Brocation 2.0
Newsletter 2026-01-23
We’re three weeks into the new year. That means I’m already three weeks behind on planning out the next twelve months. It’s never too early to schedule being over scheduled. I thought I might have one extra opening this year. In 2025, I organized a guys-only brocation as a chance to reconnect with my brothers and brother-tier friends. I originally intended for it to be an annual event, but that was before any of us actually got there. After spending between one and three days together depending on what our individual lives allowed, I thought people might have second thoughts about future gatherings. One a year might be too much. They might be more comfortable with once a decade or once a lifetime. I can be a lot. But when I saw my brothers at our belated family Christmas last weekend, they had only good memories of brocation (if they had memories of it at all, which is another story). They all wanted to do it again. Some people learn their lesson the first time they touch a hot stove. Other people have to burn off their whole hand before they get it.
I’ve learned some hard lessons from last year. For starters, three nights was too much. I wanted the gathering to be long enough to justify the six-hour drive. The first night there was great. After a quarter of a day cooped up in a car, we were all full of energy. I stayed up entirely too late and had perhaps had a beverage or two too many, if such a thing is even possible. You miss a hundred percent of the beers you don’t drink. Day two was also good. Truthfully, I would have rather slept in, but my brother Mitchell showed up at 8 a.m. for the one and only day he could be there. Our nonsense started immediately. That day, I couldn’t even make it to my normal bedtime before I wanted to crash. I have the kind of metabolism that can handle fun once or twice a year. Doing it on back-to-back days nearly killed me. That brought us to day three. By then, half of the group had to take off to return to real life. Those of us who remained behind were exhausted. We played a few board games in the morning and went out to eat for lunch. My brother Arthur slept for half of the afternoon. The rest of us had yet another early but slightly more reasonable bedtime and still woke up the next day feeling exhausted. It was the kind of weekend that takes a month to recover from. This year, we’ll just do the first two nights. That will vastly increase the odds that we all return home alive, much to the disappointment of our wives and children.
I’m also cutting down on car travel. Last year, I picked a location on the Lake of the Ozarks, which is two hours southwest of St. Louis. That was fine for my friends and relatives who started out in Missouri. Their travel times were all two hours or less. Only those of us coming from Indiana had to deal with the full brunt of a six-hour car trip. The drive there was fun, even for those of us with the longest route. We picked up people as we went, each of whom brought new stories and renewed energy. By the trip back, we’d all heard quite enough from each other for the year. My company is best appreciated in small doses. This year, I decided to even out the travel time for everybody. Rather than picking a specific destination, I targeted a region somewhere in Central Illinois roughly halfway between Indianapolis and St. Louis. What’s in that area? Absolutely nothing. That works to our advantage. The Airbnb prices there aren’t inflated by being close to fun things. People starting out in either city should only have to drive about two and a half hours. I’m hoping that makes it easier for guys to dip in and out if they aren’t able to come for both nights. Invitations are more appealing if it’s possible to escape. In a worst case scenario, someone who’s really not having fun could almost walk home. Beware of hitchhikers who look like they might know me.
That relocation was only possible after I gained hard data about what we did and didn’t do last year. Brocation 1.0 was in a resort community on the lake. There was a pool, golf course, horseback riding, bowling, and a whole bunch of other options that sounded better in theory than in practice. What we really did was hang out and talk while eating and drinking too much of everything. One day, we did the same three activities, but on a boat. It was just like doing them on land, but with a sunburn. The outdoors are a trap.
I looked for a place away from the water this year. That opened up an array of new options that included cabins and farm houses. We really just need anything that separates us from the public by distance and maybe some trees in case our sedentary discussions become too lively. We’re harmless dads in our thirties and forties, but not everyone knows that. We alarmed one woman at the resort last year when we had the gall to walk back from the resort restaurant to our resort house on a resort road. She warned us not to come any closer because her dogs weren’t friendly. “Unfriendly Dogs” is now the name of our group chat. If we’re far enough out in the woods, we shouldn’t have to worry about people threatening us with less-than-hospitable pets. We’ll just have to be on the lookout for unfriendly coyotes.
If we change our minds and decide to go out on the water again this year, we’ll still have that option. The cabin that’s currently first on my wish list is located a short drive from a marina with boat rentals. It would be fun but dangerous. In 2025, my brother Harry jumped in the water at the end of our boat day. He wasn’t quite as buoyant as he expected. He made it back to the boat, if only barely. If we rent a boat this time, we’ll need to verify that everyone’s life insurance policies are fully paid up. At least the watercraft at this place would be worth it. The marina offers a party boat, which is just an extra large pontoon, but with two grills and an onboard bathroom that looks like an outhouse. That last item would make the whole thing worth it. The thing I hate about going out on the water is jumping in that water to go to the bathroom. I don’t want to swim in the communal toilet. Taking a restroom with us would solve that problem. So would simply staying at the cabin, which has three bathrooms plus plenty of trees and bushes. The further you keep us from civilization, the better.
Last year’s trip taught me that the most important feature of an Airbnb isn’t the proximity to water, but the number of beds. The size of those beds is irrelevant. We’re a bunch of dudes traveling without wives and girlfriends. The goal is one person per bed. A king mattress is just wasted space—in most cases, anyway. Due to a bedroom shortage on Brocation 1.0, I shared a bed with my brother, Harry. Absolutely nobody wanted to fight us for the master suite for some reason. It wasn’t that bad. I slept so soundly I could have been dead. Not everyone can pull that off. Ideally, we would just have a place with a whole bunch of single beds shoved into every nook and cranny. That’s why cabins and lake houses are set up in the best way. They tend to have bunk beds and other sleeping arrangements made for short-term stays where the goal is to cram in as many people as possible for short periods of time. We’re not picky. Last time, two guys slept on two separate air mattresses, one of which deflated in the middle of the night. Someone slept on the flat one again on night two. When left to our own devices, we default to a lower standard of living. If we had stayed for a fourth night, we would have become cavemen. I was this close to forgetting about fire and the wheel.
Another lesson I learned last time is to go for a rental with a high head count. The eight-person limit on our 2025 stay proved to be a headache. After I sent out the initial round of invites by mass text, I was hit with maybes, nos that turned into yeses, and yeses that turned into absolutely nots. By chance, we ended up with exactly eight people there, but it could have been as high as twenty or as low as just me. Most bookings want me to give a number up front. Last time, I set it low and changed it. This time, I’m going to max it out and let the invitations fly. I’ll make the whole world reject me. The top rental on my list allows for twelve people. Earlier hyperbole aside, I don’t think I have twelve friends total. I might not even know twelve people. Whoever comes, comes. Hopefully it’ll be a lot of people so we can divide the cost in many ways. If not, I’ll end up having a sad party for one. Well, not that sad if I’ll be alone in the woods with a grill and a bunch of booze. That might just be the perfect weekend.
For once, I hope to set more than a negative example. Every guy on last year’s trip wanted our wives and significant others to have a reciprocal/retaliatory girls’ trip.
