Bob Bondurant School of High Performance Driving
Living under the watchful eye of the Valley's radar-patrolled freeways and red-light cameras has our inner speed demons so pent up that we could get a Hyundai-manufactured golf cart with two flat tires to exceed 50 mph. Seems it's high time we took a day off from traffic school to spend a day at Bobby B.'s school adjacent to Firebird International Raceway.

This so-called "school" features a 1.6-mile road course, an eight-acre paddock and more than 200 race-prepared vehicles. Classes range from the -- yawn! -- necessary and practical (i.e., Teenage Defensive Driving) to the -- gulp! -- downright intimidating. Unless you're James Bond or David Letterman, we imagine that the four-day, $4,000 "Executive Protection/Anti-Kidnapping" course of "intense driver training for high-risk individuals" is, well, not meant for you.

Fortunately, even mild-mannered AAA members can get fast and furious. If you can't swing $4,850 for the three-day Advanced Road Racing course, cough up 350 bucks (equivalent to about 10 parking tickets) and the boys'll let you lap Phoenix International Raceway's one-mile oval in an F-1 Style Formula Ford for 150 precious minutes.

Ever wanted to say something like, "Get along, little dogies," or "Howdy, partner," and have it be somewhat appropriate? We suggest you try a horseback trail ride with the folks from OK Corral, the oldest pack station in the Superstition Mountains. Summer rides are up through Payson and the Mogollon Rim, and regular-season rides take you all over the Superstitions, including an all-inclusive trek to the Lost Dutchman mine. The rates are very reasonable, and you can take a couple of hours, a day trip, or even an extended trip with camping and a steak fry. A trail ride through the mountains is part of the Arizona experience, and the OK Corral is the most bang for your buck. And don't worry if you aren't easy in the saddle; they have horses for all types of people, whether they're experts or have never ridden any horse that wasn't attached to a pole in front of Kmart.

Carlsbad Tavern and Restaurant
Meagan Simmons
We're not vindictive, really. We wish the best for that yellow-bellied, sneaky, lying hunk of flesh we've been dating. We certainly don't want to hurt anyone's feelings with a breakup.

So we'll let Carlsbad do the talking. We'll bring our loser, er, lover in for dinner. A romantic evening out, we'll say. Don't bother with a menu, we know exactly what you need, we'll insist. And then we'll order the chile cheeseburger for them. We won't bother to mention that this isn't just any Anaheim chile burger, but one fashioned with Carlsbad's New Mexican artillery, the incendiary habanero chile.

It comes with fries, salad and a free glass of milk (though if we're feeling really wicked we'll tell the server to hold the beverage).

As Carlsbad's menu warns, the burger may cause temporary blindness or loss of hearing. Maybe our beloved will lose the ability to speak, too. Gee, that would just be too bad.

Farrelli's Cinema Supper Club
So we're not kid people. So shoot us. Or better yet, shoot the kids. No, really, we think kids are okay; we just don't understand how people can have them and hope to have any chance of a normal life afterward.

Farrelli's feels our pain. And so, in a stroke of genius, this feeding/film house offers family festivals, offering dinner and a movie for parents with small kids, even babies. Dailey movies at 5 and 6 p.m. cater to the wee folk, when Mom and Dad can cart in the kid, watch a flick and feed on baked Brie a l'orange, spinach salad with feta and pine nuts, and center cut top sirloin. Kiddies keep happy snacking on pizza, chicken or spaghetti, while watching classic yarns like Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.

It's full table service as the movie rolls, and there's even an isolation room to handle the infants acting infantile (or parents who've simply had enough). At all other movie showtimes, it's no diapers allowed, just as the world should be.

One of the things we love about hanging in the Caribbean is the laid-back attitude. No pretension, just cool. At Callaloo, owner Michael Washington-Brown keeps the spirit. If we want our food spicy (and we do), we don't ask politely. We bluntly tell our waiter to "Jerk This!" That's the signal to pile on the killer Jamaican spice called jerk.

And the kitchen doesn't apologize. There's no in-between on heat level -- you either Jerk This! or you don't. If you do, just keep an ice-cold Red Stripe close at hand.

