A lot of uppity Valley golf resorts call themselves desert courses, but the reality of it is this: At those places, the whole point is to stay out of the desert.

Well, good luck with that at Snake Hole, which isn't so much a golf course as it is an undeveloped quarter section of gravel and scrub by U.S. 60. Indeed, it's just a chunk of desert that the Countryside RV Resort across the street decided to call a golf course. Where there isn't scrub is fairway, and the desert in the general vicinity of each cup is the green.

Like St. Andrews, this is a "bump-and-run" course. You bump the ball, which scratches the club, and the ball runs through the desert, scratching the ball. Balls rolling in the fairway tend to divert into the scrub, balls hit toward the scrub tend to divert toward the fairway. It's Midwestern Pasture Golf brought to the desert -- absolutely unpretentious, silly, hot, ugly fun. Viva la Apache Junction!

There's one caveat: You'll need to play with somebody who has his or her fifth wheel parked over at Countryside. (There are about 200 members of the course. Yearly dues are $5.) Snake Hole is a nine-hole, par-29 course, but it's safe to say nobody here cares about his score.

Readers' Choice for Best Golf Course: Troon North

You know your game is going to suffer when you find yourself discussing light and composition rather than club selection. Perhaps that's what makes the Dinosaur Course so difficult: It keeps you blathering on about Asher Durandesque panoramas as you thoughtlessly plunk drive after drive into the saguaros.

The immaculately tailored course wraps in around a little desert nub called Dinosaur Mountain. The aesthetic power, though, comes from how the foreground of twisting lime green fairways and desert prospects frame the Superstition Mountains just to the north. The color and gentle forms of a championship golf course play against the brutal majesty of the Superstitions. Such contrast dazzles the eye and . . . ARGHH! There went another two strokes!

If you want to score, keep your head down.

If you're not filthy rich, you can play the Dinosaur Course on off-season weekdays for $39. Even in August, the heat is bearable, thanks to winds whipping down from the mountains.

In season, though, greens fees will run you around $150, same as many of the Phoenix area's best courses.

So don't forget your camera -- and a couple dozen balls.

If your kids' idea of history is watching '70s-coifed Michael Landon preside over Little House on the Prairie, perhaps it's time to take them to the Big House in the Desert -- better known as Casa Grande Ruins National Monument.

Built around 1350, the four-story Big House sits at the center of a small Hohokam farming community that was part of a much larger network of Hohokam villages. The building may have been part observatory, part trade center, part food-storage bin -- archaeologists are still trying to understand its full significance to the community.

According to the comprehensive information center, the Big House was just a small part of a sophisticated culture that used an expansive canal system to prosper in a hostile environment. Sound familiar? They built the original Phoenix that then rose from the ashes.

By overcoming testicular cancer and trouncing the competition to win the Tour de France -- arguably the most grueling sporting event in the world -- Lance Armstrong taught us that nearly anything is possible. So, whether you want to live the Armstrong dream of winning the Tour or just to make it to the top of South Mountain, the best place to start your journey is at this Tempe cyclery.

Everything required for the pro cycling buff to shimmer and glisten in the peleton, to glide over mountain passes, to hammer in team time trials, to round dicey corners in criteriums, to take that first roll on the road to the Olympics, is available here, from team apparel and triathlon training diaries to Greg LeMond bikes and Eddy Merckx books. Domenic's Cycling staff makes vélo its mojo and offers custom bike building, ace advice and gracious service.

Readers' Choice for Best Bike Shop: Tempe Bicycle

The first brisk days of the year here come after so many torturous, white-hot months that they're truly cause for celebration. But where? Sipping hot cocoa poolside hardly evokes the spirit of the season, and those damned palm trees can really spoil an autumnal mood. The Farm is the place. Order lunch -- any of its hot soups is always a good choice -- on a picnic bench in a beautiful pecan grove. The trees provide all the atmosphere you need, with their leaves changing colors and falling into piles that are actually big enough to jump in. If you spent any childhood years in the East or Midwest, you're wiping away a tear right now, just thinking about it. And don't forget to bring enough friends for that impromptu, Kennedyesque game of touch football.

