. The next day, after a hike on the River Trail, I also met Brent's wife, Andrea (I hope I remember her name correctly) and their four charming children. I received a lot of information and advice about Oregon. Thanks, Brent and Andrea! (Incidentally, it turned out that Andrea's grandmother, née Salmonsen, came over from Thisted, Denmark, when she was still a baby.) In addition to Oregon and travel we also talked about politics, both domestic and foreign. I told them that Islamization in Europe is becoming a bigger and bigger problem but the threat is somehow shrugged off by mainstream politicians there. The whole family left on Sunday afternoon after having gone fishing down the river. Brent works for Hewlett-Packard in nearby Corvallis. This was their first visit to this campground but they and their children love to go camping.
Today, Monday I checked out from Fishermen's Bent and decided to head north to the Portland area, perhaps to meet a friend of Jayne's there. (Thanks, Jayne, I got her name and phone no.) It was a nice drive through bountiful Oregon countryside. On the way I stopped at a farmer's market and stocked up, corn, tomatoes, cucumbers, prunes, melon. The last stretch along East Historic Columbia River Highway to Cascade Locks was slow going. A lot of other people had decided to visit on this Labor Day, and covering a distance of one mile took 45 minutes. I believe the crowds will soon be gone, so I can go back and watch the sights and beautiful view of the Columbia River in relative peace.
On Saturday I checked out from the KOA campground near Culver in central Oregon and headed west along OR-126 and then OR-22 which eventually would take me to the state capital, Salem. But it turned out that a big state forest campground outside of Detroit (in OR, not Michigan; Detroit, OR, is doing fine, as far as I can see) was full, when I arrived at 1.30 pm. I continued along 22 and reached another campground called Fishermen's Bent just a mile and a half west of Mill City (you are not expected to recognize these small towns, I just like to indicate where I was for my own records). I drove in and miraculously found an available site. It was a wonderful place in a forest of tall and erect Oregon Pine trees (also called Douglas Fir). The hot, red pony (and maybe also the license plates from a far-away land called Illinois) continues to attract attention. Within a short while a native Oregonian, Brent Pawlowski, came up to me, and we started talking. I guessed that his surname was of Polish origin, which turned out to be correct