Sports & Recreation

Without doubt this park is the greatest gift ever bequeathed to the public in Miami's history. Back in 1940 the Matheson family, which had owned most of Key Biscayne since early in the century, agreed to a deal proposed by Dade County Commissioner Charles Crandon. The family would donate the northern two miles of its holdings for use as a public park. In exchange the county would construct a causeway from Miami to the island. As Crandon later wrote, the Mathesons "recognized that it would make the remaining land they owned immensely valuable once the causeway was built and in use, which is exactly what happened." The 975-acre park, named in honor of the commissioner, opened along with the causeway in 1947. Since then the Mathesons have been vigilant in protecting their gift from commercial exploitation by government bureaucrats hungry for revenue. Stretching from the Atlantic to Biscayne Bay, Crandon Park comprises more than most people realize: a marina, boat ramps, moorings, and a dive shop adjacent to Sundays on the Bay restaurant; Crandon Golf Course and its driving range, clubhouse, pro shop, and restaurant; the sprawling tennis center and its associated facilities; various storage and maintenance yards; Calusa Park and its tennis courts, playground, and recreation center; a county fire station; the lovely Crandon Park Gardens (the old county zoo); the new Marjory Stoneman Douglas Biscayne Nature Center; an extensive kids' play area featuring a grand carousel; rental cabanas, concession booths, and many picnic areas and athletic fields along the park's eastern half; three significant archaeological sites; three ecological preserves of several hundred acres; and of course the world-famous beach itself. Need we say more?

For the uninitiated: Those people dressed in white and huddled together on the grassy area over by the south bank of the Miami River are not health-care workers on a break. They are students and practitioners of Santería, the Afro-Cuban religion whose spiritual emissaries, or orishas, rule all facets of man and nature. Believers can call upon these deities for guidance and assistance. It's no surprise that Miami, with its large Cuban population, should have lots of Santería devotees, but what is it about Sewell Park that draws the faithful? Look no further than the Miami River and its orisha, Oshún. Here's what OrishaNet, a comprehensive Santería Website (www.seanet.com/~efunmoyiwa/ochanet.html), has to say: "Oshún rules over the sweet waters of the world, the brooks, streams, and rivers, embodying love, fertility. She also is the one we most often approach to aid us in money matters.... All who are to be initiated as priests, no matter what orisha rules their head, must go to the river and give account of what they are about to do." Down near water's edge, hidden among the large rocks that form the bank, you can often find offerings to Oshún: candy, fruits, candles, and other favored objects.

Tucked away behind the exquisitely funky American Legion Post No. 29, this Miami city park is little more than a ramshackle public boat ramp and dock. But it's quiet. And it's always kissed by a soothing breeze. And it provides a lovely view of several of the spoil islands made famous by their role in Christo's 1983 conceptual project Surrounded Islands. If you have a vessel of some sort, you can navigate over to the islands for a picnic. If not, you can simply enjoy gazing at them from the mainland. Accessible from Biscayne Boulevard at NE 64th Street, the park is open every day from sunrise to sunset.

If Kendall Drive is the clotted artery of southwestern unincorporated Miami-Dade, the neighborhood of Calusa is an oasis amid suburban sprawl. Pull off Kendall at SW 133rd Avenue and head south one block. All of a sudden the strip malls fall away, the blank-block apartment buildings disappear, and you're in a haven of green space and single-family homes built around the Calusa Country Club golf course. Wrapped around the course is Calusa Club Drive, a three-mile thoroughfare that sees its share of family-laden SUVs, especially just before and after school, but is more frequently traversed by dogs, ducks, recreational walkers, joggers, and kids on bikes. With its smooth sidewalks and low-density traffic, the circle is especially suited to inline skates. No need to fight for parking or dodge idlers on South Beach. No bumpy boardwalks, no sudden drifts of sand that can make it a hazard to skate too near the beach. Just the scent of fresh-cut grass, the kiss of the sun through flowering dogwood, the sound of your wheels whizzing over sparkling pavement.

If you live anywhere near the center of Miami-Dade County and you find yourself overcome with the urge to go snorkeling, we suggest you head to the rock jetty at the southern tip of Miami Beach. (Metered parking available at South Pointe Park.) When the water is relatively calm, the north side of the jetty offers surprisingly good snorkeling, especially out toward its end, in deeper water. Lots of colorful reef fish, some barracuda, the occasional moray eel, even a shark now and then. But for the real thing -- namely, snorkeling on beautiful coral reefs -- we once again recommend Biscayne National Park. The big advantage: Only one snorkel boat per day, carrying a maximum of 49 people. No other commercial dive boats are permitted to operate within the park's watery boundaries. That sure beats John Pennekamp Coral Reef and State Park in Key Largo, which is so crowded you'll see more people than fish. The Biscayne National Park snorkel boat departs daily at 1:30 p.m. For $32.95 you'll get all the equipment you need (including wetsuit if desired), more than one hour in the water, and a delightful cruise to and from the reef. Reservations are recommended, especially on weekends.

