Arts & Entertainment

The trail-weary tykes spent most of their time in a shaded sandpit, digging for dinosaur bones. (Success guaranteed; there's a permanent stockpile.) The lumpy vertebrae and other skeletal features emerge from the sand with a bit of effort, though they won't come out entirely. We sat on one of the benches surrounding the pit, watching our future paleontologists squeal with delight as they uncovered more bones. A timeless experience.

Ask Anna, age 9: "They have brownies, which are so good. And chocolate chip cookies, and ice cream — vanilla, chocolate and swirl. They have all different choices of desserts, too. Last time I went there, it was lemon meringue squares. I think they had oatmeal cookies. I didn't have any of those. I had the brownies and the chocolate chip cookies and the ice cream. And they're all really good. Some cookies are really hard and crunchy. I hate those kind. But these, like, they have crisp outsides, not crunchy, but just crisp and the inside is really soft and the chocolate chips are kind of melted, and the brownies are, like, so soft that if you tear it apart, some of it will stick together. They have an old-fashioned carousel, which you don't really see very often. They have a train ride where you can sit in the front and ring the bell. I like the Hopper because you go up up up up up and then down and up and down and up and down and as many of those as you want to. And such cool prizes. They have bicycles. It's all-you-can-eat and the pizza is delicious — like, I am not a girl who likes the curly macaroni, but I have got to say I have never had this good of pasta. It's just right. It has the perfect sauce, it has olives, and they have vegetarian stuff like salads, corn, which my friend Rocky says is disgusting — don't put that — because she was trying to see if she could have all healthy and she took one bite and I don't know how you write this, but she went like this [makes a face like the guy from Munch's The Scream] after too many rides on the Hopper. The only way to explain Amazing Jake's is that it's amazing. No, that's an exclamation mark."

Instead, head indoors for a Sonoran Rose facial, Native Hot Stone massage, Desert Rain loofah or Desert Nectar honey wrap. Or what the heck — get all four. You only live once, and what better place to blow your spending money than this lovely spa, featuring a sauna, hot tub and private spaces for all-out sunbathing, if you know what we mean. Rent a cabana, take some exercise classes and grab a mani-pedi. We're relaxed just writing about it.

And all for a good cause. Spa-tacular! Sign us up for next year.

Scottsdale is home to some impressive public art, a large deal of it near the Civic Center and the Scottsdale Museum of Contemporary Art. An early-evening self-guided tour is the perfect way to get to know your date (like whether she's ever been inside a museum).

Start with Knight Rise, one of only three sky spaces by the famed artist James Turrell open to the public in the United States. The space is breathtaking at sunset, when you can sit inside the sky chamber and watch the light change through the skylight at the top. It's quiet and a good place to actually get to know the person you're with.

After that, where you move to depends on your taste. There are more than 20 works of art throughout the Civic Center area to look for. We're partial to Robert Indiana's famous Love sculpture and the Hummingbird Sanctuary Garden a few blocks south.

Scottsdale's public art Web site gives a detailed description of each piece available along the tour so you can choose to plan your route, or just wander around and see what you find.

Afterwards, there are plenty of places nearby to feed your date. We like AZ88 and Orange Table, both located just a short hand-holding walk from the museum.

This is not to say that there are no creature comforts. The winter home of the Oakland Athletics has everything a true baseball nut requires: warm sun, cold beer, a perfectly groomed field, and cozy environs with not a bad seat in the house. If you like the real thing, go Muni.

Finally, with the Fiesta Bowl's departure to Glendale's new University of Phoenix Stadium in early '07, the Insight got a real home of its own. And, man, did it make the most of it. In its first year at Sun Devil, the Insight hosted the Texas Tech Red Raiders and Minnesota Golden Gophers in what looked to be a just-okay matchup. Uh, nuh uh. The Gophers led 38-7 in the third quarter when the boys from West Texas kicked it into overdrive and cranked out the biggest comeback in NCAA Division-I postseason history with a 44-41 win.

As delightful as the game was, we old-schoolers took even more satisfaction knowing that the Fiesta's now ensconced in Bill Bidwill's $200 zillion pinball machine and the Insight's in an honest-to-gosh open-air college-football stadium, with all the tradition and rah-rah (and ready access to Mill Avenue's bars) that entails.

Here's a guy who runs about 40 miles a night on the basketball court as he enters his mid-30s, all the while shucking and jiving with the ball, passing to this teammate and that. Making the art of basketball assists look like child's play. Never has anybody who looked so un-athletic been so, well, athletic! Experts say boxers are the greatest athletes, but the way Steve Nash handles the basketball, the way he cuts through defenders is truly phenomenal.

The Suns didn't win the championship last year, but it wasn't because of Nash. He did everything in his power to push his team ahead, even getting pushed gang-style by the Spurs' Robert Horry into the scorer's table in Game 4 of the Western Conference semifinals. That turned out to be the cheap shot heard around the world. Two Suns, Amaré Stoudemire and Boris Diaw, were suspended for the next game — which would have been a momentum contest under normal circumstances — and the Suns ended up losing the series. See, Stat and Three-D made a move toward the melee, which warrants an automatic one-game suspension under NBA rules. But we digress. Little Stevie jumped up from the floor after Horry's cowardly push and tried to go after the 6-foot-11 thug.

