BEST BIKE REPAIR SHOP 2007 | Landis Cyclery | Arts & Entertainment | Phoenix
We know from bike shops.

Allow us to start at the beginning: Our fancy mountain bike is what we call a nervous shifter. She's as nimble and fast as a thoroughbred, but after the first few months she lost her groove, derailleur-wise. The chain kept jumping the gear rings at unexpected times, usually right in the middle of a tough grind up a steep hill. The bike needed an expert's touch, and it didn't find it even after five — that's right, five — visits to a popular bike shop that will remain unnamed.

A friend told us to try the Landis shop on Warner Road. Less than 25 minutes after we wheeled her in, the wizards at Landis had our finicky steed tuned up perfectly. We were skeptical at first, considering the time we'd put in at the other store. But out on the trail the adjustment held. We can only assume the staff at Landis' three other stores are as good, but we've stuck with the Warner location out of sheer loyalty. We think our bike is in love.

The skate shop is a pretty simple concept: decks, trucks, wheels, bearings, maybe a video or two. Add some jaded 14-year-olds loitering outside — bumming smokes and talking shit — maybe throw a miniramp in the back, and you've pretty much got our sophomore year of high school. It's not pretentious, and we love it. That's why we're so annoyed that even crappy mall stores calling themselves "skate shops" even exist. Hey, corporate — just an FYI — the fact that you sell Etnies to seventh-graders doesn't count.

That's why we love the Cowtown store in Tempe — it gets back to the idea that a skate shop should be the center of a community. Sure, you can buy the Volcom hoodies and the rest of that trendy crap, but beyond that, there's a sense that the people here actually know a little about the scene they're working in. Scattered throughout the store is a tiny homage to the history of skateboarding — an ancient Life magazine featuring a cover story on "the grace and menace of skateboarding" and a book from the '80s called Skateboarding Is For Me are tucked into shelves around the merch. And then there's the store's awesome display of vintage cameras, including a Polaroid Swinger and a Keystone Everflash.

Skateboarding is a sport as much about visuals as it is about performance, and it's cool to see a subtle nod to that in the displays. But the absolute best thing about the shop is its art gallery, MVMNT, which features work by local artists and skateboarders like CR3, who paints on broken decks, and DDGP Design Concepts, the brand name for Dan Diaz's furniture fashioned out of highly stylized skateboards. It's a cool place to wander around and we'd rather spend our money here any day than give it to some tool working the register at the mall.

A good pair of inline skates turns the urban world into an ice-skating rink — a beautiful, romantic place where the human body glides like an incorporeal spirit.

But it ain't quite that easy. When the ground beneath our polyurethane gets too bumpy or there are too many other people on the path, those little wheels are like a voodoo curse on our feet, souring the whole experience.

ASU's fields of concrete are marred only by a few easily avoided sections of rough ground. And the scenery is gorgeous — the eye-catching flowerbeds, the fountains and canals near the Business School, the youngsters in summer attire. This is the outdoor skating rink of our dreams, a wonderful setting for a more adventurous date or just a pleasant workout. The daily parking crunch eases after normal school hours, making it a snap to get on-campus for an after-dinner spin.

A few years ago, inline skating at ASU was forbidden, technically, despite the fact that hundreds of students rode their skates to and from classes. However, ASU police say those rules have been "relaxed" and that skaters won't be bothered as long as they aren't a nuisance.

We like to wander through the wide malls to University Drive, then roll up Palm Walk to the student recreation center, back west to Myrtle Avenue, then north again to University.

We even have a name for it: ASU, The Grand Tour.

The Valley is home to plenty of skate spots, but Tempe Skate Park, opened in 2005 as part of the Tempe Sports Complex, tops our list as a must-ride destination. The park features two levels and about 32,000 square feet of skatable space. The top level is a technical skater's dream, featuring stairs, rail ledges, a picnic table and a perfectly angled wall. The second level has one of the best (read: fastest) flow bowls in the state.

A local skateboarder told us he likes it because "there's a little bit of anything and because I don't have to call anyone but at least a couple of my friends will be there when I go." Online skate mag Concrete Disciples agrees, rating the park a 9 out of 10. No surprise considering Tempe's own Site Design Group — the folks responsible for internationally recognized parks like the world's largest concrete park (in the Grand Cayman Islands) and the first urban street plaza, located in Ohio — was behind the construction.

There are two kinds of paintballers: People who do it for fun once in a while, and people who do it as sport every weekend. Cowtown's paintball field is there to facilitate both. Open Saturday and Sunday from 7 a.m. to midnight, the park has a natural-terrain field where you can splatter your friends with paint and indulge your camo-wearing war fantasies, as well as a "hyperball" court for the more intense, serious paintball aficionado. Started in the U.K., hyperball is one of the fastest-growing paintball trends — taking the activity from simple fun to intense spectator "extreme" sport. At the hyperball court, sissies who are too scared to grab a gun for themselves (or folks who are shot early) can watch as players charge through tunnels and hide behind barricades fighting to be the last man standing. For $20 admission, plus a $5 gun rental, you can shoot 'em up all day.

Cowtown also offers special packages during the week for corporate team-building exercises. We're not so sure shooting the people from accounting is the best method of building trust, but it sure sounds like a good way to get out some of that pent-up office aggression. And the park's slogan, "Safest way to play," is comforting enough to get even the worst shots among us on the field.

The PRG is a wonderful community gathering spot that draws people in from every Valley city, so we forgive the intentional inaccuracy of its name. The Tempe gym is a place where we can get a buzz on the climbing, meet friendly people, and hang out for hours, and it's safer than drinking in a bar. It doesn't matter where you're from. It's a place to feel unified. Such a big tent needs a big name, so nothing else but Phoenix would work.