The staff at this sprawling facility takes meticulous care to ensure that the courts are top quality. No wonder. This is the site of an internationally recognized professional tennis tournament, the newly rechristened NASDAQ Open, which brings top-ten players and their entourage to town each year. Venus and Guga and Anna and Andre may battle and preen here for a fortnight, but management maintains the courts at professional levels all year. Even though Crandon's seventeen hard courts are exposed to the unforgiving South Florida sun, the surfaces are free of cracks. The lines are well marked. The nets are not dotted with holes, and they never droop. If you're one of those players who depend on bad calls or a little help from a sagging net, this may not be the place for you. But if you're an advanced player and want to adjust your game to the same surfaces as the pros, Crandon's courts are a must. Eight clay courts are also available. So you've always wondered what playing at Wimbledon is like? Rent one of the two grass courts, always firm and trim. For the ultimate tennis fantasy, take your best-hitting partner to the stadium court, where for eight dollars per person you can live out your grand-slam dreams. Hard-court play is three bucks per person hourly, five per person hourly at night. The grass and clay courts are available for day use only at six dollars per hour.

Fancy a game of cricket or 301? Check out the lounge in this otherwise unprepossessing hotel in the welter of bustle and noise just upwind from the jet runways. For several years the serious dart scene revolved around another bar nearby. But the scene has moved. So what happened to those players who carry their own feathered missiles and can fire three arrows into triple nineteen faster than you can get your wallet out to pay for the beer? They are often right here, where you'll find five regulation dart boards. And if you need advice or a game, look for weekend bartender Jesus Cabrera or regular Paula Burdelsky Flohr, a former state champion. Bull's-eye!

During the daytime it's often only the breeze that stirs the nets hanging over the two full courts, not jumpers. With the sun overhead, it is just too hot on these shadeless slabs of asphalt green. And besides, the players are in school or at work. But once the sun starts to slide down, activity picks up in a hurry. South Miami parks department supervisor Lorenzo Woodley oversees leagues for players from ages six to adult. But there is plenty of pickup action here, too, after 5:00 p.m. daily. Charlie Miller got his game here, as well as enough moxie to survive Bob Knight and star for Indiana University. You wanna run? Lace 'em up.

With all the water around these parts, there are plenty of places to paddle. Everglades National Park is best, though, because -- duh -- it's a national park. No high-rise condos blocking the horizon. No screaming beerheads in go-fast boats about to swamp you. No polluted water seeping in from city streets. We're talking pristine. That means virtually any spot in the park where you can launch a canoe you'll encounter serene natural beauty unmatched in South Florida. Stop at the visitor's center at park headquarters and ask as many questions as you can. The rangers will help you select a route to fit your skills and interests. Rental canoes (and kayaks) are available at Flamingo, the end-of-the-road settlement 34 miles from the park entrance. From there you can paddle out on Florida Bay or up the Buttonwood canal toward vast Whitewater Bay. They'll also rent you a canoe stashed at Nine Mile Pond, a delightful trail featuring a variety of waterscapes, eleven miles up the road from Flamingo. If you have your own canoe, you already know this and more about the dozens of great paddling adventures that beckon throughout the park.

We'll save for another time our recommendations for a paddle that highlights natural beauty and wildlife. This is urban kayaking at its gritty best. Launch at the public boat ramp on Watson Island, access to which is obscured by construction of the new Parrot Jungle. (It's on the east side of the island between the Miami Yacht Club and the Miami Outboard Club.) Circle north around Watson, carefully cross the Intracoastal, follow the shoreline south toward downtown Miami, then head upriver and get ready for adventure. As people like to say, this is a working river, and the activity increases the farther upstream you go. The action constantly changes, so it's impossible to predict exactly what you'll see, but you can be guaranteed some close encounters with a wide variety of cargo vessels, from tramp steamers to surprisingly large modern freighters, next to which you'll feel really tiny. (The entire river is a no-wake zone, so all these encounters are gentle.) Also guaranteed: a fascinating look at residential life along the river from a perspective you'll never get on dry land. There's much more of it than you might imagine, and it's very colorful. Pack a picnic lunch and take it ashore at lovely Sewell Park, just upriver from the Dolphin Expressway overpass. You won't get sick from having river water splashed on you, but it's a good idea to rinse off when you get home.

