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Frederick Kwesi Great Agboletey
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 kilometers 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.
Three 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 with a determined demeanour, she cut no slack and was given
no slack, she did her job, expected nothing of none and gave nothing other than 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 this, one of the
longest 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 programs 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 ion technology engineering under consideration, yet they still called themselves locomotive engineers.
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. A bit of archaic-ism Like the speaking of latin
among American philosophers, implied a benign humor that only a few had insight to.
The fact that most people never
quite got the humor baffles most technology geeks (that survivor of a word). That rail is not an accepted term favored by
the purist to describe the moving pipes of carbon in nature colors between two magnets, "whooshing" without a single point
of contact, and with engine technology so perfected that a ruptured hemorrhoid would hardly have found cause for complaints,
can be appreciated. 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 technological territory as they
sliced across the large Canadian continental land mass.
I was twenty four years old, when after my 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 northern country.
In our time,
just like any other time, one tried very hard to find a niche job that will sustain one all the way through to the pension
years. I saw the shaded cylinder for the first time 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
plates, till the bread and the condiments in-between fused into something resembling a pie but richer and softer, without
the crumbs and certainly more 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 its wilderness. No, no, he was regular city man,
who lived in the suburbs and considered long drives into the freedom of untouched wilderness a serious obligation of every
Canadian. An obligation he passed on to friend and family alike by organizing trips to "nature" as many weekends as he can.
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, that same, old Pacific, a part of that vast body of water that encircled
the earth, 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 this Pacific from the heights of the hills and highlands on which Sadena on the Pacific North West was established
by the early arrivals. The City of Sadena has grown over time 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 traveling, 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 breeze "whooshing" 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 impressible mind.
Later, I understood that with further developments
in the fields material science, 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 state to enable
the best combination of assisted inner controlled states and environmental interaction, opening and closing its body's wax-like
structure, to close the on-board conditions to the environment, absorb adequate moisture and heat from the external environment
taking into consideration what was being generated on board by bio-constituents, locking 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 material state, which were composed employing nanotechnology
to respond according to certain predefined states.
On board these magnetic hover-trains, is realized simplicity of
clean comfort perfected. The need to attain perfect weight to complement desired dynamics have enabled development of "sheer
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 pane glasses of same bio-mechano-chemical materials, were inner angled
at about.00675 degrees to enable forward viewing of wide passing vistas as the train literally flashed through the marvelous
mountain terrains. The speed of these trains made all passing scenarios otherwise a blur.
The servers 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 dis-orientation that is visually perturbing
irrespective of how often one experiences or understands the explanation of that sensory distortion phenomenon.
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 these trains, some clever mind had been able to couple roll-up TV screens attached
to the underside of the seat tables to receive direct GPS - Global Positioning Satelli positioning tracker images of 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 travelers 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 a particular instance. In addition to all the engaging interactive informational
programs and entertainment, most travelers 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 for those given to deep thinking on board the "crawler".
These were necessary diversions 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-paneled 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 paneled 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, altogether, nature in pictorial frames of changing scenarios, it was the favorite place
for capturing images on photo devices for those on the go.
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. At any one time two drivers kept
an eye on the control panels and interpreted satellite images of the rail up to 500 kilometers ahead. There were normally
hardly any problems of animals straying unto the rail system, since 50 kilometers ahead of the "crawler" an electro-magnetic
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
electrically generated waves and forced them off 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 colorful 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 amidst 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 (of many such enviro-towns, that had grown over the years) 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 colored "prima donna", pushing a coffee trolley
laden with assorted biscuits and cup cakes. I was momentarily stunned by the play of light; of the deep orange-red color of
the setting sun, the late afternoon sun and the unusual shade of this young lady intermingled in a momentarily interplay of
shifting color on earth tone skin. It was a moment of the sudden inspiration that aroused the mystical. Only later in life
will I realize that the only mysticism occurring was good old Cupid firing an arrow at my heart. 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 felt an almost
irresistible urge to attract her attention. As these things often pan out, she finished her tea service and looked right into
face of who else but "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 attracted to me instantaneously. So it happened
that, my sun watching late afternoon stroll into the ventilation, room ended up being a many biscuit eating, giggling and
getting to know each other afternoons over coffee latte 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 to just
about any person. There is always someone that is coded to click with one 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 of, my best off duty routine was
to roll up the shutter and watch the morning light 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 large glass panel 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 settlements 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 centers 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.
On 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 with limited
utility relevance. 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 imagination.
It has been rumored 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 only a dream job, it was also 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 always 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 quite 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, after
all we our era lived in a world that extolled nature's grand art of creation having full awareness of the beauty of the mind
that sculpted this evolving, living art with no limitations in sight. 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,
our era was a world at peace with itself and its bio-constituencies.
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 that
was integrated into a global asocial management system that made every life worth its while on the transient physical plane
of material existence. Robotics had been replaced by intelligent bio-mechanical 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 enviro-friendly,
supportive systems.
The coast of Nova Scotia is a rugged meeting point of two defining elements; the un-tameable virgin
land and the wild waters; -cold thundering and restless Atlantic waves slamming against rugged coast lines- in between the
harsh coastline of rugged coastline, are splendors of sandy beaches that even the biting cold could not take way 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 un-tameable landscapes the closest to heaven this side of the universe when taken from that occasional offhand perspective
of setting technological progress within nature framework.
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. Its 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 center position where the balance of physical construct
and social constructs in 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. At the same time, the monstrosities of large structures
were tamed to become more responsive to human desire 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. As said earlier I had a feel for the new day being birthed that extended beyond
my "bungalow". Thus, the end of my working adventure on the East Coast had to be celebrated in a personal act of Deity appreciation.
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 my 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 self-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 and enhances understanding beyond knowing.
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 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 and one goes
under to appear beyond time and place to places so ancient and beyond reality, places far beyond time.
These places
of untouched beauty have remained unchanging in all the changes occasioning coastal strips. Time is meaningless in this expanse
where the earth reveals a timeless face of astounding beauty. Like the best of the beautiful, it is only conceivable in the
mind, confirmed by the senses and inspired by the creative element of the mind. Suddenly images are born that uplift the inner
man, a fire is ignited of something beyond the mere experience of sight and sound and a "thing" comes awake in me, joy lights
up within and appearance assumes a sombre outwardness that cannot evoke the inner peace, gladness and appreciation 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 everlastingness and a smile, barely concealed creases the corners of my face.
It’s time to go back
to the city.
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