Thing is, Nash's so athletic that we'd like to see him in the boxing ring someday, and we're pretty sure that if the referee hadn't gotten in the way, and Stoudemire and Diaw hadn't made their advances, our hero would've leapt into the air and landed one on Big Shot Rob's sneering kisser. With his foot! Did we mention that Nash's even better at soccer than hoops?

Too bad the women's game isn't more universally popular. Maybe it's that two-tone ball. Or the fact that only a few of the players can dunk? In any case, it's a shame because Taurasi is the proverbial poet in high-tops, a much more mesmerizing player than men's star Nash. A few years ago, she was dubbed the greatest collegiate basketball player (male or female) of all time after leading the University of Connecticut women's team to three straight NCAA championships from 2002-04. And we'd say she's the best athlete in the women's game today. At almost 6 feet, Taurasi was the number one draft pick of the Phoenix Mercury in 2004, after being the youngest player on the women's Team USA in the 2004 Olympics that won the gold medal. In her second year with the Mercury, she was named a starter on the WNBA all-star team. She has since made three all-star appearances. In 2007, she led the Mercury to the franchise's first WNBA championship. The first player in history to break the 800-point mark in a single season (860) in 2006, she is one of a handful of players in her league who can take over a game.

And when she doesn't, she can get pissed. She got a two-game suspension this season for, um, disrespecting the refs in a loss to the Bill Laimbeer-coached Detroit Shock.

But her feistiness is a major reason we love her. She's not a superstar in her game because of skill and conditioning alone — it's the 'tude that puts her over the top.

The biggest star ever in the Italian league as a player and a coach, D'Antoni has brought European athleticism to our shores in the form of the modern-day Phoenix Suns. The Suns will run all but one or two teams in the league (which took their inspiration from the Suns) out of any gym, and that makes them damn exciting to watch. While the San Antonio Spurs continue to win championships, they're just plain dull with their predictable game of tossing the ball inside to Tim Duncan. They've never captured the imagination of basketball lovers.

Now, D'Antoni would've already won his/our NBA title if not for incredibly bad luck. Superstar Amaré Stoudemire was out for all but two games of the 2005-06 season with knee problems, and we all remember that cheap shot to Steve Nash that wound up being the end of last season's championship run. If Stoudemire and Boris Diaw hadn't been kicked out of the next game, there's no doubt in our mind that the Larry O'Brien Trophy would be residing here in The PHX. So say what you will about the lack of defense on D'Antoni's teams, Mike's going to take the Suns all the way next season. His defensive philosophy of not contesting every damn shot — so that momentum stays at a peak — will finally prevail.

But this native of Sonoma, California, is our choice for this award because he basically hits the bejesus out of the ball, again and again. He's also surprisingly agile for such a large man and — we really like this — he seems to be having a genuinely great time out on the diamond. Wallace was instrumental in the Sun Devils' 49-15 record last season and the accolades came his way in bundles. Among other honors, Wallace was the Pac-10 Player of the Year, and won a spot on the U.S. National Team that played at the Pan American Games in Brazil last summer.

Not bad for a guy from a little high school in Wine Country. Safe to say that this 21-year-old has made a memorable impact on everyone who's watched him play ball here for the past two years, especially those on opposing teams.

If Murphy coaches until he's 65 (he's 48 now) and continues to win games at the same pace, he will break the all-time NCAA record for baseball victories. Just this year, he was named to his second Pac-10 Coach of the Year honor, after helming the Sun Devils to the conference championship and their best season since 2000. The irascible coach, known for his tough dugout demeanor and ball-busting sense of humor, was hired by ASU from Notre Dame 13 seasons ago, and has carried on the tradition of Winkles and Brock to keep our hometown U a national baseball power.

This winning atmosphere is more than we can say for the other men's coaches on the Tempe campus over the past several years. (Women's basketball coach Charli Turner Thorne, with a 203-134 record, rivals Murphy in coaching excellence.) The ASU team has gone to the College World Series 20 times, including this year, when Murphy's team was eliminated by UC-Irvine. Murphy's a tough coach, but it's hard to find a player who goes through his program who doesn't respect and love him — once it's all over.

Last season, Mountain View became the first large school to win three state titles in a row since the defunct Phoenix Union won four from 1958 to 1961. The title marked Ernst's seventh as a head coach, including one with Chandler High back in 1976, when he was still in his 20s. Not yet 60, the lanky, professorial Ernst looks as if he's not going anywhere for years to come, a frightening notion for his opponents. His teams usually reflect his own personality — rarely flashy, but fundamentally sound and doggedly determined to win, especially against more athletic opponents. Now getting close to 700 wins, which makes him one of the winningest basketball coaches in Arizona history, Gary Ernst does it the right way, demanding a lot from his teenagers on and off the court, and getting it.

But what's going to make the 6-foot-5 Leinart really famous is what he'll do on the football field this year. Even under ridiculous Coach Denny Green, Leinart had a good (now, we didn't say great) first year in the NFL. He set a rookie record for passing (405 yards) in the Minnesota Vikings game. Then (oops!) he went a dismal 13-for-32 passing against the worst team in football, the Oakland Raiders. Overall, he threw for 2,547 yards and 11 touchdowns and finished with a 4-7 record.

But we're telling you — the best is yet to come. The Heisman Trophy winner and quarterback of a national championship team was an NFL rookie last year! Leinart is set to take the league by storm — his first game this season notwithstanding. He vows he's gotten his Hollywood-itis under control and is focused on playing football for the hometown boys. The other Cardinals love the guy, which is saying something for a second-year player. He's got charisma, but it's more than that. The hardened pros around him, including veteran running back Edgerrin James, realize he's come to play, and that — based on his extremely solid performance last year — will only get better under a good coach and behind an improved offensive line.