These lakes are constantly buzzed by airplanes taking off and landing at Miami International Airport, but that doesn't seem to bother anglers who swear this is one of the hottest spots in South Florida for the feisty peacock bass. Not a true relative of the largemouth bass, peacocks are actually cichlids, a huge family of fresh-water tropicals native to Central and South America. Several species have become established here, and the peacock is among the most colorful and aggressive. They can range up to seven pounds. Fishing from shore in the park is prohibited, but there is a boat ramp here and free parking.

Why? After all, it's just a gym. Here's why: The faux glitz and glamour so annoyingly present at many of today's so-called health clubs is nowhere in sight here. And it's not missed a bit, thank you. The space is small but has everything a serious gym rat needs, from free weights and a variety of cardio machines to aerobic classes and fitness consultations. The clientele is primarily Miami Shores, so the place is devoid of those chemically enhanced herds roaming Miami Beach. No shimmering, multilevel spa-o-rama, useless computerized gadgets, tanning salon, gift shop, laser-light shows, or infomercial staff straight out of central casting. The membership rates are competitive: $160 for three months; $270 for six; $449 per year. And even with its limited space, M Power Project is never so packed that waiting lists are required for certain machines. People come, do their business, and leave. It's the way a gym should be.

Haulover is tops not just because it includes South Florida's only official nude beach. That definitely is a plus, but this is the best beach in Miami-Dade County because it has it all. At the southern end is Haulover Cut, a great place to fish and to watch pleasure craft come and go. It's also a favored spot for family picnics beneath the pine trees. In addition the southern tip offers a fine swimming area for youngsters; the rock jetty curls around to form a little cove of calm water. Haulover, which is maintained by the county, can boast long stretches of sand with very few people. Even on weekends it's easy to find solitude south of the lifeguard headquarters. Besides being a destination spot for people who hate tan lines, Haulover is also one of the few beaches popular with African-American families. Add to that ample parking at a reasonable rate (four dollars all day) and you have a clear winner.

If you think this particular blue ribbon is a perennial favorite, you'd be right. If you believe we choose it because of the coral grottoes, underwater caves, and glorious waterfalls, you'd be absolutely correct. And if you surmise that the porticos and loggias provide us with some much-needed shade during times of sun, then yes, you're in the know. But the real reason we pick this 820,000-gallon, spring-fed pool as the most refreshing place for Miamians to bathe is a caveat: No children under the age of three are allowed. Which means -- you guessed it -- there's no P in the V.

Your kids are going to scream either in delight or terror, depending on how they feel about swimming beneath the tentacles of a 21-foot-tall, water-shooting octopus. Located in the northeast corner of the Fontainebleau's property, adjacent to the boardwalk, the Cookie complex includes a 7000-square-foot wading pool, only a couple of feet deep, meant for small children. On the shallower side of the pool, two blue dolphins spit water into the pool. There's also a waterfall and a 260-foot spiral waterslide into another pool, and a lazy-river raft ride. A five-million-dollar project, Cookie's World took more than three years to complete, delayed when the building crew hit an old sea wall during construction. Cookie herself measures a whopping 75 feet by 95 feet and can be broken down into small pieces in the advent of a hurricane. But we kind of like the idea of a giant storm lifting the octopus and then dropping it on top of, say, city hall.

It's open late -- till 2:00 a.m. weekdays and 3:00 a.m. Friday and Saturday. It has a bar and a grill. It sports a cluster of billiard tables in the middle of the room, center of the action, and video games bleeping in the corner. Surrounding it all, on either side, are lanes upon shiny lanes, 72 in all, with by-now-standard computerized scoring and comfy swivel chairs, appealing to the dedicated and the dilettante alike. And every bowler gets a free pair of socks with shoe rental. So if you find yourself barefoot at 1:00 a.m., itching for entertainment, dying for a beer, and desperate for fries, you now know where to go.

Built in 1990 with more than $13 million of taxpayers' money, this beautiful little stadium was to be the spring-training home of the Cleveland Indians. But before the tribe could move in Hurricane Andrew did a number on the place. After the 1992 storm, the City of Homestead spent several million dollars more to rebuild the stadium. By then, though, the city's chance at Big Show glory had passed; since then no Major League Baseball team has seriously looked at moving south. Now the stadium sits mostly empty, eating up $129,000 a year in maintenance costs. In hopes of easing the financial burden, the city has issued a request for proposals to anyone who wants to lease, manage, or buy the stadium, along with its five adjacent practice fields, batting cages, clubhouses, laundry and whirlpool facilities. But in the meantime the stadium is available for rent: $300 for a day game, or up to ten times that if you want to play under the lights and have the concession stands up and running. Oh, and did we mention seating? Molded plastic seats for 6500 of your closest friends. Contact Homestead parks and recreation director Kirk Hearin at 305-247-1801, extension 265.

