Miami is flat as a pancake, a place where having a mountain bike is kind of like having snow skis. But the Grove Skate Park is proof that man can make mountains out of wood and steel. For $10 on weekdays and $13 on weekends, you can roll through 10,000 square feet of perfectly constructed transitions, including a 28-foot-wide miniramp, quarter pipes, a beginner's course, and other obstacles for the brave bike rider. The skate park is located in Coconut Grove's beautiful Peacock Park, where there are also less-dangerous nature trails to explore (as long as you don't ride over a sleeping homeless person). Because the skate park gets mobbed on weekends with young skateboarders, we recommend mountain-biking there during the week, when it is usually empty. After riding around the wooden ramps and obstacles, cruise through the Grove. There are trails that lead toward the bay or in the opposite direction, toward the bars.

Sweet creeping Jesus! How did you get home? There's no way to know. One thing's for sure: You need pancakes and coffee. And a newspaper. And a place where no one is going to ask you any hard questions. So call in sick, put on a pair of sunglasses, and drive (slowly) to this fine, cheap eatery. Get the banana pancakes or the corned beef hash. They're good for what ails you. Everything is going to be all right.

Located at the nexus of the Coconut Grove universe, where Main Highway, Grand Avenue, and McFarlane Road intersect, this pizza joint comes with a front-row view of the Grove's sidewalk drama. There are sure to be high heels, high tempers, and high blood-alcohol ratios every day of the week. Pull up a chair outside around 2 a.m. on a Sunday and watch as attractive young people devolve into belligerent street performers smelling faintly of puke.

There's really no better feeling than lifting a 12-gauge cannon toward the heavens and blowing a flying object to smithereens.

Hemingway knew it.

And when he lived in Cuba, he shot trap and skeet with a little club called the Club Cazadores del Cerro in Rancho Boyeros.

The club came to Miami in 1968 and continues to provide good, clean fun for people with enough scratch to compete at shooting clay discs a couple of times a week.

These guys are nice. They like newcomers and pass the time between rounds of shooting by playing dominoes and bullshitting in Spanish. Food is served. For $75 a year, you can be a cazadore too.

They can laugh at our politics, they can laugh at our culture, they can laugh at our driving. But one thing visitors from more-established cities can't laugh about is our weather, especially when they're experiencing it over a tiki-torch-lit alfresco dinner consisting perhaps of cream-centered fresh burrata cheese with truffle vinaigrette-dressed haricots verts ($12), followed by seared local tuna with almond-spiked Catalan romesco sauce and herb salad ($18) at this sleek, breeze-cooled hotspot. Chef Mark Zeitouni's menu, featuring seasonal and organic ingredients, is divided roughly 50-50: half comprising simply grilled meats and seafood with mix-and-match sauces and sides, the other half consisting of the kitchen's mostly Mediterranean-inspired creations. These range from a vegan fritto misto of baby artichokes, shiitakes, and chickpea fries with egg-free garlic aioli ($10), to saffron-scented bouillabaisse ($26) or a fun trio of mini cheeseburgers ($16). Although dishes are mostly health-minded, anything one orders should be accompanied by a cone of the one purely sinful offering: thyme-and-sea-salt-sprinkled shoestring fries that could beat Belgium's best. There's also a pleasant indoor room with the same menu. But the spectacular waterfront outdoor setting is what takes this dining experience over-the-top, in only-in-Miami style.

Calle Ocho closes it off to the north, and Miracle Mile seals it to the south. Ponce de Leon Boulevard makes up its western wall, and Douglas Road binds it to the east. There's food, beer, and ice cream to be had along Giralda Avenue.

But make your way north and you'll feel like you've popped into the early-Nineties computer game Myst. The Gables suddenly becomes a collection of fountains, cadaverlike condo projects, and fake old architecture. The wide streets lay empty. Banyan trees and climbing vines loom in the bright streetlights. There are reflecting pools too. And pretty courtyards.

So go find 'em. Just you and your lady.

We hate to break it to you, but your tired old back yard isn't cutting it anymore. It's cramped, it's cluttered, and it's just not bringing the sexy for the kind of balls-to-the-wall bash you aspire to have. You want this to be the best party it can be, right? Then let's rent out the craziest, kookiest, most fun and fanciful venue in the city. Bro, we're talking about Wherehouse 2016. Yeah, we said Wherehouse. What do you mean you've never heard of it?

Okay, dude, imagine this: It's a warehouse that's, like, totally hidden away in the North Miami Beach business district. It's, like, covered in art — we're talking wall-to-wall murals, huge paintings, and furniture brushed in superbright colors. This artist guy named Bruce Grayson painted everything, and whoa — he must've been on acid when he came up with this shit. It's frickin' awesome. Big dance floor, lots of comfortable couches where we can mack it to the ladies, and the place can handle it all — from catering to the DJ. No more use for your shitty iPod party playlist, dude! No offense, all right? Your taste in music is cool and all, but not for this bash. We're gonna do this old-school rave style. Trust me, dude, it's gonna be epic. You with me? Dude?

Flamingo, Florida, is the end of the road — literally. Located 38 miles southwest of the Everglades National Park entrance, the area offers incredible hiking, canoeing, and bicycling. It's the perfect place to bird watch too. There's also a campground with (cold) showers and the thrilling knowledge you're as far south as you can get in the contiguous United States. But regardless of whether you're there for a day picnic or a weekend blowout, DEET is a must. Even riding the Snake Bight trail at a fast clip isn't enough to shake those aggressive Everglades skeeters. And if you're walking the trails, use a hat with a net, or a suit of armor.

For nearly 25 years, Raul Martinez ruled the city of Hialeah with a grin and a book's worth of pithy quotes. He was a charming Democrat in a solidly Republican city, a big thinker in a small town. He ushered in affordable housing and improved Hialeah's infrastructure, all while campaigning successfully for eight straight elections. He even pulled off a courtroom miracle. After prosecutors nailed him for corruption, el gigante had the ruling overturned by an appeals court. When he retired from office in 2006, it was hard to believe he'd be content with eating early-bird dinners and living the rest of his life on a golf course. Sure enough, in early 2008, he announced he was going to take on another Cuban-American icon: U.S. Congressman and Republican Lincoln Diaz-Balart. The contest is expected to be the talker of the year, and Raul seems up to the task. After all, he's got cojones, whether he's talking about why the district needs a Democrat or about his controversial history. "I would debate any fucking Republican about my past," Raul told the Miami Herald. "We'll have a debate mano a mano if they want to take me on. I'm going to take them on."

Last November, Matti Herrera Bower became the first Hispanic and first woman to be elected mayor of Miami Beach. The retired dental assistant's political roots trace not to some sleazy deal or romantic tryst (remember Alex Daoud?) but to the PTA. She knocked out Simón Cruz, a banker who raised loads more money, with 54 percent of the vote. Tagged the underdog, she pledged to stop overdevelopment and invest in parks and schools. Bower, then a commissioner like Cruz, scored the win in a runoff even after ethnic baiting by the Cruz camp; a flyer showcased her opposition to handing over $10,000 to the Holocaust Memorial after its organizers were late in applying for a grant. An estimated one-third of registered Beach voters are Jewish. An even bigger coup for Bower would be getting more Beach residents to vote. Only 23 percent turned out last fall.