What the Ramps Couldn’t Build
Updated: 4 days ago
Somewhere between Manly and Knoxville, I watched one of the wheels from my trailer shoot across the median.
The trailer was loaded with wooden frames for the largest skatepark I had designed up to that point. We had spent the past few weeks cutting out templates and assembling “skeletons” in a machine shed I was renting from a friend. With the trailer loaded down, we packed the rest of the frames into a rented Ryder truck. Now we were sitting on the side of I-35 with a fully loaded trailer that only had three wheels.
That wasn't even the first problem we had dealt with that morning.
The night before, we noticed that one of the trailer tires was low. I delegated the repair to one of the guys while we finished loading all the ramp frames. After everything was ready, the guys headed to Frank's house to ride his ramps and hopefully get some sleep. I went home to spend a little time with Jenn and our 18 month old son before leaving to spend several days assembling ramps in Knoxville.
The next morning, Tim was the first to show up, and something clearly wasn't right. The rest of the guys arrived a few minutes later and were pretty concerned about him. That's when they told me that Tim had taken an early morning run on Frank's ramp and crashed hard without a helmet. He didn't remember the crash and didn't think anything was wrong, but we quickly realized he had a concussion and was dealing with short term memory loss.
Back then, concussions were just part of riding, and we didn't take the risks as seriously as we should have. The immediate problem was that Tim was supposed to drive the Ryder truck, so we changed plans. Tim rode with me in the van pulling the trailer while one of the other guys drove the truck.
Once we were finally on the road, everything seemed fine except that Tim kept asking about his accident and where we were going. A few minutes later, he would ask the same questions again and again...
A little more than halfway to Knoxville, the wheel came off the trailer. Apparently, the repaired wheel hadn't been tightened properly, and when it worked loose, it sheared off all the lugs. Sitting on the side of a busy interstate, there wasn't much we could do, so we limped the fully loaded trailer the rest of the way on three wheels.
Only a few months earlier, the final payment from an indoor park build in Cedar Rapids had bounced. That job came almost immediately after I left Walmart, and ramp building seemed like a clear answer to prayer. The unpaid balance left Jenn and I behind on our bills, but when small towns began calling in the spring of 2003, the work offered another way forward.
I had already built a smaller municipal park in Belmond the previous fall. Then in 2003, we installed parks in Charles City, Knoxville, Owatonna, and Forest City. My time was divided between home life, ramp projects, and Chaos on Wheels shows, and all three were demanding more of me.
The Knoxville project was too large for me to handle alone, so I recruited some help. Frank, Tim, and Joe had all been riding in Chaos shows, and my high school friend Jason was between jobs and needed work. The project created income for all of us while giving me a chance to use the skills I had been developing since building my first quarter pipe in 1994.
By that point, I had mostly given up on opening my own indoor facility. After years of business plans, bank meetings, and failed attempts, I had settled into the idea that Chaos on Wheels could help churches and other organizations connect with the action sports kids in their towns. Building public parks created places for people to ride, but it was also practical work I knew how to do and genuinely enjoyed.
Most of the towns we worked with had limited space and budgets, so nearly everything we built stayed under 4' tall. Knoxville was different. The community had raised a significant amount of money and poured a huge concrete slab specifically for the park. That gave me room to design ramps that beginners could learn on alongside larger, more advanced obstacles.
I was able to include ideas that had been bouncing around in my head for a while. To the average person, the layout may have looked like a collection of simple ramps. More experienced riders would discover new lines and transfers the more time they spent riding it.
Knoxville was too far from Manly for us to drive home every night. We spent several weeks framing everything in the machine shed, then hauled the frames to Knoxville and lived out of a hotel while we assembled the park. With four guys to pay, plus hotel rooms and meals, every day we lost to weather cost money.
Unfortunately, we did lose parts of a few days to heavy rain. When it wasn't raining, we worked on a huge concrete slab in an open area with no shade. We worked hard when we could and had far too much free time together when we couldn't.