But first, there was basketball star John Amaechi, the former center who, early this year, became the first NBA player to publicly come out of the closet. He was here, he was queer, and we're still getting over it — our pride, that is, in having scored such a coup. Okay, so Amaechi (who spent five seasons with four different teams) was already a sports star, but people who don't follow athletics (read: most gay people) hadn't heard of him before he announced that he likes other guys. And, okay, so Phoenix didn't make him gay (at least we don't think so, anyway), and his connection to our hometown is relatively slender: He owns a vacation home in Scottsdale.

But we want to lay claim to John Amaechi (not to be confused with '40s movie star Don Ameche, who also lived in Scottsdale until his death a few years ago), because he's made some strides for gay rights; because he's one of only six professional male athletes to openly discuss his sexuality; and because his autobiography, Man in the Middle, was a bestseller. Plus he's kind of cute. We're proud!

First, it was a contract year for Byrnes, in that he was up for a new one, and because of his huge accomplishments on the field in '07, he expected to cash in. If not with the D-Backs, then somewhere else. Athletes don't last forever, and they have to make the most of a career year. Just before deadline for this item, we heard that Eric's agent and D-Backs management had finally come to terms. Thus, Byrnsie's here to stay — which is good because Byrnes is one of those players who adds swagger to a team. For Lou Gehrig's sake, he batted third (Micky Mantle batted third!) practically all season!

But back to the reason for this blurb . . . that unbelievable hair! Byrnes cuts his curly blond locks himself, just washes (we think) and lets them go. He says so all the time when the guys on Best Damn Sports Show Period — on which he appears frequently — rib him unmercifully about his goldilocks. The look goes along with the jeans with a hole in the knee and the faded T-shirts he favors when not in uniform. This is why, when he takes off his baseball cap, he looks as if he just stuck his tongue in a light socket. Now, Byrnes had a lot of competition for the Best Sports Hair Best-Of around here, notably from Suns captain Steve Nash. But as we gazed at Nash's shaggy mullet all winter — a far cry from the shoulder-length locks or the buzz-cut he once sported — we decided he didn't measure up to Eric.

Bell's amazing! He's got a reputation as one of the biggest badasses in the league. He's a tough defensive player who wasn't afraid to throw Kobe Bryant to the floor, even though it led to a suspension. Some call him psychotic! And yet there's not a blemish on that pretty face, not a chip in that Pepsodent grille. Maybe it's because nobody's actually punched Bell in that handsome kisser — yet — even though every single player he's guarded sure wanted to. Many have had to be restrained by teammates.

On a squad filled with guys who could win the good sportsmanship award every year — and who're mostly pug-ugly (Shawn Marion resembles a space alien, Steve Nash looks a little inbred, Boris Diaw's like a lanky leprechaun) — Bell stands out. Bill Laimbeer of the old Detroit Pistons "Bad Boys" is the last player we remember who's this consistently mean. Laimbeer was bigger and tougher (he had six inches and 60 pounds on Raja), but we get the impression that Bell's angry at all times on the court. Look at that eat-shit-and-die grimace he's always wearing! If he wasn't so damn good-looking, he'd scare us to death.

But not until he flashed a gold-toothed grin and uttered, "How you doin'?" in that lispy, high-pitched voice. It was Iron Mike! We wheeled around and extended our sweaty hand. We'd always wanted to shake the mitt of one of the great heavyweight champions of all time.

He seemed a very nice guy. This was at a time before Mike had gone to prison for rape in 1992. It was long before he'd dined on Evander Holyfield's ear in 1997.

Ratchet forward to 2003 to present, and here's Tyson training at Phoenix gyms, attending Phoenix Suns games, getting pulled over for a traffic violation (with dope in his car), and filing for bankruptcy, though he owns a Paradise Valley home. Okay, he's a joke now (he's got a large face tattoo, for the love of Joe Louis!), but it wasn't always so.

The product of a troubled youth in Brooklyn, Tyson was fighting as soon as he was talking. That lisp attracted bullies, and soon Tyson became the toughest kid in school (he was kicked out for brawling). He became famous as a professional for knocking out his opponents. He KO'd his first 19 pro challengers inside six rounds. He won 44 of his 58 pro bouts by knockout. Tyson was the only boxer to ever knock out the legendary Larry Holmes. He was the youngest heavyweight champ ever at 20 years old, and estimates of how much he earned during his career top out at $300 million. At 35, his quest for another championship ended when Lennox Lewis knocked him out.

He's retired from the competitive ring but still makes bank doing exhibition bouts around the country. We saw him at a Scottsdale mall several months ago, and he was looking pretty much the same as he did on that L.A. street when he was at his peak — except for the face tattoo.

Also, didn't the former two-bit actress (Dirt Nap, A League of Their Own) — whose biggest role ever has been as hockey-legend armpiece — know her husband's image would be tarnished by the company he keeps at home? Especially when a family member bets on sports.

The good thing is, Jones allegedly bet at least $10,000 on football games, not hockey games, according to New Jersey authorities. The gambling investigation targeted suspended Coyotes assistant coach Rick Tocchet, and we've got to wonder what the hell Jones was doing mixed up in the same sordid mess as her husband's assistant — speaking of the company one keeps?

