean of the 23 century who prided themselves in their
ceaseless consumption of knowledge, these locomotive engineers,
who perfected the engine technology that still made rail travel an
appreciated convenience of the age, delighted in the twist of archaic
relevance that the insertion of the word locomotive gave them. Like
the speaking of latin among American philosophers. The other factor
that baffles most technology geek (that survivor of a word) is the
notion tossed around by some ancient historians, that rail is not an
accepted term favoured by the purist to describe the moving pipes of
carbon in nature colours between two magnets, whooshing without a
single point of contact, and with engine technology so perfected that
a ruptured haemorrhoid would hardly have found cause for
complaints. The Express Crawler was the height of rail technology
much as it ushered in a new era of rail travel. The dedicated corps of
drivers, appropriately referred to as Rail Pilots, commanded prime
territory that sliced across the large Canadian continental land mass.

I was twenty four years old, when after my four Master's in combined
Physics and Engineering, I applied to pilot that enviably subdued
cigar shaped shade that for the sheer luxury and elegance of travel
style was a primary choice for those who really wanted to travel
across the country.
In our time just like any other time one tried very hard to find a niche
job that will sustain one through to pension. I saw the shaded
cylinder when I was barely nine years old. I was on a trip into the
country with the Old Man, my dear dad, who loved his weekend
drives as much as his tuna sandwiches; double bread toasted
between two iron plate, till the bread and the condiments in-between
fused into something resembling a pie but richer and softer, without
the crumbs and certainly satisfying. My Dad, was great man of the
outdoors, not in the sense of the "great outdoor men" who first came
and built this mighty empire of glistening steel and tamed wilderness.
No, no, he was regular city man, who lived in the surfboards and
considered long drives into the freedom of untouched wilderness a
serious obligation of every Canadian. It was on one of his seemingly
unplanned, but what actually was a well thought out plan of no less
than three hours away every weekend into the mountains and the
highlands that spread out from our little suburb adjoining that great
city of Sadena, that overlooked the Pacific North West, yes, the
Pacific, the vast body of water that encircled the world, a full 70 % of
the earth's surface was covered by the mighty waters; and in a sense
one gained a perception of the vastness of these Pacific from the
heights of the hills and highlands on which Sadena on the Pacific
North West was established by the early arrivals and has grown to be
a resplendent rendition of city planning on this piece of the earth.

It was on one of those outings into nature that we stood gazing down
at a tube shaped object of subdued bluish-green travelling, even at
that distance and from a position on higher ground at immense
speed and there hardly was a sound heard other than that of a stiff
breezing in the surrounding trees. I looked at that speeding tube that
seemed to stretch quiet a distance and was there and suddenly had
disappeared, with hardly a sound, with fascination, wondering how it
felt to steer it. That was my first sighting of the "crawler" and a
sighting that left strong impressions. As one grew, a lot more of the
world was seen, understood and filed into the appropriate memory
compartments, but first impressions do leave lasting impressions on
a child easily impressed mind.

Later I understood that with further developments on material and

chemical constituency developments, a lot had been achieved that
approximated nature in industrial processes of metal body
constructions. Thus the "crawler" by the time I had gone through the
process of training and gaining pilot certification was a thin wax-like
structure coated with layers of adaptive bio-chemical, layering that
responded to the environment by changing surface state to enable
the best combination of assisted inner controlled condition and
environment interaction, opening and closing its body wax-structure,
to close the on-board conditions to the environment, absorb
adequate moisture, heat available and lock out undesired particles in
the external environment. It had become in a way the testing ground
for dynamic coating structures that responded with flexible atomic
chemical composite reaction to changing surface determinations of
the material state, which were composed employing nanotechnology
to respond according to certain predefined states.

On board these trains is the simplicity of clean comfort perfected.

The need to attain perfect weight to complement desired dynamics
have enabled development of sheet seats that conformed to the body
form of the occupants and enabled effective body support without
compromising comfort and relaxation on the long journeys. The
windows with double glasses, were inner angled at about.00675
degrees to enable forward viewing of wide passing vistas as the train
literally flashed through the marvellous mountain terrain. The speed
of the trains made all passing scenarios behind, therefore a blur. The
service personnel on board the train had conditioned themselves not
to look out of the wide windows that seemingly created a seamless
merge between the outside and inside, when facing backwards, for
the vision distortion caused a palpable sense of disorientation.

