//------------------------------//
// Ticket to Ryde, Part 1 
// Story: Thomas and Friends: More Tales from Sodor 
// by The Blue EM2 
//------------------------------//

Stepney was stuck, with the weight of a few coaches holding him back on the slope. The load was pretty heavy, and he was almost to the top, but he had stalled in the worst possible location. "Sweetie Belle, we're stuck!" he called.

Sweetie Belle hopped down from his footplate, and rolled her eyes in frustration. "Brilliant," she said. "We stalled in the worst possible place at the top of a steep hill, with a passenger train wanting to pass, but it cannot go as we're sat here."

An angry horn blast from behind confirmed this suspicion. "Hey!" shouted a Class 450. "Can you get a move on? I've got places to be, you know!"

Stepney sighed. "I guess we'll have to wait for boiler pressure to build," he sighed, as he thought back to how he had became embroiled in this entire mess.





That morning, on Sodor...





"Sorry, where was it you were going again, darling?" Rarity asked, as both siblings walked to the bus stop.

"The Isle of Wight," Sweetie Belle replied. "Stepney has been invited to a reunion of all surviving Terriers, which is taking place at Havenstreet on the Isle of Wight Steam Railway. We'll be joining the line's two resident Terriers, and there are some coming from all over the world!"

"How many Terriers are preserved?" Rarity enquired.

"Ten. Newport, Freshwater, Sutton, Waddon, Stepney, Martello, Poplar, Fenchurch, Knowle, and Boxhill. Of those, Stepney, Boxhill, Sutton, and Knowle are able to operate on the mainline, whilst Newport and Freshwater are the home engines. Waddon is coming over from Canada, and the rest are being towed to Portsmouth by their respective railway companies. It'll be quite exciting to have all of Stepney's surviving brother's and sisters together, let me tell you!"

"I imagine so," Rarity smiled, as the company bus for Arlesburgh depot pulled up. "Well, have a nice time when there, and make sure to write. I'm certain mother will want to know what you've been up to."

You too!" Sweetie Belle called, as she hopped onboard. The bus pulled away, and off she went on her great adventure.

At the depot, she discovered that the firelighter had already got Stepney up to operating temperature. His axles were lubricated, his sandboxes were already filled, his controls were in perfect condition, all guages and levers read correctly, and his paint was freshly applied. It was so shiny you could see your reflection in it, a quality that Improved Engine Green is well known for, and his brasswork shone. "Good morning, Sweetie Belle!" Stepney said, with a smile.

"Morning!" Sweetie Belle replied, as she hopped onto his footplate and checked his water guages. "You ready for our big adventure?"

"I sure am!" Stepney smiled, as his cylinder cocks were opened. Steam shot out of them as he rolled under the water tower, and Sweetie Belle went to fill his water tanks. Once that mundane but very important task was completed, Stepney puffed off into the yard to find his coaches.

"What did they have lined up for him to pull?" Scootaloo asked Oliver, as she got his fire up to temperature.

"I can't recall exactly, but I did think they looked rather big for him..."



"Three Mark Ones?" Sweetie Belle exclaimed.

"Yes, Sweetie Belle," said the foreman. "The Isle of Wight Steam Railway specifically requested Stepney be pulling Mark One coaches painted in the green livery of the Southern Railway. Apparently they want to recreate the Hayling Island trains with one or two of the Terriers at the gala, and we must comply."

"I don't know if Stepney can pull that lot!" Sweetie Belle replied. "It's quite heavy, and he's only little, and what if we encounter steep hills?"

"Who are you calling little?" Stepney asked.

"There aren't hills in the south of England!" the foreman said. "It's all completely flat down there. Besides, you've got the advantage when running towards London, as the West Coast Main Line is all downhill from Carnforth to Preston, and flat from there to Willesden Junction, where you'll be able to get to Southern metals via a convuluted series of railway moves."