Authorities say Jones violated no laws and may merely be called as a witness against others. Tocchet's admitted to promoting and conspiring to promote gambling in New Jersey in the form of two guilty pleas. Not long ago, he was sentenced to two years' probation. Here's hoping that the Great One keeps his wife on a tighter leash — and not in any kinky way — because we' d hate to lose him. He's just what the Coyotes need to someday gain respectability.

There were several warning signs that Wade was a timebomb about to explode. He had threatened ASU gymnast Trisha Dixon and soccer player Haley von Blommestein, his girlfriend, over a period of weeks, and Koetter let it go. Wade was too important to Koetter's need for a winning season to suspend from the team before a violent crime was committed. With knowledge that Wade had possibly threatened Dixon's life, ASU allowed Wade to practice three times with the team in 2005 before he brandished a pistol at Brandon Falkner outside a Scottsdale nightclub. One witness said he was holding the gun gangster-style. The weapon discharged (Wade said accidentally), but the result was that ex-ASU football player Falkner was dead. Wade apparently acted in a jealous rage because Falkner had been chatting with von Blommestein minutes before.

Wade was sentenced in Maricopa County Superior Court this summer to 20 years in prison for second-degree murder.

The 43-year-old Johnson — who ranks up there with Ty Cobb historically as one of the biggest jerks in the game — maybe had one good year left. And this season was it. Now he won't be back until next season? Well, we guess the D-Backs are stuck with him, no matter how decrepit he'll be by spring training 2008. When the New York Yankees are through with a player, that should tell you something. They're the most successful franchise ever, and they didn't get that way by running a rest home for old and infirm pitching greats. When you're used up, you're out! But the D-Backs front office just had this compulsion to bring back one of the stars of the team's 2001 World Series campaign in the midst of rebuilding the lineup with young talent.

Look, we're not saying Randy Johnson wasn't the bomb. He was! He's a future Hall of Famer who's got the third-most strikeouts in history. With 284 wins, he's a five-time Cy Young Award winner. In his prime, he could throw a fastball more than 100 miles per hour, and his signature pitch was a blistering slider. Batters felt like the proverbial Davids when the height of the pitcher's mound was added to Johnson's 6-feet-10. We all watched him throw a perfect game (his second) in 2004 against the Braves.

The only reason to keep Johnson around at the money he commands — $9.15 million in '07 — would be to see if he could break Nolan Ryan's 5,714 career strikeout record, or to see if he could become one of the elite pitchers to win 300 games. And with the herniated disc problems he's faced over the past few years, those feats could take more seasons than even a ridiculously charitable team is willing to finance. But more than that, we deserve a consistent winner here again, and the Unit's no longer part of the recipe for that.

Unlike other Giants players, Bonds had personal trainers in the clubhouse and even had his own easy chair there. He could be openly derisive to fellow players. Even imperious. He played when he wanted and took himself out of games when he wanted. Even his manager wasn't allowed to question Bonds. But this was nothing new; he sneered at fans and at the press through much of his career. He's never even entertained the notion that he chose to become a celebrity and, therefore, owes his riches to his public.

Though steroid use in the majors has been played up by the sports press as a major scandal, we couldn't care less. Sports is entertainment, and if performance-enhancing drugs help players be more entertaining, then so be it. Comic George Carlin once half-joked that athletes should be required to take steroids, to (ahem...) level the playing field. Carlin hit on the problem with performance-enhancing drugs. How can the playing field be anywhere close to even when some players use and others don't? Is Bonds' record as valid as Aaron's because Barry beefed up from the skinny young man he was at ASU to the hulking best power hitter of all time? We were a kid in Atlanta when Hank Aaron broke Babe Ruth's record, and Hammerin' Hank couldn't have been more revered for his achievement. He was loved and respected by teammates and fans — even though the Jim Crow South wasn't that far in the past.

Too bad Barry Bonds' achievement was greeted with little more than a yawn this year because of Bonds' shrugging his steroid-enhanced shoulders at Hank's legacy of sportsmanship, as well as at us fans.

Yeah, it didn't happen, and, yeah, a .500 season ain't nothin' to brag about. But for the lowly Cardinals, it would've been a grand first step. Now we have real reason for hope, with the moronic Dennis Green finally kicked out of Bidwill Land and new coach Ken Whisenhunt in harness as his replacement. Funny thing is, the Cards could've had better than an 8-8 season with Leinart and James aboard, if not for Green's dumbass coaching decisions. Who can forget the Chicago debacle, when our men in red and white blew a 20-point lead in 22 minutes and lost to the Bears, and Denny lost his mind at the postgame press conference in front of a national audience?

We predict that we won't be seeing any of this crap from Whisenhunt, the former offensive coordinator for the Steelers who engineered an unlikely Super Bowl XL victory for Pittsburgh after the 2005 regular season. Known for his well-timed trick plays, Whisenhunt is a proven winner, and a coach who has that tough Steeler veneer. He's just who's needed to bring second-year QB Leinart, arguably the best young signal-caller in the league, into much-anticipated prominence. Whisenhunt worked through the off-season to develop a personal relationship with his players, and we think his hands-on approach to football will pay dividends. Green was such a pompous ass that he seldom spoke directly to his players, preferring to pass along criticisms through his assistants. The players hated him.

The biggest question, as always with the Cardinals, is the offensive line. A few minor moves have been made by Whisenhunt, but last year's line would've been good enough to get the team into the first game of the playoffs. With Whisenhunt, the Cards shall overcome. We pray.

