By JIM HEARSEY
Nov. 3, 2001

We were on Highway 2, a road that follows the Skykomish River west, down from Steven's Pass to the Puget Sound. It's a strikingly scenic route through the tall trees of the Cascade Mountain range. Along this old logging and mining route are little towns whose names advertise their colorful histories: Goldbar, Sultan, Startup. The hamlet of Index is a mile or so off this main route, nestled in a little valley. But the Mt. Index Cafe is right on Highway 2, presenting a small brave face to the forbidding peak of Mt. Index across the valley.

This cafe relies as much on passing traffic as it does on local customers. It offers a convenient stop for truckers on their arduous way up to Steven's pass, or on their way back down.

My girlfriend and I were on our way back from a failed attempt to climb to Lake Valhalla (there was still too much snow on the ground), and she had a sudden urge to eat cherry pie at the little cafe we'd passed on the way up. I pulled the station wagon into the parking lot and we walked in, still wearing our hiking gear, and unaccountably excited about the prospect of pie.

The interior was done in that kitschy bavarian style, and was empty except for a tired old lady behind the register in a classic diner uniform. We took a booth by the window and waited for the waitress.

Instead of the old woman we were expecting, a younger woman came out of the kitchen to take our order. Tall and good-looking, she wore a trendy evening dress, as if she were on her way to a party in Seattle. Her appearance was so incongruous in the frumpy surroundings that my girlfriend didn't even object when I took a second glance at her as she retreated with our order for two coffees and a slice of pie.

Our conversation immediately turned to figuring out how this very urban young woman had found herself waiting tables in a slow backwoods cafe. Was she running away from a troubling affair? Did she move here to care for a sick relative? It was more likely that she had followed a man who'd gotten a logging job and this was her only employment opportunity.

We repressed giggles as she returned with our order, and eavesdropped intensely on the conversation she was having with the old woman, keen to discover the circumstances of her life.

She asked, "So, does it ever get busy in here?"

The older woman responded, "Well, not too often, honey. When there's a storm and the pass is closed you might get some business, but we're not really that close to the pass, and the season for storms won't be starting back up for a while yet."

The young woman looked desperately bored, a condition she was apparently getting used to.

We enjoyed our coffee and pie in silence, hoping to hear more about the young woman's life. The older woman spoke next. "Actually, there is a big logging company up the road and once in a while a big truck will wreck, then the road's closed for hours and it really fills up in here."

"Really?" the girl asked, hopeful.

"Oh, yeah. Don't you worry, honey. Someday your accident will come."