Everyone knows that to find decent surf you have to drive north to Sebastian Inlet or fly south to Barbados. Locally the crowds congregate around First and Second streets in Miami Beach. But the truth is that nothing breaks along South Florida beaches without a storm swell. And when there is a strong swell -- especially from the northeast during winter -- you should check out 23rd Street, right in front of the Roney Plaza. A somewhat-permanent sandbar approximately 30 yards offshore pumps up a northeast swell something sweet. We've seen it overhead and hollow at the same time First Street is undifferentiated mush -- make that undifferentiated mush with way too many people in the water.

Not every duffer can afford to attack the Blue Monster at Doral, or even that all-sand monstrosity out there dreamed up by Greg Norman. Many golfers can't even afford to play a relatively modest municipal course, what with greens fees starting at $50 or more. No, golfers like us cast our lot at the low end of the sport. That's why one of our favorite courses is the nine-hole circuit at Greynolds Park, owned and operated by Miami-Dade County. For very nominal fees we get to enjoy nine fairly well-maintained holes, the most challenging of which is the par-five seventh: 521 long yards, with a bend to the right midway through. The green is an elevated island surrounded by sand traps. It looks easy, but believe us, it's proved impossible to par. The last time we played there, the double bogey on seven was all that kept us from the best score of our lives. Our entire lives! The course is open seven days. Here are the fees for Miami-Dade residents under age 62 (seniors get a discount): Till 2:00 p.m. it's $9.91; after 2:00 it's $6.63 (tax included); because they are renovating the greens, however, fees are $6.63 all day until around August 1. They also offer a special after 10:00 a.m.: $16.99 for two people and one electric cart.

Drive time from Miami is almost exactly the same as to Key West. But the similarities stop there. Captiva does not cater to inebriated college kids staggering down its main tourist drag. Captiva doesn't even have a tourist drag. The closest thing to Duval Street you'll find on this barrier island west of Fort Myers and north of Sanibel is a dusty little path called Andy Rosse Lane, which dead-ends at the beach and the venerable Mucky Duck pub and grill. A cluster of restaurants and shops dot the lane, but there's nothing approaching a Key West saloon. That's not why people vacation here, or build waterfront mansions here. Captiva is captivating because it is quiet, relaxed, civilized, and hemmed by a wide, inviting beach. Another attraction: The shoreline faces west, across the Gulf of Mexico, which means every day you can saunter down to water's edge and watch the sun set. The light shows are often spectacular. Aside from the South Seas Resort (941-481-3636), a sprawling complex occupying the north end of the island, there are only a small number of hostelries: 'Tween Waters Inn (941-472-5161), Jensen's on the Gulf (941-472-4684), Jensen's Twin Palm Marina (941-472-5800), and the Captiva Island Inn (941-395-0882). Demand is high, supply is limited, and therefore rates can be pricey, though summertime is reasonable. But you're not staying for a month; you're just popping over for a quick getaway, a weekend retreat to restore your soul. Captiva is worth it.

Admit it. You don't go up to Broward unless you have to. No shame in that. Broward people won't visit Miami on a dare. Maybe you fly out of the airport. Maybe you've driven north to catch concerts at the recently shuttered Sunrise Musical Theater. Maybe you're unlucky enough to work off I-75. So entrenched is the divide between the two counties that a pleasure trip into Fort Lauderdale is actually a decent escape. Seriously, it can be a good day. From downtown glide the canals on the Water Taxi, heading toward the ocean while you calculate the immense wealth it took to build the waterfront pleasure palaces. Walk the brick sidewalk of A1A, dodging Rollerbladers while noting the slightly raw feel of the crowd. (That spring-break feel never fully disappeared.) The beach is always nice, even when it's a thin strip of sand. Walk back up Las Olas Boulevard, an attractive shopping drag not yet contaminated by the Gap and Victoria's Secret. Often an art fair is under way. Continue west on the Riverwalk, which winds past a pretty good art museum on its way to a funky strip of bars and passable restaurants. Have a full meal. Order another round of drinks. Take your time. Home is only half an hour away.

