Flashback Friday: Teens in Eugene

I had nearly forgotten about this odd trip until my friend Sarah and I reminisced about it a few weeks ago. Strange how entire events in my life can be buried into my memory without a reason to recall them. While looking through a box of photos today I found some pictures taken, apparently, on a disposable camera when Sarah and I took a road trip to Eugene, OR in April 1998.

This was toward the end of our Junior year in high school. My purpose in traveling to Eugene from my home in Beaverton was to attend the State Solo Vocal Competition being held at the University of Oregon. If there was some reason that one of my parents was unable to attend, I don't recall what it was. But somehow, my long-time chum Sarah accompanied me for the drive south and to stay overnight in a motel. It seems a bit strange now to consider sending your 16-year-old daughter and her 17-year-old friend 150 miles from home to spend the night at a creepy motel all alone. But do you want to guess what I thought of the idea at the time? Yep.

The drive to Eugene normally takes about 2.5 hours from where I lived at the time. But we got there in a little over an hour. I hope I had the sense to wait a while before making the "call me when you get there" call. It was no mystery to me how--I drove my Subaru Legacy wagon over 100 miles per hour most of the I-5 stretch. I remember telling Sarah how the car drives so smoothly you don't even notice how fast you are going. And also that on these long stretches of straight freeway, the speed limit is lame. I actually still believe that for the most part, but I now have the wretched experience of paying for speeding tickets to make me slow down. Here's the view from Sarah's seat heading to Eugene:

We were well-behaved girls, so our motel room provided the bulk of our entertainment for the trip. Who wouldn't be amused by these fancy white cubes serving as a coffee table?

And why bother centering artwork above the furniture? Balance is overrated.

The sad thing about this trip is that I came down with some kind of throat-ailment. It may have been laryngitis. So I drank a lot of water in my Simpsons jammies the night before the competition.

The next day I still sounded raspy when I spoke, but managed to sing my classical aria anyway. The adjudicators were impressed that I was able to pull it off decently in my condition, as was I. But it certainly was not as good as it could have or should have been had I been well. So I didn't place in the competition. Now that I've recalled this random scene from my glory days, I don't plan to forget it. Memories should be treasured more than any ribbon. Sarah, can you shed any more light on our escapades?