Sacramento Mountain ATV is also the place I met up with an old friend from my college days in Chicago. Nipples (known to many as Mike Calabro, the renowned adventure photographer/writer) was waiting for me in McMahon's retail store. Mikey had nipple burn so bad from doing something idiotic (I don't know what it was and I still don't care) that we had to cover them with duct tape in order for him to make the ride. Being a kindred spirit of the arts, Nipples informed me I needed to suit up. He'd be taking photos and I'd be shredding trails. Fine by me. I squeezed into some mega-small nut crunchers Nipples had and fired up one of McMahon's Grizzly 700s, and we all filed down the mountain slope en route to an amazing day of challenging riding and soul-scorching views.
McMahon was our guide for a week of ripping apart the labyrinth of trails. With the roaming black bears, sly mountain lions, all but invisible timber rattlers and the occasional armed acid freak roaming about the forest with an automatic pistol on his side, it never hurts to have a solid escort in Timberon. But don't be fooled by the dazzling serenity of this canyon community. This place can kill you in an instant. It's rugged, secluded and mostly ignored by the general population. I myself had a near-death experience last year after driving my truck into a snow-covered ravine, but I was on my way home from an Indian drinking contest, which I obviously lost. Circumstances that need not be discussed played a role in that incident. Again, another story for another time.
With McMahon leading the way, we rode hard and fast from dawn to dark. After two days of arm-burning climbs, tight tree-lined turns and steep rocky descents, I was cooked. My aging body hurt so bad I couldn't get out of bed for the third day of the trip. So as Nipples and the other fellers took off without me we agreed to meet up later that evening at Timberon's one and only watering hole, the High Country Lounge.
The High Country Lounge, or "the bar" as referred to by Timberoids, is nestled high on the canyon's western wall and serves as the 19th hole for summertime golfers, a year-round package store and dishes up an outstanding chicken-fried steak sandwich. A stone's throw from the bar, a covey of horseshoe pits bustle with summertime tournaments. And one of the village's many trout ponds allows for year-round fishing. The bar is renowned for its karaoke every Saturday night. A night that, depending upon who exactly shows, will either be fun and entertaining or a considerable alternative to being water-boarded.
With ripping up quad trails being the chosen Timberon pastime, socializing takes a very close second. And there's no better place to soak in the Timberoid scene than a place called "the bar." Since I was feeling like a wuss for not riding that morning, I arrived at the bar a bit early. The large stone fireplace warmed the evening's sudden subfreezing temperatures, and soon I was red-eyed and working the bobber head dance in a dark corner of the bar. My friends with the balls to ride that day (Nipples and everyone else) did indeed finally show, but I don't remember any of it. They had ridden the 1,800-foot ascent of Thousand Mile Canyon and then started the day from there. I'm sure it would have killed me, but it also would have thrilled me like not many things in life can. Another gigantic choke by The Captain. Thank you.