“Have y’all thought about extending the main line?”
Pilot winced. It was an innocent enough question. Would that they didn’t have to field it three times a day. Normally he’d leave this one to the volunteers or crew, but on a slow, hot day in Barn 9, he was on his own.
In the old days, before he and his train were the resident celebrities, Pilot might have tried to answer… comprehensively. Probably earning himself a stern word from his coaches and the higher-ups, and failing to really answer the question in the process. He knows better now.
The problem was that the museum truly did make it look effortless. Most visitors didn’t have to give a second thought to the amount of work that it took to lay and maintain five miles of track. Good track. Track that could stand up to the wild swings of Midwestern weather and bear the weight of year-round usage. The scattered piles of sleepers appeared as unremarkable background noise to the average museum-goer. Props, necessary to set the scene and dress the place up like a real railway. That they ran trains at all was the most unique thing about the museum. Pilot couldn’t blame the visitors for thinking that should be their highest priority.
Before he could answer, 2903 snuffled in his sleep on the adjacent track.
“Well,” Pilot said, as brightly as he could without being too loud. “The main line stops at the river. If we wanted to go any further, we’d have to build a bridge.”