"Sweetie Belle," Stepney said, a little louder and with more confidence. "Remember that when we came to Sodor I was pulling a far heavier load than this. I can do it. If I can do suburban workings around London, and work on the Little Western without a fuss, I can pull three bigger coaches. Little engines can do big things, after all."

"If you're sure," Sweetie Belle said. She hooked him up to the coaches, and with a blast of the whistle they were off!

The train puffed across Sodor, and rolled across the Vicarstown bridge, the sun shining in the sky and nicely reflecting on the pristine paintwork of both Stepney and the coaches. The train steamed into Barrow station, and was hooked up to a diesel that towed the formation away over the Cumbrian Coast Line. It proved to be a very slow journey.

"To think I did this going the other way, but under my own power!" Stepney huffed. "GSM-R is such a nuisance."

"I hope they don't bring it in on the rest of the network," Sweetie Belle added. "Otherwise, most of our engines would struggle to operate off the island!"

"Then it's probably a good thing that steam engines are only used on masse on Sodor and preserved lines," the diesel interjected. "Considering your age, I'm strictly limited to 25 miles an hour as far as Carnforth. From there, you can run under your own power."

At long last, they reached Carnforth, and the diesel detached. Stepney could now operate under his own power. He set off with gusto, being clocked at 40 miles per hour through Lancaster and taking the grade out of the station with pride. He made his first stop for water just south of Preston, and then continued on his merry way towards Willesden Junction. On the way, he passed Royal Scot racing northwards on a railtour to Glasgow. As he continued to venture south, the scenery slowly became flatter and more gentle. "Easy we go!" he said, a smile on his face as he puffed along the line. Eventually, he transferred onto the North London Line, and following a series of very convoluted moves, he arrived at Woking, ready to start his run down to Portsmouth.

A lorry was used to refill his tanks again as Stepney heard a whistle from nearby. "Hello Stepney!" called Boxhill, as he flew through and disappeared out of sight through the tunnel.

"Hello Boxhill!" Stepney replied. At least, he could resume his journey, but the run over the hills proved to be harder than he had remembered. "I used to run this a lot back in the Hayling Island days. I can't recall it being this steep."

"Watch out!" Sweetie Belle called. "Your wheels are slipping!" And they were. As he took the grade up to Haslemere, he began to get slower, and slower, and slower. He tried to keep moving, but Stepney eventually ground to a complete halt on the hill.





Stepney was stuck, with the weight of a few coaches holding him back on the slope. The load was pretty heavy, and he was almost to the top, but he had stalled in the worst possible location. "Sweetie Belle, we're stuck!" he called.

Sweetie Belle hopped down from his footplate, and rolled her eyes in frustration. "Brilliant," she said. "We stalled in the worst possible place at the top of a steep hill, with a passenger train wanting to pass, but it cannot go as we're sat here."

An angry horn blast from behind confirmed this suspicion. "Hey!" shouted a Class 450. "Can you get a move on? I've got places to be, you know!"

Stepney sighed. "I guess we'll have to wait for boiler pressure to build," he sighed, and waited. Eventually, it was high enough that he could move again. Sweetie Belle spread sand under his wheels, and with a roar got the train moving again.

"GET- MO- VING- YOU- SILLY- COACHES!" he roared, as he pulled forward into the platform. The Class 450 flew by, rolling his eyes in annoyance.

Thankfully, the rest of the run to Portsmouth was easy. Stepney saw Sutton and Waddon shunting in Fratton yard, who whistled to him happily, and he in return. Stepney eventually pulled up in the docks, and was loaded onto a ship to take him to the Isle of Wight. Upon arrival, Stepney ran under his own power once more to the junction at Smallbrook, and steamed up the grade to Ashey, before rolling down gently in Havenstreet. His coaches were put into a siding, and Stepney rolled into the shed where his fire was dropped. As Stepney snoozed happily in the dying light of the day, he could hear whistles and puffing as other Terriers rattled about in the yard. Tomorrow was the day the gala began, and Stepney would play his part.