My masculine-deficient moustache is the only fuzz in this town... Timberon, New Mexico is where I currently call home, and if you live here, there's usually a real good reason why. For me, it's the outstanding weather, the clean smell of pine and juniper, the unforgiving solitude, immense silence, thriving wildlife and, above all, the locals-and around these parts they're referred to as Timberoids, the crown jewels of the southern New Mexican high country.
The fun begins where it began on an early July morning back in 1945 as we banged our way into the "atomic age" by detonating a little known plutonium device by the name of "The Gadget," an experiment performed with the desired intention of making Japan understand that its bombing of Pearl Harbor wasn't such a brilliant idea after all. December 7, 1941, a date referred to by FDR as "a date which will live in infamy," also carries the ironical infamy of being the birth date to men of uncompromising immorality such as myself and Vito Andolini. This date also birthed our beloved state of New Mexico with a desert of white sand and dust storms that will shame any respectable heartland whiteout. Today it is the home of the White Sands Missile Range, the largest military installation in the United States.
Turn your sights to the east and there before you lies the sleeping giant called the Sacramento Mountains, a beautiful tapestry draping in rugged elegance over the town of Alamogordo. From "Alamo" jaunts a winding 16-mile, 3,000-foot ascent to the tourist village of Cloudcroft. The local mercantile houses the best deli/bakery in southern New Mexico. And don't forget to stop in at The Western Bar for an adult beverage. You can even follow the longtime tradition of taping a one-dollar bill to the wall and writing upon it how much of a giant ass you are.
From Cloudcroft take the 130 junction a mile and a half to highway 6563. Your southerly destination awaits you, only 31 of the most beautiful miles you will ever drive. Take it slow, there's a lot to see. Like giant bull elks standing stoic, smack dab in the middle of the road. Aspens ripping citrine ribbons through the mighty pines and, of course, "Old Faithful"-the loose herd of cattle warming their bellies in the darkness on the warm concrete. For those not familiar with mouth to nose resuscitation of the bovine species, be warned and very careful; it's a bloody, snotty mess. But that's another story for another time, so let's get to the show.
The Sacramento River cuts a clear, cold flow of spring water right through the village of Timberon. I caution you as I do all: Do not be overwhelmed by what you see as you enter our little town. The nerve center of our community-the post office, a barber shop, a resale shop, a realty outfit and the local propane dispensary-is all housed within the confines of a stunning pale yellow metal warehouse. It's also best to note the functioning phone booth just outside the warehouse. In Timberon cell phones are just something advertised on TV, and "cell service" is still the same oxymoron it's always been. We also have a shopping mall where you can purchase specialty items such as canned soda pop, cigarettes, ding-dongs and some badass WWF lighters.
But I digress. As you roll down from Cloudcroft's 8,600 feet to Timberon's 7,100 feet, the first sign of life speaks volumes about the preferred method of transportation in Timberon: four gnarly wheels and a tight suspension. Cradled in the fold of the Lincoln National Forest, Timberon is host to miles of trails that will test even the most proven riders, dazzle the soul with views of the mighty high-desert country sprawling out beneath steep rock ledges, and allow one to ride for days on end never seeing the same thing twice. The one and only ATV outfitter in town, Sacramento Mountain ATV, is the only one you'll need. And the proprietor of Sacramento Mountain ATV, Jeremy McMahon, knows every fulfilling inch of every amazing trail, having cut many of them himself.