Kerr has long been one of the best minds in basketball, which could be seen from his deft commentary on TNT (daft when it came to his "Steve Wonders" segments). The Grant Hill signing aside, it remains to be seen if he can make the monster trade that will make the Suns a dynasty-in-the-making, but we believe he can, either this year or next. Those who argue that Steve Nash has only one more good year must not be watching him play much — he runs rings around guys 10 years younger. Kerr has some time, and he understands — as a player who won four NBA championships in a row — how a machine like Nash operates.

Plus, there's no reason he won't do something in the clutch to give the Suns the charge they need during the next regular season. Kerr was one of the greatest clutch players in history, you know. He made the game-winning shot in Game 6 of the Chicago Bulls' championship over the Utah Jazz that gave the Bulls back-to-back championships. He won the three-point shootout at the 1997 All-Star Game. After Kerr was traded to the San Antonio Spurs, he helped eliminate the Dallas Mavericks in the 2003 playoffs with four clutch three-pointers. He retired that year as the league's all-time leader in three-point shooting percentage for a season (.524 in 1994-95) and career (.454). Always cool under pressure — there's hardly ever a hair out of place — Kerr's the ingredient that's been missing from the Suns' cocktail. D'Antoni was handling the GM duties last season, and he was a miserable failure at it (head coaching and GM-ing are impossible for one guy to do)!

Nothing much happened in the off-season, and the team was pretty much in the same position it'd been in a year before. The blond bomber — who's a long-time pal of owner Robert Sarver and thus has his hand in Sarver's wallet pocket — will change all that in 2007-08.

In another scenario, it was Shawn Marion instead of Stoudemire in the roundabout. While we could have gotten behind a deal that involved Marion (frequently a playoffs no-show) for Garnett, a 7-foot former Most Valuable Player, Stoudemire's a different story. What a mistake that would've been! For starters, Garnett's 31 and Stoudemire's 24. Seven years is a lot of mileage in the NBA.

In fact, the idea was so wrong-headed that we've got to believe that it was some kind of negotiating ploy by savvy new general manager Steve Kerr. Maybe Kerr meant to send a message to Amaré that he'd better play nice with his teammates because (dum-de-dum-dum) nobody's sacred. There was oil-and-water talk inside the Suns organization that both he and Marion didn't try to fit in last season. You know, bad chemistry.

In Marion's case, whining that he's underappreciated was frequently mentioned. But not trying to fit in is about the only negative thing anybody could say about Amaré Stoudemire, a guy who came off microfracture surgeries on both knees to return to All-Star caliber. In fact, he helped lead the Western Conference to victory in the big game with a 29-point, nine-rebound performance. For the regular season, he averaged 20 points and 9.6 rebounds a game, and for the playoffs, it was 25.3 and 12.1. Talk about the clutch producer in the postseason that Marion isn't! Stoudemire played gingerly on those gimpy knees at the beginning of last season, but by the end, he'd returned to his old form, slam-dunking over some of the tallest players in the game.

At 6-feet-10, Amaré's a little undersized for a center, but he's so dominant inside that he's made patsies of the likes of Shaquille O'Neal and even Tim Duncan. Former NBA great and TNT commentator Charles Barkley, who calls Amaré "Hellboy," has predicted that the former rookie of the year will be MVP any season now. We just hope it's the one coming up.

That is why the Suns' new general manager, Steve Kerr, made signing Hill his top priority in the off-season. Though he's been in the league for 13 years, Hill hasn't worn himself out. He's spent most of his time in the weight room, in rehab, and as a student of the game. His legs still have that spring of youth in them. As proof, after sitting out his entire fourth season and being severely hampered by nagging injuries in all but one other season with Orlando, he returned last year to play in 65 of 82 pre-playoff games and averaged 14.4 points, 3.6 rebounds, and 2.1 assists. This is down from his career average of 20 points, 6.9 rebounds, and 5.3 assists per game, but it's proof that he's back from his injuries. If the Suns play him sparingly at small forward, he could be the shot in the arm the franchise needs to get past the Spurs and the Mavericks and into the NBA finals.

As a former point forward and NBA assists leader for four seasons among non-guards, he's also a ball-handler who will give Steve Nash much needed relief.

What a soundbite he'd be! No more of that wishy-washy politspeak from the likes of Janet Napolitano. Wouldn't it be refreshing to have him yelling to the Capitol press corps, "I am not a role model!" It would be eyebrow-raising, because when have you ever heard of a wack-job politician not thinking he's indeed a role model, and don't you forget it? Honestly!

That's what we like about Sir Charles. Even when he's criticizing our beloved Phoenix Suns for lack of defense, we know he means it. We didn't say he was correct or that he wasn't drunk when he said it, but we know it was his honest assessment. He's famous for speaking his mind, like when he put himself inside 7-foot-6 Yao Ming's head on Yao's coming to America: "Whew, even white guys can play over here!" Or when he said before his All-Star Game foot-race with 70-something referee Dick Bevetta last season: "I have nothing against old people; I want to be one myself one day." In a town full of sports legends (Muhammad Ali lives here, the greatest hockey player of all time, Wayne Gretzky, coaches here, and every month or so we hear about a Kirby Puckett or a George Mikan dying here), Charles Barkley is our legend. He golfs (badly) here; we've seen him at our local Starbucks. He's also the only sports legend in our midst to have taken our Suns to the NBA finals, albeit in a losing effort in 1993 to Michael Jordan and the Chicago Bulls, despite his having declared to Jordan that it was "destiny" for the Suns to win.