During one rain delay, I told Tim I would give him $1 if he could drink half a gallon of milk in 30 minutes. He gave it his best shot, but with just a little milk left, he gave up and spent the rest of the night sick. For years afterward, he couldn't have any dairy, including ice cream, without feeling sick.
That probably wasn't our best use of a weather delay, but those weeks were doing more than getting the ramps built. Frank and I had already been friends for almost eight years, and Tim and Joe had traveled with us doing shows throughout 2002 and 2003. Our families spent time together, the guys slept in my guest room or at Frank's house between shows, and we often met up to ride our backyard ramps just for fun. Working, traveling, eating, and living together was turning a group of guys who did shows together into something much closer.
We didn't know it yet, but Knoxville was preparing us for the life Chaos on Wheels was about to introduce us to. The next few years would include plenty of hotel rooms, vehicle problems, long days, changed plans, and shared adventures.
We finished the Knoxville installation toward the end of June and returned for the ribbon cutting on July 1. The community showed up, along with a lot of local riders and skateboarders. Many of them were intimidated by the size and variety of the ramps, so the Chaos riders who had helped build the park put on a show and demonstrated what was possible.
It was satisfying to watch those guys ride something we had spent weeks building together. The park was finished, the concrete pad was crowded, and the community was excited. Two days later, we helped open the park we had built in Charles City. For that moment, it felt like the towns were finally investing in the riders and skateboarders I had spent years trying to convince people to notice.
I offered a one year warranty on the ramps, so I continued visiting all five parks to inspect them and make repairs. Once the excitement of the grand openings wore off, those visits looked very different. I don't remember returning to any of those parks and finding it alive with that same kind of energy. Most of the time, the ramps were empty, and some of the parks had collected trash and graffiti.
My backyard ramps and the Youth for Christ ramps had already taught me that relationships mattered more than ramps, but seeing those public parks sit empty confirmed what I already believed. Experienced riders need each other to stay motivated, and beginners need people who will help them learn. Without supervision, programming, or an established community, even a great collection of ramps can lose the people it was built to serve.
The warranty work also changed how I looked at the business. Defective materials used at Charles City and Forest City eventually forced us to completely resurface both parks. Ramp building had been profitable, but it required a large investment of cash and time up front and left me responsible for expensive problems long after the original work was finished.
Meanwhile, the Chaos on Wheels schedule for 2004 was filling quickly. The shows were easier, more fun, and closer to the work I wanted to do. Churches were hiring us because they wanted help connecting with riders and skateboarders in their communities. Getting out of the ramp building business and putting my energy into the team felt like the obvious next step.
I never stopped enjoying ramp design and construction. I continued building ramps in my backyard, later at Autumn Ramp Park, and now at Rooted. The designs and riding styles have changed, but the skills I sharpened in 2003 are still there underneath the surface. I learned how to measure and draw a radius, piece together templates, know when to use a 2x4 or a 2x6, and secure a deck so it won't begin to sag after hundreds of sessions.
Most people only see the finished ramp. They don't see the skeleton underneath that allows it to endure everything that happens on top of it. In the same way, the ramps have never been the most important part of the places I've tried to build. They are a tool, but the relationships, leadership, and community around them are what bring the space to life.
Rooted was eventually built around that belief. In 2003, though, I wasn't thinking about trying to open another facility. I was stepping away from the ramp building business just as Chaos on Wheels was beginning to grow faster than any of us expected.
If you believe places like Rooted matter, I invite you to help us keep this opportunity available to everyone. Your support helps create a place where people can ride, grow, build relationships, and belong.
Jeremiah Anderson
Rooted Action Park Founder
If you enjoyed this story, share it with someone else who might enjoy following along. I have a lot more stories from these years that I’d like to tell, so leave a comment and let me know if you want me to keep writing them.
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