WELCOME RIDERS radiation and chemotherapy. Though the cancer was gone, the doctors informed him the he was still unhealthy and urged him to get in shape. He told me about the day that he took the old mountain bike out of the garage. He rode it one mile and felt like he was going to pass out, but he stuck to it. Soon enough, I would find myself driving down from Minneapolis to ride those rural roads with him.

My name is Trenton and I grew up rural, just outside of a beautiful small town in southeastern Minnesota known as Stewartville. This is a picture of my family. That’s me in the overalls. Like every family, we’ve been through a lot since this photo was taken. Sadly, that sweet sky blue Pontiac is no longer with us, but I’m fortunate to say that everyone else in the photo still is. Just years after this picture happened, and around the time that Pontiac found itself up on blocks, my dad discovered cycling. He raced his bike locally for years, but as he would tell you, he was “never any good at it.” I dabbled in cycling around that same time myself. I rode the rural roads around our house on my BMX, but after too many crashes to count, and mom getting tired of removing the gravel from my legs, interests evolved. Around this same time, I watched work and life take over my dad’s spare time and saw the bicycles spend less time on the roads and more time hanging in the garage.

OCTOBER 12, 2014

I discovered video games, punk rock, graduated from high school, and high tailed it off to college. I would visit my folks in Stewartville on occasion, but had since grown fond of traveling, living in various cities, and the beautiful memories of rural life had begun to fade. The frequency of these rare visits would soon increase, when in early 2004, my dad announced that he had been diagnosed with lymphoma. He immediately sought medical help at The Mayo Clinic where doctors were able to free his body of cancer cells through rounds of

Before either of us knew it, we found ourselves surrounded by friends at the start of Christopher Skogen’s famed Almanzo 100. I recall Chris urging our anxious group to setup a ride of our own. “You can do this.” This tugged on my DIY punk heart strings and made me think of all of the incredible house shows that I had had the pleasure of playing music in throughout the years. It made me think of all of the great gravel roads in the area. Conversations with dad about creating a gravel route for all kinds of people began on those gravel roads that day. Those conversations would eventually lead to the idea of a BBQ and a bike ride for 30 which rapidly turned into a cycling event for 300 now known as The Filthy 50 2013. It was too much fun to not do it again. That is how we got here to 2014. Through the tremendous support of the MN cycling community, city of Stewartville, my family and friends, we’re going to give it another go. When you show up, make sure to say hello to my wonderful mother at the registration table, my dad as he helps organize the start, or my brother if you’re lucky enough to ride a few miles with him out there on the course. Lastly, expect a handshake, or low five from me as you cross the finish line this year. What time you finish it really doesn’t matter to me. I’ll be there. Race it and set a record, ride it and take in the beauty, either way, get filthy. Kind Regards, Trenton J. Raygor

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MEG AN BARR 26 Years Old - 3rd Place Women - 2013 The first time I heard about the Filthy 50, I was really stoked to hear it was a 50-mile gravel race. I’ve been doing some of the 100 milers for a few years and they are beasts. Fifty miles seemed pleasant in comparison, so I was IN! The starting line was filled with many familiar faces with varying race tactics. I was ready to try pushing it the whole 50 and seeing where I fell with the fast crew. Without the looming extra 50 miles, I felt like there was nothing to “save” for. I went hot from the start and wanted to feel out the other riders. I wasn’t familiar with this these roads so it was exciting when the climb came up around mile 30 at Nature Road. It’s nice having a gravel race that is more attainable, even though you know you’re going to visit the pain-cave. The Fall has me focused on cyclocross, so throwing some miles down on gravel is a great change of pace. With that being said, one of the best parts of the gravel racing community is, just that, the COMMUNITY. The continued support, enthusiasm, and determination shown by everyone involved keeps me coming back for more. See you October, dirt junkies.

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PA RK ER ROENFA NZ

First Place - Single Speed 2013 n for others. A beginning for some. The end of the seaso for all. ride A few. a for val Survi . many for A race Best race of 2013 for me.