Like we say, he's not always right. The most dominating power forward in the league during his salad days, he was named MVP for the 1992-93 season. Barkley retired seven years ago as the fourth player in the history of the professional game to rack up 20,000 points, 10,000 rebounds, and 4,000 assists.

In case you haven't noticed him lately, the one-time silver-tongued Adonis of the ring has been humbled by Parkinson's disease. There are several names that seem to wind up on best-athlete-ever lists — Pelé, Michael Jordan, Jim Thorpe — but Ali's mentioned the most. He was dubbed Sportsman of the [20th] Century by Sports Illustrated. He's a three-time world heavyweight champion and the winner of an Olympic gold medal as a light heavyweight. Of his 56 pro bouts, he won 35 by knockouts. Think about how hard it is to be a boxing champ. Not only must you be an incredible physical specimen, especially in the weight class in which Cassius Clay-turned-Ali fought, you must be fleet of foot, more conditioned than an NBA point guard, and possess the street smarts of a drug kingpin. Ali had the best combination of that. He wasn't the most muscular fighter in the ring in his era, but he made up for it with style: You know, he "floated like a butterfly, stung like a bee."

Until his talents began to fade, opponents had trouble landing a blow to his head because of his quickness — which is why, he would brag to the likes of sportscaster Howard Cosell, he remained so "pretty." He didn't suffer his first professional loss until Joe Frazier floored him in his 32nd fight. He bounced back after that and knocked out Foreman in the "Rumble." He wound up losing three of his last four fights to Leon Spinks, Larry Holmes, and Trevor Berbick.

Though he never lost by a knockout, opponents started landing hard blows to his head in his latter fights. Whether his Parkinson's (a malady sometimes caused by sharp blows to the noggin) resulted from his boxing career is a subject of great debate.

There's something inherently soothing about watching those little white balls roll around their cage while you hope your number will be called. And if you're going to gamble, we feel it's a lot smarter to buy in at a bingo game for $5 than waste hours of life (and a lot more money) at a poker table.

When the bingo itch strikes, we don't so much want to play in a church with a bunch of saggy old ladies. No, we'd much rather go somewhere we can drink and smoke while waiting for our numbers to pop up. That's why Fort McDowell Casino is perfect. It's got the biggest bingo room in the state and includes a smoking section. On top of that, there are games starting as late as 3:15 a.m. on Fridays and Saturdays — sounds a little weird, but late at night in a bingo room is prime people-watching.

The league is part of the 19-region Fast Plastic association, which grants division winners a spot in the wiffle national championships (this year's version was held in Austin, Texas). Don't fret if you can't recruit enough rubber-armed pitchers or bases-clearing sluggers. Just hit up the organizers and they'll match you with (hopefully) a fellow Warren Spahn or Ted Kluszewski. Tournaments are held outdoors at Cactus Park and feature round-robin duels and a home run contest. Chicks most definitely dig the long ball, and, depending on the woman, they may already dig the plastic, too.

"Troon North," came the immediate response. "The service is outstanding; all employees are well-trained and appreciate great customer service. The course is in incredible shape, tee to green. The fairways are immaculate, the sand traps well-manicured, and putts roll on the fast greens true to the line. The views of Pinnacle Peak and Four Peaks are spectacular."

We're sold, and we don't even like to golf. Maybe that's because it really is all about the course — of course. This one'll run you $75 or so, per player, and that's in the dead of summer. Could be hundreds in-season. But hey, great view. And bragging rights.

Our favorite training ride, from Town Lake and Mill Avenue to Scottsdale and Chaparral roads, can be done entirely on these paths, for a decent calorie-burning distance of about 15 miles. The scenery's terrific the whole way, and varied enough to keep it interesting, going past rippling lakes and grungy county island properties and pricey Scottsdale townhomes. The path's northern end is near Shea Boulevard, and it can be accessed from a number of points between there and Town Lake for an enjoyable ride of any distance.

Construction of the new condos just east of Scottsdale Road at Town Lake knocked out the path for much of last year, but it reopened in the spring. We're waiting eagerly for the new pedestrian bridge (it'll be okay for bikes, too) scheduled to go up next year over Town Lake, which will make the ride even more pleasant.

About half the time, we'll finish this ride by taking Dobbins Road to South Mountain Park's Central Avenue entrance and steaming up to the radio towers before heading home. We love the winding summit road because it's hard, and there's nothing like the burn we get from doing it after the round-the-mountain ride. Of course, free-spinning down the hill is one of life's greatest joys. From our home, this is about a 50-miler — enough to justify a couple of 44-ounce drinks and a long nap.

To get to the park from the Superstition Freeway, take Ellsworth Road way south to Hunt Highway, turn left, then right on Thompson Road, then another right on Phillips Road. It's a long trip even for those of us in the heart of the metro area, but it's worth it for the raw beauty of this 10,000-acre park.

We had fun looping around on eight miles of single-track, old jeep trails and sandy washes. A couple of the downhills may be challenging for the newest riders, but otherwise San Tan consists of tame, but fun, stuff.