This may be the last year we can claim Black Mountain as our personal refuge. Development is creeping to the very edges of Carefree and Cave Creek; there's even a Target going in nearby. But for now, the mountain remains virtually deserted, and we often see only a pair of fellow hikers as we ascend the trail, 3,396 feet to the summit. Part of the challenge is finding the trailhead, but turn south on School House Road off Cave Creek Road, and you're there. It's a rugged hike, but we feel no pain: The terrain's breathtakingly beautiful, scattered with black slate and lush with natural greenery, and as we plant our flag at the top, we're treated to stunning views of the Valley below.

Sure, it may not be too long before some entrepreneur tries to plant a Starbucks at the summit, but for now, we claim this mountain as our own.

Your aging mom and dad (or your lazy friends from college) are in town, and it's time to show them the sights of Arizona. But your guests are feeling about as mobile as a scorpion in a Lucite paperweight, and they claim to have little interest in nature. What to do? Try this painless, super-scenic triple-destination tour. Begin by motoring up to Prescott in the morning for some casual antiquing at the shops in Town Square. Then treat your company to lunch on Whiskey Row before piling them back into the car for the curvy drive across Alternate Route 89 and up toward the mountaintop town of Jerome. You don't have to stop the car to appreciate the vistas from Jerome, as you continue on into Sedona, where your guests can enjoy dinner at one of several red-rock eateries and one of the most magnificent sunsets in the world. Stop off at one of the ever-changing events at Sedona Cultural Park before heading back to the Valley with a carload of happy and well-entertained tourists.

Finding your canine a refuge from the maze of cars and hot sidewalks grows tougher with each new acre of concrete poured in the Valley. But one small section of canal bordering Paradise Valley and Phoenix is guaranteed to please your pooch -- and, more important, you -- and you'll only have to cross one major street -- 32nd Street -- to walk it. On the western end of this hike, views of the Biltmore and duck families gathering on the water will convince even the most hardened critic that Phoenix is still a stunning area. At sunset, the canal reflects a silhouetted skyline that begs to be compared to the Italian countryside, and on a fully moonlit night, the banks of the canal reflect the iridescence of its lunar light source. Caveat: While the city has thoughtfully provided educational markers denoting each native plant on this trail, it skipped the trash cans and doggy pickup bags. So bring your own scooper and doggy bag.

From the makers of the Chandler and Gilbert skate parks comes what Valley skaters desperately need: a nice, clean, cool indoor place to skateboard. This isn't a rink where you do the Hokey Pokey and you turn yourself around. It's a 21,000-square-foot state-of-the-art training site offering a street plaza, vertical ramps, bowls, decks, rails -- all the cool features at parks across the country that have been designed by SDG. This park also offers lessons and camps and hosts special events. Unlike its outdoor counterparts, it has an admission fee and designated open skating times. But, hey, that keeps the crowds down. And you can consider it insurance against heat exhaustion and lightning strikes during the desert's cruelest skating months.

As a rule, we snicker at anything resembling a religious experience -- particularly one that's being used as the center of a friend's birthday celebration. But when another guest insisted, "Oh, be a good sport," we rolled our eyes and went to the unusual fete -- at a labyrinth located behind the Franciscan Renewal Center.

It wasn't so bad. Peaceful, actually. Not that walking a labyrinth will change your life -- at least not in our book. Still, we did find it invigorating, in spite of our cynical selves. The act of walking a labyrinth is an ancient one, practiced by people for centuries. It is not a maze; there is no way to get lost. The journey of twists and turns through the labyrinth is thought to represent the journey through life. Some people say they find their god; others believe the act can heal.

This particular labyrinth, located in a quiet patch of desert at the foot of Mummy Mountain, is constructed of river rocks; it is roughly the size of a small residential swimming pool. Each of the nine guests in our party took turns slowly walking between the rocks, winding around and around and ending up in the middle, where folks have left trinkets and notes scrawled on scraps of paper and business cards, à la Jerusalem's Wailing Wall. Then back again.

Maybe it was the beautiful, almost-spring day, maybe the company, maybe the labyrinth itself, but we felt happy and peaceful upon completing our short journey, which lasted no more than five minutes, round-trip. We didn't snicker once.

Around the outside of the labyrinth, people have used rocks to leave their own messages: "Love" -- "Peace" -- "Why not?"

Why not, indeed.