Some of the best riders in the world came to Joplin, and there are videos, magazine articles, and TV coverage of the incredible riding that happened. But afterward, when I finally sat down to go through the pictures, I would notice things I had been too busy to see.

I had been on staff at The Bridge since January, but those first few months had been spent getting ready to open. Now I was meeting the people who would actually be using the place, and there were a lot of names to learn. Then one day a kid came up and asked who I was. He was confident, and his questions felt more like an interrogation than a friendly introduction. When he told me his name, all the previous questions about meeting him started to make sense.

The first JoMoPro had been advertised in BMX and skateboard magazines. There was $20,000 in pro prize money and a Harley Davidson motorcycle up for grabs. Riders from all over the world were making plans to arrive in Joplin for April 7–9, 2006, to compete in a contest hosted in a facility that had never opened to the public. It was now my job to make sure the details of that weekend came together. But we were still living in Manly, IA, and Jenn was due to give birth to our t

Looking back, I believe God was orchestrating all of this. There were too many pieces coming together for me to see it as a string of random events. But recognizing that didn’t answer every question we had about our family or the team.

The big tricks were over, the Gospel message had been shared, and people were responding to the invitation. After a show in front of thousands of people, this was the part that reminded us why we were out here in the first place. As I watched people coming out of the crowd, I recognized a group of skateboarders coming over to talk to me. I’d prayed with them at another event a few weeks earlier. They’d already responded once, and I was curious why they were coming forward aga

By 2005, we had two teams traveling full time. I had to think about the riders, vehicle, and equipment with me, along with the team that might be on the other side of the country. If a host didn’t pay us, it affected when I could pay the riders. If a vehicle broke down, someone might miss a family gathering or be late getting back to another job. The guys were still my friends, but I increasingly felt like their employer. After spending so much time together on the road, we’d

I was excited because Chaos was finally working. The previous years had felt like a lot of failures, but now we had a real team, a booking agent, and shows taking us across the country. I wanted to keep building that momentum because I believed this was how I was going to provide for our growing family.

Somewhere between Manly and Knoxville, I watched one of the wheels from my trailer shoot across the median. The trailer was loaded with frames for the largest skatepark I had designed up to that point. We had spent weeks cutting templates and assembling the “skeletons” in a machine shed I rented from a friend. We packed the remaining frames into a rented Ryder truck.

Six months after leaving a dependable job at Walmart to make a living through BMX, nearly all of my work had stopped. When I quit, Jenn and I had a mortgage, a six month old baby, and no idea how we were going to replace my paycheck. A few months earlier, I had convinced myself that Walmart might be my safe and reliable future. By the spring of 2002, it didn't feel very safe anymore.

A few months earlier, I had convinced myself that Walmart might be my safe and reliable future. By the spring of 2002, it didn't feel very safe anymore.

I found myself in what was becoming a familiar position. I was sitting in another banker’s office, trying to convince someone that providing a place for young people to ride bikes and skateboards was worth the risk.

I found myself in what was becoming a familiar position. I was sitting in another banker’s office, trying to convince someone that providing a place for young people to ride bikes and skateboards was worth the risk.

The first thing I noticed about Frank was his bike. It was a blue GT with a pink seat, and it looked small beneath him. Frank was a tall guy, and everything about him stood out from the rest of us—especially the full pads and full-face helmet. (Most of us didn’t wear much protective gear back then, if any.) I wasn’t sure what to think of him. Then he started riding.

I still have a $200,000 check made out to me. It’s dated June 4, 1997, and I’ve never cashed it because I couldn’t...

My next move probably confirmed everyone's fears. I recruited one of my friends with a pickup truck, and we drove to the local lumberyard. I spent every dollar of that graduation money on 2x4s, 2x6s, sheets of plywood, and a box of screws. My plan? Build a six-foot quarter pipe in the backyard of The Center, right next door to my parents' house.

When people ask me why I believe places like Rooted Action Park matter, my answer doesn't begin with bikes or ramps.

More than 18 years ago, I met a kid at Autumn Ramp Park who, like most of the kids that walked through the door, didn’t have much. He usually didn’t have enough money for a slice of pizza or a drink from the concession stand, but that never seemed to matter much to him. He wasn’t focused on what he didn’t have. He just wanted a place to belong. He would show up and find ways to help. He worked the cash register, swept floors, took out the trash, mopped ramps, and did whatever

Every Christmas season, people look for meaningful ways to give — ways that make a difference, not just for a day, but for years to come. At Rooted Action Park, we see firsthand how one moment of opportunity can change the entire trajectory of a kid’s life. A borrowed bike. A Saturday spent learning to drop in. A membership that gives them a safe place to ride, belong, and grow. For many kids, access to action sports isn’t just fun — it’s life-changing. Why This Campaign Matt

I wanted to take a moment to say THANK YOU! Whether you’ve given a donation, shared a post, or simply cheered us on—you’re helping make...

When I was a kid, my bike was the most important thing. It meant freedom, adventure, independence. I could pedal faster than I could run. Riding bikes with my friends consumed my time. We could carve our own paths, we could invent our own games, and challenge ourselves in ways never before imagined. Remember the first time you jumped off a curb? It felt like flying. Like you had unlocked a secret world. That’s what BMX is really about. It’s not just tricks and ramps and comp