One Dollar at a Time.

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 needed to be done. He wasn’t doing it because someone told him he had to. He just wanted to contribute.

One day, I noticed he was going around asking people for $1. A dollar was an easy ask, and most people were happy to help. Before long, he had enough money to buy a whole pizza.

But he didn’t just eat the pizza. He started selling slices of hot, fresh pizza to the other kids at the park.

That $10 pizza quickly became $16.

He got what he needed, other kids got fresh pizza, and everyone walked away with something valuable.

Looking back, I realize he was learning something important: when people come together, small contributions can create something much bigger.

That lesson continued throughout his life.

When he decided he wanted to start riding BMX, he didn’t have a bike or the money to buy one. What he did have was determination and a willingness to learn. He started fixing bikes for other riders in exchange for parts. He collected pieces that other people didn’t need, learned how everything worked, and eventually built his own bike from used parts.

But he didn’t stop there.

He continued buying, selling, and trading parts. He found value in things other people overlooked. Over time, he built himself one of the nicest bikes at the park—not because someone handed it to him, but because he learned how to create value for himself and for the people around him. At the time, he probably thought he was just learning how to fix bikes. And he was—he's still one of the best bike mechanics I know. But looking back, I think he was learning something even bigger: how to serve people. It's a lesson that would eventually come full circle.

Whenever I think about Rooted, I think about that kid.

It's stories like his that remind me why places like Rooted matter.

It's more than a building with ramps. It's a place where people learn things that go far beyond riding. It's where kids discover confidence, creativity, responsibility, perseverance, and the value of being part of something bigger than themselves.

When we started Rooted, our goal was to create a place that felt like home—a place where beginners could feel welcome, where riders could progress, and where people could experience all of the physical, social, and personal benefits that come from action sports.

We've watched people overcome fears, encourage each other, build friendships, and find a place where they belong. Those moments are the reason Rooted exists.

At the same time, we've also learned that the value of a place like Rooted is often easier to see than the cost required to sustain it.

The $15 session fee is what most people see when they walk through the doors. What they may not see are the many expenses behind the scenes that make those sessions possible—the building, insurance, utilities, maintenance, equipment, repairs, and everything required to provide a safe and welcoming place to ride.

When we look at the number of riders we have each month and the overall cost of operating Rooted, the actual cost of providing a session is closer to $55 per person.

The reason we don't charge $55 per session is because accessibility matters. We believe everyone should have the opportunity to experience what happens inside a place like Rooted. We've seen that when barriers are lowered, people show up more often, families spend more time together, and more people become part of the community.

That raises an important question: How do we close the gap between income and expenses while keeping Rooted affordable and sustainable?

I think the answer is found in one more lesson from that kid at Autumn.

Years later, he's still around.

He still runs a cash register from time to time. He still takes out the trash at the end of a session. You'll probably catch him working on someone's bike before you ever hear him talking about himself. He's also been part of the small group of friends who helped our family turn the vision of Rooted into reality.

Every once in a while, a kid at Rooted will quietly receive a brand-new bike from someone who knows exactly what it feels like not to have one. There is no big announcement or recognition. It just happens because there's a guy who remembers what it was like to find a place where he belonged—a place where people cared about him.

The kid who once walked around a skatepark asking people for a dollar is now investing in the next generation.

And that brings me back to something he taught me all those years ago.

It's easier to ask 10 people for $1 than it is to ask one person for $10.

I think there's something much bigger in that idea than just buying pizza.

The future of Rooted can't be a place where only a few people have the resources to enjoy it. It needs to be a place where everyone is welcome, regardless of their financial situation or how much talent they have. That requires a community of people who each play a small part because they believe this place matters.

That's how meaningful things are built.

Small contributions coming together to create something much bigger than any one person could create alone.

That's the legacy we want to build—a place where people find community, discover what they're capable of, and eventually help create those same opportunities for someone else.

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