When this Fort Lauderdale favorite recently opened up shop down our way, the owners chose its location wisely: the Miami Beach Marina. From here you have a wide variety of navigational options, unlike many other rental operations. You can spin through the vastness of Biscayne Bay, cruise the waterways and cozy canals behind gorgeous luxury homes, or head out to the open Atlantic, where the chop will test your riding skills. East Coast Water Sports features brand-new 2002 machines and charges $65 for a half-hour. If you want more time, they can arrange a discounted rate -- but be sure to ask first. The burgeoning popularity of personal watercraft has been accompanied by a nasty reputation for discourtesy and danger. East Coast's experts recognize the problem and know that ultimately it's bad for business. So listen to their instructions and you'll learn to have fun responsibly and safely.

This twelve-mile ride is far from the well-beaten tourist paths, which is precisely the point. Unless you live in one of these vibrant neighborhoods, you may not be familiar with their charms. Here's your chance. Begin at the Torch of Friendship on Biscayne Boulevard at Third Street, in Bayfront Park. Head north on Biscayne (beware the traffic squeeze between American Airlines Arena and the I-395 overpass). At the old Sears Tower (site of the new performing arts center), turn left one block to NE Second Avenue. Head north to 29th Street (Enriqueta's Sandwich Shop, a "Best of Miami" multiple winner, is on the corner) and turn left or west. Now you're in the Puerto Rican enclave of Wynwood, home to the old Fashion District (south of 29th Street) and a burgeoning art and design neighborhood. Many new residential lofts and art galleries are opening among the warehouses and thrift shops. Continuing west, you'll pass under I-95 and enter Allapattah (the name comes from the Seminole word for alligator), a neighborhood first settled in 1856 by William P. Wagner, whose 40-acre spread included the land now occupied by Miami Jackson High School. At NW Seventeenth Avenue pedal up to La Mia Laundry's cafecito window for an espresso jolt. Here 29th Street ends its uninterrupted westward march, but you should continue west, wending your way through the neighborhood streets till you reach NW 22nd Avenue. Turn left or south through the heart of Allapattah to Twentieth Street, where you'll find El Camello, a former gas station transformed into an outdoor lunchstand. (You'll know you're there when you see the rotating camel.) This is the perfect spot for a $1.99 breakfast, fruit shake, or coco frio. Now bike east on Twentieth Street back to Seventeenth Avenue. Go south on Seventeenth and cross over the Miami River. Look down to the south bank and behold Sewell Park (see "Best Public Park for Santería Rituals"), a lovely pit stop accessible from South River Drive off Seventeenth Avenue. Continue south on Seventeenth to the epicenter of Little Havana, where, on SW First Street between Seventeenth and Sixteenth avenues, you'll encounter a wonderfully rustic restaurant called Yambo. Take note: Yambo is Nicaraguan, not Cuban. Here's what our restaurant critic had to say: "Yambo offers one of those 'out-of-country' experiences that alone is worth the price of admission." Take time here for lunch and a cold cerveza, then push on to a unique museum just a few blocks north and west. The modest house at 2319 NW Second Street is the former Miami home of little Elian Gonzalez. Today it is a museum, open Sundays from 10:00 a.m. to 6:00 p.m. (free admission). After reliving that turbulent chapter of Miami history, go east on Calle Ocho, through the historic center of Little Havana, to upscale Brickell Avenue. Turn north on Brickell and be sure to stop at the Miami River bridge and pay your respects at the mysterious Miami Circle, which someday (we hope) will be fully accessible and smartly developed as the cultural treasure it most surely is.

There are those hearty runners with lungs of steel who prefer inhaling the fumes along South Dixie Highway. But the adage "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger" isn't likely to apply to the respiratory and cardiovascular systems. Besides, most of us get our daily recommended dose of automobile exhaust with no effort at all. This metropolis has precious few pathways left where the air is virtually pristine. None is purer than the place where the Atlantic Ocean, that vast watery plain where cars and trucks fear to tread, delivers its well-traveled winds. Specifically with the jogger's winged feet in mind, the sandscape that begins at 21st Street and stretches north is optimal. A large public parking lot is located just west of the boardwalk, whose planks offer a firmer firmament than the beach itself. But one can also dash through the sand without requiring a one-horse open sleigh because it tends to be packed alongside the dunes. Floodlights shining down from the mountain range of Collins Avenue condos and hotels make night jogs a pleasant alternative, especially in the heavy heat of summer.

Late at night, as commuters sleep, our infamous river of congested concrete welcomes vehicles as a junkie does a fix. Windows down. Stereo blasting. The ethereal glow of street lamps. The wind a soothing subtropical balm. In the quiet wee hours, I-95's engineered beauty emerges, unclogged and serene. Inviting. The southbound HOV flyover, high above the Golden Glades interchange, presents a magical panorama: an endless carpet of lights, a brooding horizon, the glimmering skyline of downtown Miami. You are approaching Oz. At 75 miles per hour. With virtually no one else in sight.

