Road trips are always an adventure for me.
When you combine my complete lack of any sense of direction whatsoever with my disinterest in learning/remembering directions, you get just that: An adventure of some sort every time I leave Northeast Ohio.
Last fall I covered a Kent State football game at Western Michigan. The game started at 7 p.m., so I arrived early in the day, checked into my hotel room and grabbed a bite to eat.
I was told I was about 15 minutes away from the stadium, so I left my hotel at around 5 p.m. — never know what you may run into on the way, as I well know.
I arrived in the vicinity of the stadium quickly enough, but couldn't find the media parking lot. I was about an hour into my supposed 15-minute trip when, after turning around for roughly the fifth time on the main road in front of Waldo Stadium, I was stopped abruptly by a police officer — who was feverishly pointing at the Broncos band, which I was about to run directly into as it marched down the road into the stadium.
Like I said, and as I know all too well, you never know what you'll run into.