The Pink Door That Wasn’t
Life doesn’t hand you a map. It gives you vague directions, a few wrong turns, and leaves you guessing whether you’re even on the right road. Most people hesitate when they hit uncertainty. They stop, they turn back. But the ones who keep going? They’re the ones who find something extraordinary.
That’s where this story begins, on the edge of uncertainty.
I had just stepped out of the Marine Corps, trading military discipline and structure for the vast, unstructured unknown of civilian life. I didn’t know what came next, but I knew I wanted to create something. To tell stories. To bring moments to life. What I didn’t have was a plan or even a starting point.
Then, one day, I found a breadcrumb.
It was a website for a place called the Twin Cities Fantasy Factory, a BMX park hidden somewhere in Minnesota. Only it wasn’t easy to find. The directions felt like something out of a spy movie. Drive to the end of this street. Look for a book repository. Go around back, halfway down the building. Knock on the door two doors down. But here’s the kicker: if the door’s pink, you’ve gone too far.
It was laughable. It sounded like the kind of thing you ignore, the type of thing your practical side tells you isn’t worth the trouble. But my gut told me otherwise.
Because here’s the thing about uncertainty: it holds potential. Potential for failure, sure, but also potential for discovery. And I wasn’t about to let the possibility of failure stop me.
The Door That Changed Everything
I followed the directions, drove to the end of the street, found the book repository, knocked on a door, and the man who answered changed my life.
Dustin Grice wasn’t what I expected. I thought I’d find some corporate guy running a polished operation. Instead, I found a creator. A visionary. A guy who had taken a grungy warehouse and turned it into a BMX park for the local community.
He gave me a tour of the Fantasy Factory, and I was blown away. It wasn’t just ramps and jumps; it was a hub of energy and passion. Riders flew through the air, pushing themselves to the edge of their abilities. Kids cheered as they learned their first tricks. The place hummed with life.
Dustin wasn’t just running a park. He was building a movement. And then he told me about Ride MN.
At the time, it wasn’t much, a logo on a hat he’d made for himself. But the way he talked about it, you could see the spark. You could feel his love for the sport, his passion for the people it brought together. He wasn’t building a brand; he was building a connection.
That was enough for me. I didn’t need a pitch or a mission statement. I saw the potential. I wanted in.
A Decade of Saying Yes
That meeting with Dustin turned into a decade of partnership, collaboration, and saying yes to the unknown.
Over the years, Ride MN evolved from a logo on a hat to a thriving lifestyle brand. Together, we’ve captured moments that define the spirit of the brand and the people it represents.
We’ve strapped skis to bikes and sent them careening down snowy half-pipes. We’ve put people inside inflatable balls and rolled them down hills, just to see what would happen. We’ve covered BMX stunts at Red Bull’s Crashed Ice festival and halftime shows at US Bank Stadium for the Vikings.
Ride MN’s pop-up shops became a spectacle, combining live BMX performances with custom on-site apparel printing. I was there to capture it all—the energy, the chaos, the raw emotion.
But it wasn’t just about the big events. It was the everyday moments that made this journey special. Dustin calling me with some wild idea and asking, “What do you think?” Me showing up with my gear, not knowing exactly what I’d find but ready to make magic out of whatever unfolded.
That’s the heart of this story. It’s not about having all the answers. It’s about showing up, taking the risk, and trusting the process.
The Cost of Complacency
Complacency is the killer of opportunity. It whispers in your ear, telling you to stay home, to play it safe, to avoid the risk of failure. It keeps you comfortable, but it also keeps you stuck.
If I’d listened to that voice, I wouldn’t have found the Fantasy Factory. I wouldn’t have met Dustin. And I wouldn’t have had the chance to be part of something extraordinary.
The easy road is tempting. It doesn’t ask much of you. But it doesn’t give much, either.
The best stories, the best experiences, they come from the roads less traveled. From the sketchy directions, the wrong doors, the moments when you’re not sure what’s going to happen but you take the leap anyway.
What’s the Worst That Could Happen?
Every time I’ve said yes to an uncertain opportunity, it’s led me somewhere remarkable. Sometimes it’s messy. Sometimes it doesn’t work out the way I thought it would. But even then, I’ve walked away with a story.
When Dustin’s little brand expanded to Life Brand, when Ride MN’s logo found its way onto Norman Reedus’s show, when their apparel landed in Scheels stores, I got to be part of that journey.
I’ve refined my craft, developing techniques like neural photography that draw people into the action, making them feel like they’re part of the moment. I’ve told stories that connect audiences to the thrill, the grit, and the beauty of life on the edge.
But most importantly, I’ve built relationships. I’ve worked with people like Dustin who share my passion for creating something meaningful, something that lasts.
The Takeaway
Here’s the truth: life isn’t about certainty. It’s about showing up for the unknown, taking the risk, and finding out what’s on the other side.
Say yes to the sketchy directions. Knock on the wrong door. Take the road you’ve never traveled. Because the worst that can happen? You end up with an adventure.
And that’s always better than sitting on the couch wondering, What if?
