Daisy the Drifting Railcar
Other Stories
Autumn had come to the Ffarquhar Branchline, and with it, rallying. Cars raced up and down the valley's roads and paths, each pushing themselves and their drivers to the limit.
The locomotives of the branchline watched with a mixture of interest and concern.
“Don't you wish you could join them?” Bertie asked while visiting the sheds one afternoon. “Racing down the mountain lanes, nothing but you and your crew's skill keeping you from disaster.” The bus sighed longingly.
“No.” Toby said dryly, “that seems a good way to meet a tree.”
“While it looks fun,” Cassandra admitted, “I have to agree with Toby. I had to help get one out of a tree a few years back.”
“Oh you're all just a bunch of fussy slowpokes,” Bertie groaned.
“Remind me which won all of your races with Caomhnóir, road or rail?” Diesel asked silkily.
Bertie scowled as Cass chuckled smugly, “it's not my bloody fault she has the favor of the Lady!”
Percy smirked, “or she's just that much faster than you.”
“Oi!”
“In any case,” Daisy interjected smoothly before the bus could get a proper reply in, “we have better things to do than risk our frames slinging mud all over the place.”
One of the rally cars had slung mud on her several years prior while racing past, and while she had graciously forgiven the car when it had apologized, she remained unimpressed with rallying on the whole.
“Oh please,” Bertie teased, “you're just jealous you're too slow to race me.”
All the other engines suddenly sat straighter on their frames, while Daisy was normally content to leave the racing to Cassandra, she had a competitive streak like all passenger engines.
“Is that a challenge, little bus?” She asked slowly.
The bus raised an eyebrow, “wait, you actually think you can beat me? I know I’ve yet to beat the blue puffball, but you're not her by any means.”
Daisy stared impassively at the bus for a long moment before turning to Cassadra.
“Cass dear, would you allow me to take your passenger run in the morning?”
“Of course,” Cassandra purred, “we would want to give Bertie every chance to put his wheels where his mouth is, wouldn't we?”
Bertie was suddenly wondering if he had bitten off more than he could chew.
***
Officially, racing on the FFarquhar Branch was frowned upon by North Western Management. Unofficially? Tidmouth looked the other way when the Lady's favorite adrenaline addict needed to blow off steam. As such, the race was quickly organized, with the road and railway taking sides. The local road vehicles, long tired of Cassandra's unbroken streak of wins, spent every waking moment preparing Bertie for his run, for their chance to “finally beat the blasted railway.” The visiting rally cars, always happy for a good race, followed suit, teaching Beerie as much as they could in what time they had.
The railway locked ranks behind their railcar. The FFarquhar had never lost to the roads, and by the Lady, that would not change.
The rest of the day on the road was spent seeing Bertie run laps of his route with his brothers covering his duties, his engine roaring louder than it had in many a year.
On the rails, Cassandra and Daisy thundered up and down the line, with Daisy even joining the tank engine on her non-stop run from Tidmouth that night.
***
The morning dawned cold and the air crisp. Both Daisy and Bertie had been polished within an inch of their frames, gleaming in the station lights.
Both had run down to Knapford on a regular schedule, but now stood at the ready.
Toby stood light engine at the end of the station yard, watching for the clock to strike fifteen till the hour.
Not a sound could be heard besides the thrum of their engines and the wisps of steam on the morning air.
“Peeeeeepp!”
Bertie was off like an arrow, his tires leaving long black streaks on the pavement as he raced off. Daisy started slower, but her engine roared as she pulled away.
The two raced along, through level crossings, bridges, stopping at each station only long enough for their passengers to board or disembark, then they were off again.
Bertie drove like a bus possessed, swinging around every curve and throwing himself down the straights, each station he screeched to a stop, and roared away with the squeal of tires.
Daisy was more controlled, every start and stop was smooth, as she carefully controlled her throttle to keep from slipping. The well built rail lines meant she rarely had to slow at all for the curves and she seemed to fly between stations.
Slowly but surely, Daisy pulled ahead, and she smirked as she realized she just had to avoid any careless mistakes, and she had it .
It happened at Maithewaite.
The morning up passenger train didn’t stop at Maithewaite station, so Daisy didn’t slow as she approached the station, blowing her horn.
The signal man, used to Daisy’s slower normal pace, flipped the switch to send her on the outer track, thinking he had time for the points to flip. He did not.
The people and vehicles watched in astonishment as Daisy’s lead bogie entered the inner side track, the points flipped, and her rear bogie entered the outer track.
Most locomotives or railcars in this situation would stop, and see if they damaged something.
Daisy was a North Western railcar, a Ffarquhar railcar, with her line’s pride on the line. She gunned her throttle and hoped for the best. Sparks flew and her engine roared, the watching rally cars shouting “She’s drifting! She’s bloody drifting!” in excitement and awe as she shot through with a blair of her horn.
Her driver held on for dear life as she thundered over to the points back onto single track, but the track held and she crossed with barely a shudder.
She honked her horn triumphantly as she raced into the distance, the signalman nervously wiping anxious sweat off his brow.
***
Daisy rolled triumphantly into the station as Bertie crested the hill, to a chorus of whistles and horns from her fellow engines and rolling stock. Bertie arrived panting and swearing, but accepted his loss with as much grace as the bus accepted any loss, and mused that he would have to race diesel if he wanted a win.
The road vehicles didn’t rib the bus too much, reasoning no one had known the railcar could drift. The rally cars, thrilled with the whole thing, tried to convince Daisy to race again. The fitters, unimpressed with her drifting, shut down the idea before they could do more than ask. Daisy, satisfied with having beaten the bus, shrugged carelessly, but pointed them towards Cassandra if they wanted a race.
It was hoped the incident would be kept quiet, but multiple angles of the incident emerged on the internet within the hour. Thankfully the ORR dismissed the videos and incident report as a prank and never investigated. The outside world largely dismissed it as an urban legend until Percy slipped up and admitted it to being a true story in 2023.
As Daisy was found to have suffered no major damage from the incident, the NWR management allowed it to pass as a “lesson learned” moment, upgrading the detention equipment in the yards so the switches couldn’t be thrown while an engine was crossing again.
Daisy, much to her surprise, became a celebrity within the Sodor racing community, and is often asked to preside over road sport events on the island. She was bemused by the requests, but accepted, and found she enjoyed it. Over time she would become associated with Sodor Racing, and many teams have since applied the number D1 in NWR green to their vehicles and uniforms, claiming it brings them good luck.
A/N: Hello Loves! This story is the result of a meme from the discord. I hope you enjoyed! Next week, The Nowhere Model Railway AU begins, Love Y'all!