Plenty of other visitors were here on the day we visited in midspring, despite the remote location. But the desert has its way of swallowing us, and the eye-pleasing vistas sear in our memory for recall during those long hours in the office. The landscape out here is unburnt, classic Sonoran desert full of fuzzy cholla cactus and distant high bluffs. We won a first-place trophy for our soul.

Mountain bike manufacturers go here when they want to test their equipment to the max. Only experts or fools take the trail all the way from Pima Canyon near the Pointe South Mountain to San Juan Lookout, 15 miles distant, but moderate riders should push themselves to at least sample the first couple of miles. After grinding up the steep gravel switchbacks, which are punctuated by rock steps higher than sidewalk curbs, the easy trails you'll ride will seem a lot easier.

National Trail is a gift to the Phoenix area, and it's as free as the desert breeze, thanks to city taxpayers. We try to be courteous to other park users even as we're careening down the hills.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

We've seen bighorn sheep and coyotes on the way to the amazing summit, which is a giant block of white quartz. Phoenix is like a gold and green tapestry in the distance.

We just wish it were closer. The exit off Interstate 10 at Jackrabbit Trail is remote enough from just about any other Valley location, but that's just the first step. You still have to drive another 10 miles south, then take a twisting desert road for high-clearance vehicles only to the trailhead.

But Quartz Peak is only sort of remote. Once, when we did this hike in early June, there were literally no human beings around for miles. Yet just over the hill was a buzzing metropolis of more than 3 million people. That's kind of nifty, if you think about it.

But it's hard to take the TV on a hike, and our snack bag gets heavy, which is why were delighted to learn about Maricopa County's hike series, put on at parks including Estrella, Usery Park, and McDowell Mountain.

But this isn't your typical Sierra Club-style hike. There was the Elvis Memorial Hike (prizes to people — and dogs — dressed like the King), the Snake Feeding hike, and even a hike devoted to scat, where a ranger taught participants to identify different kinds of animal feces. (No shit.) That one's definite motivation to leave the iPod at home — you wouldn't want to miss a word of that tour and step in the wrong place!

We have the perfect solution for 'tweeners: a day hike at Papago Park. For most Phoenicians, the park is easily reached because of its central location, and it's accessible in other ways, too. Unlike places where existing pathways govern your route, Papago has no formal marked trails, so you can wander where you please for as long (or as short) as you please. There are two regions that are especially amenable for those with younger kids: the area surrounding the landmark named Hole-in-the-Rock (use the turn-in for Phoenix Zoo) and the one located near the picnic ramada on West Park Drive (see the map at the Web site noted above).

The first, in addition to some easy trekking over mild hills, offers access to the Papago lake and all of the many child-captivating creatures who live there. The second is a flat-as-a-pancake washboard plain that provides ooh-aah views of the surrounding buttes and a bounty of wild cottontail bunnies darting in and out of the brush.

Hiking boots are not required, and — oh, did we mention that there are bathrooms?

We enjoyed squeezing through the tight bends and narrow chutes of the Pirates Den with our oldest explorer — a far better experience than the sterile plastic crawl-tubes of other kid entertainment destinations. One note of caution: Although adults are allowed just about everywhere the kids can go, we dropped down one of the big slides so fast that we were afraid of crushing whatever — or whomever — was at the bottom.

We try to make it here every third month or so. The $7 per kid and $3 per adult is on par with taking the family out to a movie, except the kids might need a nap when they get home. We know we certainly need one.

Actually, if you must know, we were enjoying ourselves immensely! There's no better lawn in town for an egg hunt than the beautiful expanses at this well-manicured resort. Our toddlers were delighted with the enormous Elmo and Cookie Monster that roamed the grounds, the face painting, and the beautiful day in general. Best of all, we didn't have to spend hours rooting around in our own backyard for rotten eggs!

It's an impressive and relatively safe operation thanks to its purchase by Golfland Entertainment Centers Inc. a few years ago. Apart from the main attraction, there are 15 water slides and two low-key play pools for infants and toddlers, (where you can find out if those silly "swim diapers" really work as advertised). Workers do a good job managing the hordes of visitors, many of whom are unruly brats, and somehow prevent mass drownings in the wave pool, which is large and dangerous enough to deserve respect.

Big Surf can still be something of an adventure. If you don't get there early, you might not secure that crucial shady spot on the "beach." Although it claims to open at 10 a.m., the workers made us wait twice last summer in the heat for another 30 to 45 minutes before we could get in the water — not a fun thing to do with little kids. And the crack teenage staff at the door searched our bag thoroughly for food and drinks. That way, park visitors can't avoid the overpriced food counters. We had to smuggle some juice boxes in our pants pocket. Cowabunga!

Try A Child's Joy, which you'll think could be more aptly named A Parent's Joy after you've done business with them. This one-stop party planner has everything you might want to rent for your little darling's birthday or bar mitzvah. Inflatable slides, bouncy rooms, mechanical rides? No problem. Clowns, jugglers, face painters? Those start at a measly $120 an hour. A Child's Joy is home to enough livestock to populate several petting zoos, and their friendly party planners are ready to help you organize the best bash your kids have ever attended.

Other parents will hate you for pulling off such a cool party, so long as you don't tell them how easy it was, thanks to your new pals at A Child's Joy.

If you're looking for something between a ride in the space shuttle and a shrug of acknowledgment, call up the good folks at McCormick-Stillman. In addition to having the best play area in the Valley, the Railroad Park offers a square deal on parties that both your kid and your wallet will appreciate. The nice price — $57 plus $3 per child guest — includes the use of a covered ramada, various games facilitated by two "recreation leaders," free rides on the Paradise & Pacific Railroad and the Charros Carousel, a Railroad Park T-shirt and paper engineer hat, ice cream, and punch. All you bring is the cake and the kid. See? That was easy.