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DREW WILSON

1st Overall - 2013 My Filthy 50 was about riding hard with a bit of a chip on my shoulder. Late to enter but realized I would regret it if I didn’t ‘defend’ my backyard (I live within a mile of the course). Knew I was not to be the strongest rider in the field. The route; mostly flat and open, on my roads. Might as well try to go so early that the stronger guys might not bother to chase. That was the plan. The experience was something else. So many riders at the start. The hum of people catching up, deciding what to wear, making plans. The pace was fast. The energy in the main pack was great. I tried once, twice, three times to go solo but kept bringing another rider. Never full separation from the fast guys. Five of us came to the big climb together, legs ready for the finish. Hanging on the back, dangling, a passenger just barely present to watch the other riders. The effort just to hang on was the type which makes time feel slow. Miles passed. It was a beautiful day. I noticed patterns in the way the others rode, strategy, I watched the rocks move under my bike. The water tower in the distance reminded me I was racing. Many things could still happen. The things that did happen were one gift after another. Miracles from my perspective. The other riders, chance, my legs all lined up and I rode in alone. The look on Trenton’s face stays with me. People shaking my hand and congratulations and a box of meat, a jersey.

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DONALD CLARK 63 Years Old Bumpin’ and Grindin’ on Da’ Filthy 50 What a marvelous day for gravel and on such a sweet course. My health has been a little tricky this year so the training has been on the weak side, but today, I had hoped I could pull a rabbit outta’ my hat anyway. It became evident after that bodacious hill somewhere around 31 miles, that all I was pullin’ outta’ my hat today was a porcupine. Cramps were getting the best of me and has reduced me to walking for a bit while waiting for the cramps to subside. I get a phone call right then and it’s Joe, my son. He has finished and I am way back here. Time to pony up on Reba, my orange mukluk, :O). With renewed vigor, off I go. I am controlling the cramps as best as possible, ticking the hills and the miles off while trying to figure the math. Cramps started twitching bad again, but, I see the last aid station. Aha, a port in the

storm even if only a slight reprieve. I wipe the anguish off my face to share a few brief moments of encouragement to another rider that wants to drop. I convince him we can make this together and we are off. Two hills later my wheels come off again. I beckon him onward and I will catch up. I smile as I realize that I have been pushing everyone else so hard today and let out a loud woohoo with laughter. The legs are trashed and still with miles to go. Then, like a prize fighter with a coach in his corner, a man pulls alongside of me to encourage me on with the exact time and distance to the finish line. My very first thoughts were to tell him I was going as fast as possible already, even though a three legged dog could have gone faster. But, his exactness motivated me to hang in there. He kept painting a picture of possibility if only I can find another gear. The burning in my legs continues while I embrace the prestigous honors of DFL, dead freaking last.

I’m thinking I can’t push, but, my cornerman, who I think was Trentons father, has other notions of granduer for me. Pops spurned me on, mile for mile–hill for hill. I pushed, but, now I couldn’t stop or slow and admit defeat, he was watching. I come to the last turn and actually am hoping the finish line was a few hundred yards down. Sheesh, I couldn’t even see it yet. I was down to the last hill.Pops had pulled away and greeted me with a valiant effort. It was time, ding ding, the towel was thrown in. That hit kind of hard for a scant moment, but, I had one more hill to deal with, but, I could see the finish line now. Sometimes with age comes failure. I so wanted to finish in time in front of my son, if only with seconds to spare. I was reduced to using my left arm to push my leg because the quad and hamstring were so cramped all the way around the leg.

thru to the truck. Joe was there with Trenton and another handfull of peeps congratulating me for finishing. I straddled the bike, totally whooped. It was still a good day and I will be back again to try to pull that rabbit outta’ da hat :O) Thanks, Trenton, Pops and everyone else that helped to put on a sweet ride. It was MINT. :O) Donald

A thousand yards to go and I was almost afraid to stop because I wasn’t sure I could stand up or not. I was thinking of just pedaling 12 / 13

Thanks for riding with us.

SUNDAY, OCTOBER 12 CHECK-IN 8 AM ROLL-OUT 10 AM

RULES AND RECOMMENDATIONS 1

You are 100% on your own. There is no support for this ride.

2

We would appreciate it if you would REGISTER with us.

3

This ride is unsupported. Bring EVERYTHING with you that

4

Wear a helmet.

5

Do not litter.

6

Obey traffic laws.

7

If you must urinate, please do not do it in front of the locals or

8

Ride safely and use good judgement.

9

Have fun.

you will need.

other riders.

10 You are responsible for you. keep it simple, These are the rules. We think they are reasonable. We try to so if you require more detail, please CONTACT US at: [email protected]

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