The concept of the world in your pocket had long been accepted, if
your reality focused on seeing the world or snippets of it on pocket
devices and flat screens. On board this train, some clever chap had
been able to couple roll-up TV screens attached to the underside of
the seat tables to receive direct GPS positioning tracker images of
the geomorphologic sections from the treetop to the magma section
of any ground position the train had reached at any time; it sure did
make instant geologists of travellers who could sectionally know the
details of the nature and mineral deposits of any traversed ground,
nature of rock formations, as well as instantly transmitted climactic
records spanning a century with indications of marked variations from
the normal ranges. In addition to all the engaging interactive
informational programs and entertainment, most travellers once
ensconced after a good meal in their seats were on a learning trip
through the vast and differing Canadian landscape.

Gene manipulation led to some recessive gene experiments that

allowed several families of saber-toothed tigers to be set loose in a
part of the isolated wilderness of the lower mountain ranges, catching
a sight of these creatures in their natural habitat, for some was worth
the mountain joy ride.

Adequate space was created in the design of the "crawler" to enable

open room areas where, one could take a break from sitting to
exercise the legs, chat and be on a one's feet basically, other than
the dining rooms, these loosely termed “ventilation rooms”, enabled
ease of socialization for those thus inclined, or further contemplative
imitation of the perambulating philosopher of ancient Greece on
board the "crawler". These were necessary additions on these long
journeys, especially for the tourists who normally made the
cross-continental trip a high point of their Canadian experience.
Required exercise space and what was loosely termed ventilation
zones were glass-panelled walls that offered an undeniably
impressive vista of the passage. These were spaces created with
leaning boards, that were adjustable, slightly sloping stools of highly
polished elk that allowed standing room position and ability to freely
move the feet and hold a cup of some liquid while holding a
conversation, facing the glass panels that opened into the passing
landscapes. The interesting thing about this ventilation zones was
the effective employment of design to enable a sense of room in a
narrow tube, because the panelled glass walls bent into the adjoining
structure, presenting an almost all round view of the passing fields,
lakes, rivers, the occasional deer caught of guard, the flitting birds,
nature in pictorial frames of changing scenarios, it was the favourite
place for capturing images on photo devices.

In the driver's section is contained accommodation with tiny cubicles

where off-duty drivers could in that sense of the word be very well at
home. Four drivers kept an eye on the control panels and interpreted
satellite images of the rail up to 500 kilometres ahead. There were
normally hardly any problems of animals straying unto the rail
system, since 50 kilometres ahead of the "crawler" an
electromagnetic channel at both sides of the track, created an
invisible barrier that kept the rails clear of all debris and objects, that
were capable of responding to the pulsating waves that hit any
animal with sharp stabs of unpleasant strobes of invisible electric
waves and forced them of the track. Non-animate objects, however
presented a different set of problems that were resolved ingeniously.
The "crawler" generated a ram of air that would normally push every
object that laid on the track right off, with the exception of the rare
landslide that may block a track completely, which is where the
satellite images of the track ahead came in useful. The ion fission
controlled engines were monitored by complexly related
computerized systems, which computer systems were programmed
to just about enable a hands-off approach to piloting the "crawler".

I had been a pilot for about two and half years when I first met
Canderia. She was a child of the world, with lines stretching back to
pre-Colombian Indian heritage, a dash of African blood, a mixture of
several Aryan bloods, of which the expressive Italian of some faded
past generation and the French heritage of tasteful distinction made
her a colourful person and a true and well grounded North American.
Being North American, over the passing centuries means one had
become a mixture of lost beginnings and meaningless endings. The
distinction of human groupings still remained, but beyond the private
world of groups, society had become organized around awareness
that other than humans striving to give their lives a worthwhile
definition within the circumscriptions of their generation, differences
serve limited purposes in defining the individual in the collective. She
was employed as a time-gap employee who worked part of the year
while pursuing her graduate education in Sociology of the Workplace
at Edmonton University. I simply called her Candy, though she thinks
that is inappropriate, the long version of the name, she asserted,
gave her the personality dimension that expressed who she was, that
to her, is what a name gave her. And she insisted that the "e" in the
middle, be pronounced with an accent, with the stress pitched on the
high note. You don't argue with Candy you just played along, so I
called her Canderia in her presence and Candy to all my pals.

