At the fair: What you don't see

Spectators clapped wildly as youth rodeo competitors clung to bucking bulls and maneuvered horses around barrels to the beats of pop chanteuse Lady Gaga recently at the Coliseum at the Minnesota State Fair. But come nightfall, competitors charged into a nearly empty arena, country music quietly wafting through the air as boys and girls battled well past midnight.

The fair, which has its last hurrah today, buzzes with activity long after the fireworks have fizzled into the night and the last Midway ride has whirred to a stop. A recent late-night visit revealed how scores of people, and a special herd of Jersey dairy cows, worked behind the scenes to ensure that the Great Minnesota Get-together was primped and ready when gates opened at 6 a.m.

The Minnesota High School Rodeo competition drew intense interest one evening, but because so many young people had entered, most of them ended up competing after the crowds had abandoned the Lee and Rose Warner Coliseum.

"There's not as much adrenaline, but it's almost easier because you don't have the crowds," said Kayla Erickson, who raced her quarter horse, Dixie, in the after-hours pole-bending competition.

For some, too long at the fair

Meanwhile, brother and sister Caleb and Rebecca Parker knew it was about time to close up shop when drunken men start lining up at their fish and chips stand, slapping down $20 tips for a female co-worker before vomiting on themselves.

"It's mostly amusing," Rebecca said.

While food workers hauled away trash cans full of grease and battened down concession stands for the night, Jeff Jenneke patrolled the livestock barns, where the cows don't stop their contribution to the fair experience when the sun sets. Dairy cows require twice-daily milkings spaced 12 hours apart. That means that cows milked for public demonstrations at 10 a.m., noon, 3 p.m. and 5 p.m. in the glass-walled milking parlor of the dairy barn needed to be milked again at 10 p.m., midnight, 3 a.m. and 5 a.m.

Jenneke, a livestock nutritionist, has been standing watch at the livestock barns for 10 years, tending to the dairy cows from 10 p.m. to 7 a.m. and chasing after the occasional loose animal. This year's dairy superstars are a herd of caramel-colored Jersey cows.

"How do I stay up all night?" Jenneke said. "It's tough. I drink a lot of Mountain Dew."

The nights were especially grueling for livestock competitors. Patrick Heyer of Litchfield recently stayed up overnight with his family's herd of Holsteins to ensure that they were clean and comfortable. That meant changing their straw when they defecated (often), fluffing up their straw for added comfort every time they stood, and bathing and brushing all nine cows (roughly 1,200 pounds each) every morning at 5 a.m.

Heyer is so sensitive to his bovines' needs that he said all it takes is a look from their big brown eyes to indicate what they need -- more food, water, etc.

"Usually, I'll be on my feet all night," Heyer said. "It's nice to be alone with the cows. You don't have any interruptions. You don't have to worry about running into people."

Come sunrise, Heyer was so tired he'd sometimes plunk right down into the straw next to a cow and conk out.

"Some people don't know how much work we put into it," he said.

Cleanup is a big job

On the midway, after the lights of dizzying rides winked out, workers replaced spent lightbulbs, greased machinery and restocked games with oversized stuffed animals. No other fair matches Minnesota's in its intensity and hours of operation, they said.

"It's the 12 toughest days we do all year," said ride owner Michael Wood, of Texas. "Some fairs, you could fire a cannon down the midway."

About 1 a.m. one night, game operator Colleen Bilous grabbed her first meal since breakfast at 7:45 a.m. She won't be back next year, she said: Too much work.

Sanitation is a never-ending job at the fair, where fairgoers produce about 90 tons of garbage over 12 days. A platoon of volunteers and paid sanitation workers scoured the grounds each day, all day, but their work would really start when the crowds left.

In the darkness, dozens of sanitation workers lined up with wooden pails and metal tongs, scouring the grounds methodically, as street sweepers washed off sticky, greasy, manure-caked gunk.

Krissy Skar and brothers Nickolas and Zackary Becker manned the sanitation crew charged with collecting recyclables and compostables. The threesome, who crashed at the fairgrounds all 12 days, described their jobs as more vacation than work.

"I work in an office every other day of the year," said Skar, a bank manager who takes vacation time every year to work sanitation at the fair. "For 12 days, I get to be outside, and my biggest concern is garbage? Awesome!"

Chao Xiong • 612-673-4391