We're talking about way up at the northern tip of the park near Bear Cut, the swift-moving channel that separates Key Biscayne from Virginia Key. This is the very essence of serene. Outside of adventurous nudists and the occasional school science class trolling for sea specimens, few people explore this last vestige of Miami's natural coast. Get there early on a bright morning and you'll think you've stepped into a travel brochure, shuffling through virgin sand and splashing in crystalline water. Looking to the east you'll see nothing but open sky and ocean. Turn your gaze northward and you can pity the poor souls trapped in traffic or attached to cell phones in the big city. But move quickly if you want to enjoy the place. Fashion photographers increasingly use the beach's vistas and lush backgrounds, and the county parks department recently completed a boardwalk that will deposit too many visitors.

Scientifically speaking, the highest density of toplessness in this urbanized region has been recorded at the official nude beach at Haulover Park. Using the latest global positioning satellite technologies, our researchers have determined this is still the case. But in science, as in art, quality and quantity are two entirely different forms of measurement. In the field of toplessness, gender and relativity also come to bear: Quality is determined not only by the observer but also by the observed (i.e., the topless). Our field-survey crews recently detected high rates of female toplessness along the southernmost reaches of South Beach, especially vectoring east from Third and Fourth streets. Smaller populations were observed as far north as the Eighteenth Street vector. One survey team also monitored a high concentration of chemically enhanced male toplessness somewhat south of that location on the sands east of the dilapidated Victor Hotel. For the topless who prefer solitude, our field experts recommend the northeastern curve of the beach at Key Biscayne's Cape Florida State Park, far from the gaze of scientific research.

This trail doesn't really have a name. In fact it's barely acknowledged by park officials. But if you stop at the visitors' center on your way in and ask for a map of the Long Pine Key Trail (bicycles permitted), you'll receive a photocopied, hand-sketched diagram on a single sheet of paper. Here's what to do with it: Drive nine miles from the park entrance and look for a dirt road on the left (south) side of the park's main thoroughfare. The intersection, marked by a stop sign for drivers re-entering the main road, is the beginning of the Long Pine Key Trail. Park there or drive on to Pine Glades Lake, about a half-mile, where you'll find an unimproved parking area. The hike-and-bike trail formally begins at a nearby gate. Less than a mile ahead the trail forks, with the main branch continuing straight. Take the smaller fork to the right. (Bicycles prohibited.) In time you'll exit the pinelands and the vistas will open wide as you enter the savanna. Here you'll experience the Everglades' vastness and subtle beauty like nowhere else -- broad plains of sawgrass punctuated by hardwood hammocks shimmering like distant islands, the sky a dome of richly saturated blue highlighted by brilliant white clouds, hawks circling high, screeching in the distance. It's as if you've intruded on a hidden and private world. Roughly three miles ahead the trail turns sharply and runs parallel to an old canal carved from the oolite bedrock. In the dry season expect to encounter alligators. Herons and egrets fish the banks throughout the year. You can continue all the way to the junction with a paved road (it leads to the Daniel Beard Research Center), just prior to which a side trail heads north and hooks up with the Long Pine Key Trail. The loop back to Pine Glades Lake adds up to roughly thirteen miles. Some people may find the canal portion of the trail somewhat tedious. If so, consider following it for a mile or so then doubling back, retracing your path. Total distance will still be roughly thirteen miles but you'll get a double dose of the magnificent savanna. Bring plenty of liquids and insect repellent.

The paradoxical poetry of the name comes from the proximity to Mt. Trashmore, the alpine pile of refuse that looms up from the landscape at the edge of Biscayne Bay. With that in mind, it might be a good idea to visit when the wind is not coming from the southeast -- as it usually is. The ripe aroma of rot can be overwhelming. But you know what? The birds don't mind. In the flooded fields south of the mountain are a vast variety of wading birds and ducks. Recent sightings reported on the Tropical Audubon Society Website (www.TropicalAudubon.org) include American avocet, greater flamingo, northern shoveler, ring-necked duck, and white pelican, along with more everyday species such as great blue heron, tricolored heron, and kingfisher. Watch overhead for bald eagles and wood storks. And Mt. Trashmore itself is almost always topped with swirling black-and-white clouds of vultures and gulls. Directions: Take the 112th Avenue exit from the Florida Turnpike Extension. Turn right to SW 248th Street. Turn right and go past Mt. Trashmore on the left. Just outside the entrance to Black Point Marina, park off the road and cross to the south side of the canal. Walk west until you see the marsh on the left.