It was between the town of Galston and the last town at the foot of
the Intercontinental mountain pass of the Canadian Rockies just
when I had changed shifts and had made my way to one of ten
ventilation rooms for a view of the setting sun, that I noticed the
honey-nut coloured "prima donna", just pushing a coffee laden trolley
with assorted biscuits and cup cakes. I was momentarily stunned by
the play of light of the red, late afternoon sun and the unusual shade
of this young lady. I took occasionally glances, as she prepared
coffee tray for an elderly looking woman, who had drawn out a
flex-stool from the panel and had an almost irresistible urge to attract
her attention. As these things often do happen, she finished her tea
service and looked right into face of the of " moi." Apparently, she
seemed conscious of how stunning she looked and was used to
drawing such quizzical looks of stunned attraction as I thought I had.
Only in later years, she told me, she merely saw a pathetic, boyish
looking loneliness, who was pretending to look casual. But she, just
like me was strikingly attracted to me instantaneously. So it
happened that, my sun watching late afternoon strolls into the
ventilation, room ended up being many a biscuit eating, giggling and
getting to know each other afternoons that continued until her buzzer
sounded and she had to move on. That was how we met and
continued to meet just about every late afternoon for that entire trip.
By the time the "crawler" docked into the Atlantic North Eastern Nova
Scotian city of Almeida. We were addicted to each other. Just like it
happens with just about any person. There is always someone that is
coded to click with you and together, you see the world through your
tinted lover’s eyeglasses.

I loved my job and Candy was a striving egregious bundle of primed

energy. Who filled all the necessary emptiness that my simple
straight forward life had. And certainly, there were many places that
one could think of. For me, the joy of existence was waking up early
to see the light shift of the dawn merging into the morning, the
morning had a stillness to it, the slow awakening of the day, I termed
it. On the days that I was off-work, my best off duty routine was to roll
up the shutter and watch the morning light dispersing its diaphanous
rays in colours light and weightless through the row of trees
bordering the house. We bought the house, after we got married,
Candy and I, it was “a fine bungalow” (one of those old words that
had a sense of distant romantic feel to it), with its wide front porch
and the large glass back windows. Some smart "Aleck" had designed
these whole glass pane back walls that he deftly termed
"French-Canadian Sun Willows". As to why he added willows,
remains a mystery but the combination of rolling Venetian shutters
interposed between the double glass pane shields, with the added
possibility of generating water flow image patterns that could not be
differentiated from the real thing without the added problem of
keeping them clean if real water was added made some sense to the
word willows.

The attraction of benign nature in bustling large cities had given most
large areas the feel of calmness that was often difficult to
comprehend given the hundreds of thousands that live in the cities,
but one that was dearly appreciated. Cities had been developed to
have adequate greenery that mellowed the large expanses of glass,
metal and concrete, and shades of earthy brick that most of these
large population centres were built with. Most people had acquired
good sites on off-the-beaten-paths, since Hoover cars become
fashionable and their hydrogen driven engines were capable of
incredible speeds on straight stretches. These marvels of family
transit were virtually crash proof given the effective magnetic
repulsion that could bring any two as close as possible without their
impacting each other. In those occasions where several had come
close at high speeds the scenario was comically serious, without
being tragic. Roads and paved streets added some design relevance
to settlement. Additionally road layouts, though not needed in the
actual sense of the word, enabled smoother rides, but way of
passage in these silent, sleek engines that actually boosted the purity
of nature was limited only by the imagine. It has been rumoured that
some intelligent mind had made adaptations to the basic design of
the Hoover cars that made it possible for him to ride the air to his
60th floor apartment. I guess that fella must have rebuilt his entry
way to enable him have his car close to his domicile.

I have a laid back approach to life, seeking to focus on the simple

and straight, I have been lucky in the sense of being able to pass all
my required examinations with not more than the required efforts of a
stable minded youth till I secured the job on the "crawler". For me it
was not a dream job, it was a just a means to an end. One that
enabled me to have a dynamic working environment cutting across
the wonder of God's earthly rendition of profuse diversity.

As for the people who populated the landscape of my time, they have
I assumed what humans have always been seeking to find, a niche to
find sustenance through some form of paid employment. Creativity
has always been an appreciated social value and has in some
instances through aggressive business drive yielded mass social
benefit. No matter how one smart one thought one self to be, the sun
had to shine on you just the right way for your sheen to glint to
disturb the masses. So many worked for the few who had the glint
and made the best out of it. The majority just settled into some
defined fields within which daily existence found expression.

I grew up in a normal household, where my dad read all the time he

was at home and my mum read all the time she had, and
consequently, I learnt early to enjoy the art of 26 alphabets contorted
through assorted minds to give expression to literary form. I was and
continue to be fascinated by written work as an art form where some
determined persons with some preparatory background knowledge
painted words into meaning, The more complex the text the higher
interest it aroused and the further from the mundane the more gifted
the painter of words. Books provided an insight and an acerbic sense
of languid criticism that made very few things seem unusual and for
that matter impressive but I have been impressed by the simplicity of
the fundamental fiat of God's words. On the whole my disposition of
quietly growing up in a setting where the mind ruled led me towards a
quite lifestyle, but I lived my life to the full within the definitive
boundaries of that lifestyle.

