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Her smile was warm and genuine and she seated us with a wave that was neither interested nor unwelcoming. It was early September, and while the night wasn’t cold, it was nice to be seated inside the warm glow of the diner. She’d be “right on over”. My two friends and I had risen early that morning to take the first Bainbridge Island ferry out of Seattle. It was our first day and we were eager to get going, keen to take advantage of the hikes in the Olympic National Park. We started with a climb to the top of Mount Storm King, immediately followed by jumping into the ice cold Lake Crescent once we’d descended. Towards late afternoon, we’d ventured out further to the edge of the world, driving westwards towards Shi Shi beach, an indigenous, Native American area. One of my friends got spooked, claiming the spirits were after us. I laughed, but meeting his eyes in the rear view mirror, I could tell he was genuinely frightened which only made me laugh harder. We parked the 4x4 just as dusk was descending and set off, running along the trails that took us through the rainforests and down to Shi Shi Beach. Doing some research, I later discovered that these forests were temperate rainforests, receiving more rainfall than any other area in the continental United States. This created the thick, humid climate that felt so uncharacteristic and out of place as we ran along the winding trails. An eerie mist had descended onto the beach by the time we arrived and it was getting dark. But it was spectacular. Anyone who has visited this far North Western corner of the United States will recognise the feeling of isolation only experienced when you’re so strikingly aware of your remote geographical location. We raced back to the car using the torches on our iPhones to light the way. We were hungry, and a quick scan of local TripAdvisor reviews led us to the diner. Following Kerouac’s tried and tested nutritional advice I opted for the apple pie and ice cream. Followed by a burger and chips. A delicious about-face meal that tasted all the better after the hikes we’d completed that day. She was friendly, young, attractive even. She wasn’t much older than us, and yet she’d had to grow up fast. Slipping us the menus, she explained to us why she was here, on the edge of the world. Although I knew that this wasn’t the first time she’d told her story, it still felt personal. Something that always strikes me when visiting the United States is how unfazed and willing people are to reveal their true selves. It’s a charming difference from the reserved nature of Western Europeans. She’d grown up in the area and like any teenager, had been eager to get out. But in a story straight from Hollywood she’d come back ‘for a boy’, had a baby boy of her own, and settled down. Unlike a silver screen ending however, her relationship had failed and she’d become stuck. Her little boy was in school now and she didn’t want to uproot his life, so behind a reticent laugh she told us that her days exploring the world were over. But she hated it here. To me, the diner was new and exciting, it was a slice of classic, provincial Americana. But for her it meant the everyday. She hated it for the same reasons I was fascinated by it. Now it was the beginning of the off season, where the few tourists had already departed, leaving only locals and passing hunting folk. The off season. A term that implies there’s a time one should never visit. The town’s ugly side exposed as soon as the distraction of the crowds have left. She came over to the table for a final refill of weak coffee, we paid the bill and said our goodbyes. She waved us out with the same warm smile that had invited us in. We climbed into the car and set off. There was still a long drive South ahead and it was getting late.