Worth the Risk?

< < Previous Story | Next Story >>

In September of 1999, 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.

Over the previous few weeks, I had made the same pitch to two other banks. By then it was well rehearsed, but I was still nervous.

A few years earlier, I had tried to build an indoor ramp park in Blue Earth, Minnesota. I’ve already told that story. It’s the one where the bank turned me down and Jenn gave me a $200,000 check from a play money set to soften the disappointment. I still have the check.

I was ready to try again. This time, I wanted to bring new life to an old lumberyard in Mason City, Iowa. It was essentially the same idea, but I wasn’t the same person who had walked into a bank a few years earlier. I had gained experience, revised the business plan, and watched the action sports world change around me.

The “extreme sports,” as everyone had started calling them, were becoming mainstream. ESPN was putting money into the X Games. Companies like Mountain Dew were using BMX and skateboarding to sell their products, and PlayStation was making video games about them. The activities that had once seemed like something only a handful of us cared about were suddenly showing up everywhere.

Chaos on Wheels had grown too. In 1997, we set up at three county fairs in southern Minnesota for free. In 1998, we booked seven paid events across Minnesota and Iowa. By the summer of 1999, we were up to twelve events and had added Wisconsin. I had also closed my bike shop and paid off the startup loans.

The dream didn’t seem quite as ridiculous as it had a few years earlier. At least not to me.

The loan officer sitting across from me seemed especially interested. From her office window, she regularly watched skateboarders dodge traffic, grind the ledges in front of the bank, and do tricks down the stairs. She didn’t need my business plan to convince her there was a need. BMX and skateboarding weren’t going away, and these kids needed somewhere to ride.

I left her office feeling optimistic. Over the next few weeks, the banks asked for more documents and additional information. It felt like things were moving forward. I went to work every night at Walmart, unloading trucks and making sure everything made it onto the shelves, and waited.

On October 4, the first letter arrived.

That was how it worked back then. I didn’t have an email address, and I didn’t even own a computer or a cell phone. I opened the envelope and read the words, “We regret informing you…”

Denied.

Three days later, another letter arrived with another denial.

The final letter showed up on October 13. This was the last of the three banks, and I opened the envelope hoping it might finally contain the answer I had been waiting for. Instead, I found, in the kindest words possible, one more rejection.

I was disappointed that the dream had been rejected again, but something else bothered me even more. Everyone could see the need. Everyone seemed to agree that young people needed safe places to belong.

I was beginning to learn that recognizing a need and being willing to risk something to meet it were two very different things.

I had grown up watching my dad, who had very little himself, make sacrifices to provide a place for kids in Elmore. The Center had been accessible because admission was only $1. That didn’t cover the actual cost, but it meant almost anyone could walk through the door.

That mattered to me because my family didn’t have much when I was growing up. My parents wouldn’t have been able to spend $10 every time I wanted to ride my bike somewhere.

But an indoor ramp park would be much more expensive to operate. Charging enough to cover those expenses would exclude some of the same young people I wanted to serve.

It was a problem I couldn’t figure out how to solve.

Maybe the banks were right. Maybe I was just chasing a dream, and it was time to settle down and get a real job. Conveniently, I already had one at Walmart.

The ramp park wasn’t the only plan I had been developing over the previous few months. I was also planning to propose to Jenn. She had spent the past few years helping me grow Chaos on Wheels and putting up with me chasing the BMX dream. If we were going to get married and start a family, I probably needed something a little more secure. At least that was what people were telling me.

Christmas time rolled around, I proposed, and Jenn said yes. Then, just after New Year’s, she left me. Not for good. She went to Oxford for six weeks to study.

I spent the rest of the winter making sure everything got off the trucks and onto the shelves at the Blue Earth Walmart. It was steady work. I was being responsible, and it felt safe.

Then the snow melted, and I started getting the itch to chase the BMX dream again.

I figured the summer of 2000 might be my last chance to really give Chaos on Wheels a try before I was married and had real responsibilities. We booked ten shows that summer and expanded into South Dakota.

But the shows weren’t the only thing pulling me back. I still couldn’t shake the desire to invest in the BMX and skateboard kids in the area. Other people were starting to notice them too, but they didn’t know what to do. Somehow, I had become the “action sports expert” in southern Minnesota.

In June, Doug, the Youth for Christ director in Fairmont, Minnesota, asked if I would help him connect with a group of skateboarders who had started gathering in the Salvation Army parking lot. A couple of the skateboarders who had helped with the early Chaos on Wheels shows were from Fairmont, so I already had a few connections. I agreed to volunteer for the summer and see what happened.

The Salvation Army let us use a room, and every Tuesday evening I showed up with snacks and drinks. It helped that the kids thought I was a “pro” BMX rider because I was traveling to shows with Chaos on Wheels every weekend.

The conversations were pretty superficial at first. But if you pay attention and look for the right opportunities, you can usually find an opening to turn almost any conversation toward something of substance. I had a few good conversations with those kids about Jesus and what it meant to follow him, but there were no dramatic breakthroughs.

Mostly, a handful of kids in Fairmont learned that there was a BMX rider who cared enough about them to bring snacks and spend his Tuesday evenings with them. As the summer ended, I took the Fairmont group to ride and skate at the park in Mankato. It felt like a good way to wrap up my time with them.

Word about what was happening in Fairmont eventually reached the regional Youth for Christ office in Albert Lea. On August 30, I met with the director, Greg, at the Rock, a youth center located in an old downtown storefront that reminded me a lot of the Center.

We started working on a plan for “Xtreme Sports Night at the Rock.” Someone donated some lumber, and I added some materials of my own, along with a whole lot of my time. I built a portable 4' tall by 16' wide halfpipe inside the Center in Elmore. I designed it so I could take it apart, load it onto the Chaos on Wheels trailer, and move it around.

A few weeks later, I hauled the new halfpipe to Albert Lea, set it up in a downtown parking lot, and waited to see if anyone would come.

Kids started arriving on bikes, skateboards, and rollerblades, and they acted like it was the best thing that had ever happened to them. They were especially excited when they learned they could ride and skate for free.

Over the next few weeks, I kept hauling the ramp back and forth from Elmore to Albert Lea and setting it up until it got too cold and the sun started setting too early.

The ramp ended up being stored inside the Rock for the winter. They set it up a couple of times for kids to use, but by then something had already changed.

The ramp had given them a reason to walk through the door. The fact that someone had built it for them and invited them to use it for free showed them that they mattered. Once they found a place where they knew they were welcome, they had a reason to keep coming back.

The banks had rejected my plan for an indoor park, and I still hadn’t solved the financial problem built into that business model. But some donated lumber, a portable ramp, and a few people willing to give their time had shown me something I hadn’t understood when I wrote the business plan.

The ramp park wasn’t the entire dream.

The ramp brought young people through the door. Having a place where someone cared whether they came back was what made it matter.

More than 25 years later, I’m still trying to solve the same problem at Rooted.

We’re getting ready to test a community funded model where admission fees don’t determine who gets to participate. It will only work if people do more than recognize the need. It will require some of us to take a risk, make a sacrifice, and help create a place where young people know they are welcome.

Jeremiah Anderson

Rooted Action Park Founder

*If you've enjoyed this story, share it with a friend and leave a comment that says, "Tell me more." I'd love to keep sharing these stories, and that'll let me know you're interested in hearing what happened next..

Support the Mission