Want to know what a "Dead Rat Tree" looks like? Want to know how the "Old Man Palm" and the "Shaving Brush Tree" got their names? How about strolling through a simulated rain forest or watching iguanas bask in the sun? You can do all this at Fairchild Tropical Garden, as well as find the perfect spot for a quiet picnic. The best way to get an overview of the garden's 83 acres (and learn tons of fascinating plant trivia) is to hop on a guided tram tour. They depart on the hour. After the tour, which will leave you back at the main gate, you can grab your blanket and picnic basket and take a long, leisurely walk on shady paths or through wide-open stretches of grass dotted with native and exotic botanicals until you find a little patch of serenity to call your own. Sit under a tree on the banks of one of Fairchild's lakes, sink your toes into the cool, spongy grass, and relish the only sounds breaking the silence: chirping birds, rustling leaves, lizards scurrying through the underbrush. But leave your charcoal at home. No grills permitted. And just as well, really. Once you stray from the visitors' center, there's virtually nothing artificial to come between you and a splendid day amid nature's wonders. Open daily 9:30 a.m. to 4:30 p.m. Admission is eight dollars for adults, four dollars for children ages three to twelve, and free for members and children under three.

Hard-core mountain bikers will understand why Oleta has won for the third straight year. It's by default. There isn't any real competition in Miami-Dade County. (Amelia Earhart Park has drawn too many complaints about reliability and availability to be a contender.) So that leaves Oleta, which isn't bad at all, given that South Florida mountain bikers must do without actual mountains. It's just that it's so crowded. And it's inconvenient if you happen to live down in Kendall or Pinecrest. (Many bikers are irked at the lack of any sanctioned tracks in South Miami-Dade. To get an eyeful check out Roger Sunderland's mountain-bike Website and click on Snapper Creek under the listing for Miami-Dade: http://members.aol.com/ cyclerog/page4.html.) On the plus side, Oleta is well organized and maintained, and it gives novices a chance to get the hang of the sport. Helmets required, a rule that is enforced.

Without doubt this park is the greatest gift ever bequeathed to the public in Miami's history. Back in 1940 the Matheson family, which had owned most of Key Biscayne since early in the century, agreed to a deal proposed by Dade County Commissioner Charles Crandon. The family would donate the northern two miles of its holdings for use as a public park. In exchange the county would construct a causeway from Miami to the island. As Crandon later wrote, the Mathesons "recognized that it would make the remaining land they owned immensely valuable once the causeway was built and in use, which is exactly what happened." The 975-acre park, named in honor of the commissioner, opened along with the causeway in 1947. Since then the Mathesons have been vigilant in protecting their gift from commercial exploitation by government bureaucrats hungry for revenue. Stretching from the Atlantic to Biscayne Bay, Crandon Park comprises more than most people realize: a marina, boat ramps, moorings, and a dive shop adjacent to Sundays on the Bay restaurant; Crandon Golf Course and its driving range, clubhouse, pro shop, and restaurant; the sprawling tennis center and its associated facilities; various storage and maintenance yards; Calusa Park and its tennis courts, playground, and recreation center; a county fire station; the lovely Crandon Park Gardens (the old county zoo); the new Marjory Stoneman Douglas Biscayne Nature Center; an extensive kids' play area featuring a grand carousel; rental cabanas, concession booths, and many picnic areas and athletic fields along the park's eastern half; three significant archaeological sites; three ecological preserves of several hundred acres; and of course the world-famous beach itself. Need we say more?

For the uninitiated: Those people dressed in white and huddled together on the grassy area over by the south bank of the Miami River are not health-care workers on a break. They are students and practitioners of Santería, the Afro-Cuban religion whose spiritual emissaries, or orishas, rule all facets of man and nature. Believers can call upon these deities for guidance and assistance. It's no surprise that Miami, with its large Cuban population, should have lots of Santería devotees, but what is it about Sewell Park that draws the faithful? Look no further than the Miami River and its orisha, Oshún. Here's what OrishaNet, a comprehensive Santería Website (www.seanet.com/~efunmoyiwa/ochanet.html), has to say: "Oshún rules over the sweet waters of the world, the brooks, streams, and rivers, embodying love, fertility. She also is the one we most often approach to aid us in money matters.... All who are to be initiated as priests, no matter what orisha rules their head, must go to the river and give account of what they are about to do." Down near water's edge, hidden among the large rocks that form the bank, you can often find offerings to Oshún: candy, fruits, candles, and other favored objects.

