Confessional with Dean Smith

For BROstock 2015, I’d planned on rolling into St. Louis on Friday night with Rusty and Rathy, and we’d share a rental car to Lake of the Ozarks. We had a comically small rental car and somehow managed to fit most of Rusty’s biceps in the back. Anyone who has hung out with Rusty for extended periods in confined spaces will understand how a three-to-four-hour trip goes. I started mapping our way to the Ozarks, only to have Rathy assure me that he had it covered in his iPhone.

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Nope, Lake of the Ozarks is not in Illinois.WKB

After three hours of recognizing absolutely none of the scenery, and fairly certain we had crossed into another state, I casually inquired as to whether we were traveling in the right direction. Rathy reassured me that he had everything sorted, and he had the official bar of BROstock (Captain Ron’s) locked into Google Maps. After driving another hour, Rathy lets us know we are only five minutes away, but at this point I’m calling bull$#&@. By then it should have been obvious that we were nowhere near where we needed to be. Either that or Lake of the Ozarks had seen some serious urban sprawl and expansion. I opened my Google Maps and added the destination, which quickly proved we had driven almost five hours in the opposite direction … and into a different state.

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The international symbol for "wrong way."WKB

Anyone who has ever traveled with Rusty in adverse situations will understand his reaction to this news. Once his bright-red face dimmed and the onslaught of curse words subsided, we pulled ourselves together and set off on another eight hours to Lake of the Ozarks.

Lessons learned: Never let Rathy navigate and never rent a hatchback with Rusty, especially if you don’t know where you’re going.