There are other gyms in the Valley, but none is as centrally located or has significantly better amenities. A wall might be slightly higher here, a bathroom nicer there, but the PRG puts everything you need in one convenient converted warehouse. Challenging bouldering wall? Check. Exciting lead wall? Got it. Big inverted wall? Yup.

It's getting even better. A small climbing-equipment store opened up there last year, and another bouldering room has been added atop the first one.

The best part is the friendly and helpful staff, who are happy to help a first-time climber learn how to tie a double figure-8 knot or shoot the breeze with a regular about local politics.

There should be a hundred places like this in town.

Sometimes we have no choice but to fly solo. Fortunately, AZ on the Rocks is there for us when the climbing bug bites.

This Scottsdale gym allows us to get high — about 30 feet — all by our lonesome by using mechanical auto-lockers mounted at the top of select climbing walls. It's almost like free-soloing, which is climber-speak for scaling vertical cliffs without a rope for protection, except that nagging risk of imminent death is eliminated.

The gym has plenty of regular roped climbs on which you'll need a belay partner. But with the auto-locker, once you climb to the top of the wall, you just leap into space. As long as you clipped the rope to your harness properly, the machine catches you after a couple of feet, slowing paying out the line until you're back on Earth. We got a serious little thrill the first few times we tried it — kind of reminded us of jumping off the roof into the pool when we were kids and our parents were busy inside the house.

The bouldering area is outstanding, too, with long overhanging sections and soft rectangular pads to place under each problem we're working.

The best part about climbing alone: We never have to worry some crazy climbing buddy will cut our rope, like in Touching the Void.

Aside from using an aircraft of some sort, good old-fashioned rock climbing is the only way to get to the top of Pinnacle Peak, that crab-claw-like block of pointy granite near the swanky Four Seasons Resort in Scottsdale.

This ain't no sport climb, with handy hardware pre-installed in the rock for safety. The lead climber will need a set of wire nuts, hexes or cams, so either be ready to use such equipment or climb with someone who is. That said, this is the perfect climb for the beginning leader.

(A strong word of warning, up-front: When we say beginner, we don't mean you, fool. Not 'til you've put some time in at an indoor rock gym, learned the ropes, as it were.)We led this long route in tennis shoes, many years ago, before all the houses came. It sure is a different view from the top now, but you can still see lots of desert thanks to the efforts of McDowell Mountain preservation activists.

Just take the main hiking trail to the climber's trail that leads to the summit blocks. Getting to the base of the summit route involves a non-technical scramble climb that begins in a wide crack. It's not every day we get to advance up a vertical slab by wedging our belly in a fat rock crack. (You may not be into such things, but for us, that's heaven.)

The summit route has plenty of solid placement options for your protective gear, and the climbing moves are sweetness and light even for older gym rats. Easy as it is, the route is about 150 feet long. The small summit is thrilling to perch on, and it takes a long rappel to get back on the ground. You'll feel you've earned your merit badge after this one.

We've climbed this one four times now. Never a dull moment.

The approach to the base splinters off of Siphon Draw Gully trail, up a steep catclaw-infested slope — you'll want to consult a local guidebook like Phoenix Rock 2 for the full scoop on the hike and climbing route.

We've come back to this allosaurus-like spire over the years because it's relatively easy and safe compared with other climbs in the Superstition Mountain Wilderness Area, which is like the Yosemite of Phoenix metro climbing. The Arizona Mountaineering Club climbs here frequently, and the anchor points are big chains connected to bolts drilled and cemented into the rock. The exciting part for lead climbers comes between those anchors. There are handholds aplenty, but not always much protection to clip the rope into, leaving open the possibility of a serious lead fall.

We rarely feel so focused as on the last pitch of the climb, a moonlike surface of ancient lava full of fractures and crescents and edges. We know we won't fall. But we could fall. And that would be bad.

Crying Dinosaur has surprises, like a shaded, horizontal crevice to crawl through. Or handholds that unexpectedly come loose.

We think the free-hanging, double-rope rappel at the end of the experience alone is worth the price of admission. Nothing like admiring the view while dangling with 100 feet of air below our feet.

We've gotten way more out of Camelback Mountain over the years than heart-stopping views and heart-pounding workouts. But be warned: What we're about to describe is not for the faint of heart. In fact, you're best off consulting a professional — or at least a guidebook — before embarking on this adventure, if you're a novice.

The sketchy rock-climbing routes on this centrally located desert mountain are mandatory test pieces for every aspiring local climber. Ridge Route, a climb on the western end of the headwall, is exposed and scary enough to change a climber's opinion forever about the difficulty levels found in climbing guides. But even better than the climb itself, which is quite high but has only a few interesting moves, is the rappel waiting at the top of the route.

At the top of the headwall near the sloping edge of a north-facing cliff are two tiny metal bolts drilled and cemented into the rock. We don't just feel butterflies as we step off that edge — it's like we just swallowed the whole Butterfly Pavilion at the Desert Botanical Garden. As unlikely as it seems, the ancient bolts are fine anchors for our long ropes, and we feel good enough to admire the shiny vehicle rooftops in the Echo Canyon parking lot and the Lilliputian hikers, so safe and unconcerned as we hang in the breeze on narrow cords of Kevlar.

What makes this rappel special is the perspective: At the start, we appear to be at least 300 feet off the ground. That's because the rappel ends on a conical point of rock that's still more than 100 feet off the deck — we have to climb down that part. For even more thrill, try it on a windy day. You'll feel like one of those baby spiders floating away at the end of Charlotte's Web.

Best Of Phoenix®

Best Of