I could not tolerate vainness in any form and I would have been
greatly disturbed if anyone had considered me vain. I accepted my
circumstances and tried to make the best out of it. Especially
considering the uncertainties and despair of the middle term
histories, which was what the 21st to 23nd centuries were termed by
the composers of the passing years. Following all the turbidity of the
nation systems, wise leaders arose and coordinated resources to
human needs and gradually evolved a system that was incomparable
to anything that had been before. The primary needs of all humans
were integrated into a provisional system that was balanced around
populations and has led to a world system where individual interests
and mental capabilities led one towards a line of employment.
Robotics had been replaced by self-serving systems that took care of
what would have been classified as menial tasks. Menial tasks were
resolved at the mechanical and micro electronic system serving level,
requiring extremely high micro-engineering knowledge to maintain
operational efficiency of these army of environ-friendly, supportive
systems.

The coast of Nova Scotia is a rugged meeting point of two defining

elements; the land and the water -cold thundering and restless
Atlantic waves slamming against rugged coast lines- in between the
harsh coastline of rugged coastline, are splendours of sandy
beaches that even the biting cold could not take away from their
outstanding beauty. There is a beauty in nature, the wildness of it
and its untameable nature that any effort to change only ruins. It is
that undefinable beauty that makes the nature-appeal of “the crawler”
through such vast stretches of untameable landscapes the closest to
heaven this side of the universe.

The stretch from the last large city of Montreal to Nova Scotia is a joy
of the awareness of the sturdy fragility of human constructs against
the rugged enduring nature of the earth. It’s beauty is of a different
composition than the imitations of it that humans attempt to etch on
its surface. The progress of mankind has humans brought nearer to
nature than further away from it. In effect the swing towards massive
mangling of the earth’s surface as indications of human development
was a swing of ignorance reacting to extreme pressure, when the
tempo had slowed and extremities began to swing gently back to
centre position where the balance of physical construct and social
constructs and its massive romantic rush with massive concrete
structures had steadied, the slower pace of development in other
parts of the earth became a benefit as they sought to find the best
integration of physical construct set within imaginative mind sets to
carve beauty from nature’s storehouse. While the monstrosities of
large structures were tamed to become more responsive to human
desires to be in tune with their environment.

It is a routine for me to take a ride on the urban transit system from

central station in Nova Scotia to the Walrus beach, a short twenty
minute swing and just watch the morning being born. This day, as I
stood on this empty stretch of God’s gift to man, like the other times,
self generating poetry of deep appreciation rose in the minds
creative chamber.
I walk on the golden hazelnut creamy sand, the waves foaming as
they rush up to the beach and draw back again, finest art of the
greatest creative designer, the beauty that improves with age, the
azure of the mid horizon waters of this great expanse curving into the
deep blue, above; the lacy clouds, changing patterns in transitional
states, in the blue sky reflected in the great waters in ceaseless
motion, functional beauty in the process of replenishing and
renewing. The cycle that mirrors in repetitive rendition, the smaller
reflecting the greater, the lesser an exquisite variation on a grander
act, each reflection unique in its reflection of the source and as the
sea laden air rises with the smell of the surf, a tingling ignored and
only registered in the unconscious, something in the knowing mind
speaks to me only the way the first knower did know, when knowing
was just something that was, that, in the end is the beginning.

There is a time when the desire to understand, to seek clarity in

foiled logic, hold one’s attention. When one matures, one learns that
total belief without seeking for understanding at lower mental levels
serves the Creator best. His songs of praise rise with the early
morning mist, its sun and when even was come his songs of praise is
the light that lights the darkness, for God is worthy to be praised in
the simplicity of the faith of a child.

A sea gull makes a smooth dive and pans at a slight angle to the sea
surface as it dips into the blue waters. The birds, they had preceded
humans millions of years and would probably be around longer still.
The reflection had barely made its impression on my mind when a
another voice made its gentle presence felt. Clear to me as the
waves making their everlasting soothing sloshing sound. I wondered
who was telling this story and then I just got absorbed in its message
:-

I wandered, like an innocent going beyond the normal pastures to

this nether regions, where the only change is the unnoticed progress
of time and the unceasing corrosion of water and shingle. This is
where one is at peace with oneself, even if only briefly. There is a
sudden disappearance of all things superficial and transient on this
virgin beach. They have remained unchanging in all the changes of
the coastal strip. Time is meaningless in this expanse where the
earth reveals a timeless face of astounding beauty. Like the best of
the beautiful, it is conceivable in the mind confirmed by the senses
and inspiring the creative element of the mind to be uplifted and to be
sombre, all at once. The latter causes a “letting go” of the other world
and a gentle descent for a while into the timelessness of seemingly
everlasting.

It’s time to go back to the city.