Ordering is easy. Adjustable dishes are noted with the instruction, "Jerk This." Choices are impressive, too: chicken wings with cucumber dill dipping sauce; island barbecue ribs; chicken salad with fruit and mango vinaigrette; chicken pasta in spiced mango sauce with angel hair pasta; and rum-glazed pork ribs with plantains. A favorite is Callaloo's signature Dat Ting, a chubby pork chop with plantains, sweet corn and okra risotto drizzled in a passion fruit sauce.

At Callaloo, being a jerk is a good thing.

Fighter Combat International
The folks at Fighter Combat International use flyers from the Top Gun program to offer you everything from dogfights to acrobatic stunts. Using laser weapons mounted on the spectacularly agile, German built, Extra-300 L, experienced pilots take you up for aerial combat against other professionals. Or maybe you don't want a dogfight. Maybe you just want to strap on a diaper and try a few face-stretching acrobatic moves like hammerheads, lomcevaks, loops and rolls. No experience required. Prices range from $285 all the way up to $955, depending upon the amount of flight time you want and how often you want to take the stick. You can be a passenger with your stomach in your mouth, or you can take the stick and shoot down the bad guy.
Dick's Hideaway
Patricia Escarcega
We love hanging out in nice places with our friends. The trouble is, nice places usually don't want us.

Dick's Hideaway has become our personal haunt when we've got a group of up to 25 party pals. There's a $500 minimum to use the room, but divided among our cohorts, that comes to only $20 each, and the money is applied to food and drink (the contract lets us know the fee can be used to cover damage to the room, too, but we've never tested it).

The place is just too cool, hidden behind a door set invisibly into the paneled wood wall of the tiny bar called Dick's Hideaway. Signs? Doorknobs? Not here. Inside, it's startlingly opulent, centered by a copper-topped table and comfy booth tables lining the wine-rack-lined walls. There's a loft above one of the booths, too, in case we feel like taking a nap.

Dishes are the best of next door's Richardson's, lauded for its creative New Mexican fare like surf and turf (tenderloin with jumbo chipotle pecan grilled shrimp, enchiladas, green chile potato and fried egg), or blue corn smoked turkey enchiladas with grilled portobello mushroom.

At Dick's, we can get as raucous as we want, and no one will shush us. That alone is worth the price of admission.

You go to an aquarium to see sharks swim around and eat little guppies, not to jump in the tank with them. So when you want to see the game of billiards executed as nature intended, go to where the real sharks swallow up the competition. It is said that the Hustler himself, Paul Newman, has frequented the Pool & Brew, and it's known to attract the most intimidating cadre of shooters you're likely to see in Phoenix. They don't care about what's on the jukebox or even what's on tap -- they're here for the dark, smoky ambiance, the eight bar boxes and the two nine-foot tournament-size tables. It's a good idea not to challenge any of these ice-veined top dogs to a game if you don't know what the extra foot is for, because otherwise you'll be wearing it out of your ass.
Casino Arizona at Salt River
When we go to Las Vegas, it's to eat at the world-class restaurants that suddenly have populated the once buffet-for-a-buck town. When we go to Casino Arizona, it's to eat at Cholla, an amazing upscale restaurant that's completely isolated from the clinging clanging sounds of machines sucking money.

Cholla is a sure bet, though, for exemplary dinners showcasing regional and Native American cuisine. This is one game we're guaranteed to win, feasting on roasted pheasant with Cabernet cassis, peppery elk tenderloin, pan-roasted Muscovy duck and "campfire" salmon with tomatillo-lime coulis.

Figuring that there's no tax charged on this Indian reservation, Cholla is in the only casino where we've ever come out ahead of the game.

Turf Soaring School
We've fallen for more "you can fly" gimmicks and contraptions than Wile E. Coyote, but with Turf, we think we're finally onto something. The school offers sightseeing rides, flight instruction, and soaring and aerobatic sailplane lessons -- and falling anvils are almost never involved.

Want to fly the friendly skies without the deafening engine noise? Take a spin in a sailplane. After you climb to the clouds behind a powered towplane, your instructor explains a few bells and whistles, then lets you take the reins. You'll even get an official pilot's logbook to commemorate your adventure.

On October 19, Turf celebrates its 35th anniversary by combining the usual rides and lessons with aerobatic demonstrations, fly-bys, a barbecue, live music and dancing. (Remember to show your Mile-High Club membership card to enjoy special promotions and discounts.)

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