"I live in an apartment and it's great to have a place she can run around at," says Corzilius. "The park is a god-send." We're sure Rev. Beecher would agree, Fred.

It shouldn't be surprising that the biggest and best dog park is located on the side of Tempe that has the fewest residents — in swanky South Tempe, not the aptly named Sin City district near Arizona State University. We got lost trying to find it the first time, in part because the north-south Hardy Drive doesn't go through from Guadalupe to Elliot roads. The sports complex is so big, we were lost after we got there, too. We thought one of the fenced-in softball fields was the dog park until our old pooch started straining at her leash, pulling in the right direction.

Dogs will find plenty of room to roam here — and we usually sit on top of one of the picnic tables to avoid the slobbery, though friendly, snouts that come our way. The grass was in perfect shape in early June, and gravel areas break up the open space and give the mutts something else to explore. Gates also divide the park's middle, but they're always propped open, a couple with a floppy brown Lab told us. When we were there on a weeknight at about 8 p.m. (it's open from 6 a.m. to 10 p.m.), the place was full of flouncing Fidos and their owners. Rosy went home exhausted.

Don't worry about a fishing license — you're trespassing, anyway, so it won't do you much good should the boys in blue notice you. But a couple of poles, some worms or chicken liver, and a six-pack of Old Style provide a few hours of good times, right in the middle of this desert metropolis.

Multiply that vehicular impotence a hundredfold and you've got Sisters on the Fly, a clan of adventure-seeking chicks who la-la-la around the country, clogging up traffic arteries with their "cowgirl caravans" — 20-plus flotillas of vintage, custom-painted Shastas, Alohas, Fireballs, and Airstreams.

The group was formed in 1998 by a couple of fly-fishing sisters who decided to bring some friends along on their next field trip. The concept caught on, and the Sisterhood now numbers about 630, with members ranging in age from 21 to 87, and a thriving Arizona chapter. The annual membership fee is $35, which gets you a personalized Sisters on the Fly vehicle sticker, a subscription to the group's newsletter, and a permanent black mark in the hearts of non-trailer drivers everywhere.

There's no fee for animal care, but donations are appreciated and graciously accepted. And don't be afraid if Kieran's eccentric mom greets you, even when she's dolled up in her cute and colorful curlers.

Outdoor activities center on the large pool, while indoor options feature a clubhouse with billiards and darts as well as the weekend-only Bare Buns Café, serving snacks and coffee drinks. Tuesday nights are potlucks, and there's always a rockin' Saturday-night dance shindig celebrating holidays such as Earth Day or themed events like the Bunny Hop, in which you can actually wear something like rabbit ears or an Easter bonnet to the dance. The curious can download a one-time-only guest pass online, while mainstayers can take advantage of the lifetime membership.

Oh, okay, she jumped all over you for this sudden and unquenchable need to be a potential organ donor. But a guy's gotta do what a guy's gotta do, right? Yeah, baby!

And what a route you found, one that scoots you, in almost no time, far from the maddening crowds of our metropolis. Here's how it goes: From central Phoenix, get up to the 101 East, either from Interstate 17 or 51 North. Exit at the Princess/Pima Road offramp and follow the signs from Pima Road North to the lake. The views of the mountains and desert are as good as it gets around here, and the traffic, thankfully, is usually sparse. By the time you're halfway there, the city seems far, far away. Stick on your helmet (please!), watch out for the lame-brains driving all around you, and get your motor running.

From Scottsdale Road, head north. Don't take the freeway. If you must, cut over to Hayden to avoid mid-Scottsdale traffic, then dip back to Scottsdale Road and head up to Carefree. In those parts, Scottsdale Road turns into Tom Darlington (not the only cute name in the town — check out some of the other street signs, but only if you're a passenger; we're not trying to get anyone killed here) and you'll turn left (west) on Cave Creek Road from Darlington. That takes you through the picturesque home of some pretty good junk shops, as well as the Satisfied Frog brew pub and a number of biker bars (again, we're not telling you to get a beer; just sharing the info) and then, outside that town, you'll hit a nice expanse of desert.

Keep driving and, eventually, you'll hit the outskirts of Sunnyslope, then central Phoenix, when Cave Creek runs right into Seventh Street. It's a half-loop you don't hear much about in these days of new freeways, and it might not be the quickest way to get to your destination (and maybe not the best bet if you actually have a destination in mind) but it'll show you a part of the city we bet you haven't seen.

The peak of the mountain (yes, the one with the big "S" on it) is only 2,104 feet, but what makes this view so great is that you don't have to do a bunch of climbing or hiking to see it. You can just drive your car up the paved road into the park, and voilà! There's your scenic view. Visitors can sit on stone benches and soak in a sunset while marveling at our city's sprawl (on a clear day, you can't see forever, but you can see downtown) and relaxing amidst the park's major plant species (which include bursage, palo verde trees, and more than 10 varieties of cacti).

The only drawback is that it's safer to visit this area during daylight; while the city lights are superbly striking from the mountaintop, the park does get its share of shady nighttime squatters and accompanying problems. This is a great place to bring a date for a picnic on an overcast day, but you should probably go elsewhere for a late-night make-out session.