Tucked away behind the exquisitely funky American Legion Post No. 29, this Miami city park is little more than a ramshackle public boat ramp and dock. But it's quiet. And it's always kissed by a soothing breeze. And it provides a lovely view of several of the spoil islands made famous by their role in Christo's 1983 conceptual project Surrounded Islands. If you have a vessel of some sort, you can navigate over to the islands for a picnic. If not, you can simply enjoy gazing at them from the mainland. Accessible from Biscayne Boulevard at NE 64th Street, the park is open every day from sunrise to sunset.

If Kendall Drive is the clotted artery of southwestern unincorporated Miami-Dade, the neighborhood of Calusa is an oasis amid suburban sprawl. Pull off Kendall at SW 133rd Avenue and head south one block. All of a sudden the strip malls fall away, the blank-block apartment buildings disappear, and you're in a haven of green space and single-family homes built around the Calusa Country Club golf course. Wrapped around the course is Calusa Club Drive, a three-mile thoroughfare that sees its share of family-laden SUVs, especially just before and after school, but is more frequently traversed by dogs, ducks, recreational walkers, joggers, and kids on bikes. With its smooth sidewalks and low-density traffic, the circle is especially suited to inline skates. No need to fight for parking or dodge idlers on South Beach. No bumpy boardwalks, no sudden drifts of sand that can make it a hazard to skate too near the beach. Just the scent of fresh-cut grass, the kiss of the sun through flowering dogwood, the sound of your wheels whizzing over sparkling pavement.

If you live anywhere near the center of Miami-Dade County and you find yourself overcome with the urge to go snorkeling, we suggest you head to the rock jetty at the southern tip of Miami Beach. (Metered parking available at South Pointe Park.) When the water is relatively calm, the north side of the jetty offers surprisingly good snorkeling, especially out toward its end, in deeper water. Lots of colorful reef fish, some barracuda, the occasional moray eel, even a shark now and then. But for the real thing -- namely, snorkeling on beautiful coral reefs -- we once again recommend Biscayne National Park. The big advantage: Only one snorkel boat per day, carrying a maximum of 49 people. No other commercial dive boats are permitted to operate within the park's watery boundaries. That sure beats John Pennekamp Coral Reef and State Park in Key Largo, which is so crowded you'll see more people than fish. The Biscayne National Park snorkel boat departs daily at 1:30 p.m. For $32.95 you'll get all the equipment you need (including wetsuit if desired), more than one hour in the water, and a delightful cruise to and from the reef. Reservations are recommended, especially on weekends.

The staff at this sprawling facility takes meticulous care to ensure that the courts are top quality. No wonder. This is the site of an internationally recognized professional tennis tournament, the newly rechristened NASDAQ Open, which brings top-ten players and their entourage to town each year. Venus and Guga and Anna and Andre may battle and preen here for a fortnight, but management maintains the courts at professional levels all year. Even though Crandon's seventeen hard courts are exposed to the unforgiving South Florida sun, the surfaces are free of cracks. The lines are well marked. The nets are not dotted with holes, and they never droop. If you're one of those players who depend on bad calls or a little help from a sagging net, this may not be the place for you. But if you're an advanced player and want to adjust your game to the same surfaces as the pros, Crandon's courts are a must. Eight clay courts are also available. So you've always wondered what playing at Wimbledon is like? Rent one of the two grass courts, always firm and trim. For the ultimate tennis fantasy, take your best-hitting partner to the stadium court, where for eight dollars per person you can live out your grand-slam dreams. Hard-court play is three bucks per person hourly, five per person hourly at night. The grass and clay courts are available for day use only at six dollars per hour.

Fancy a game of cricket or 301? Check out the lounge in this otherwise unprepossessing hotel in the welter of bustle and noise just upwind from the jet runways. For several years the serious dart scene revolved around another bar nearby. But the scene has moved. So what happened to those players who carry their own feathered missiles and can fire three arrows into triple nineteen faster than you can get your wallet out to pay for the beer? They are often right here, where you'll find five regulation dart boards. And if you need advice or a game, look for weekend bartender Jesus Cabrera or regular Paula Burdelsky Flohr, a former state champion. Bull's-eye!

During the daytime it's often only the breeze that stirs the nets hanging over the two full courts, not jumpers. With the sun overhead, it is just too hot on these shadeless slabs of asphalt green. And besides, the players are in school or at work. But once the sun starts to slide down, activity picks up in a hurry. South Miami parks department supervisor Lorenzo Woodley oversees leagues for players from ages six to adult. But there is plenty of pickup action here, too, after 5:00 p.m. daily. Charlie Miller got his game here, as well as enough moxie to survive Bob Knight and star for Indiana University. You wanna run? Lace 'em up.

With all the water around these parts, there are plenty of places to paddle. Everglades National Park is best, though, because -- duh -- it's a national park. No high-rise condos blocking the horizon. No screaming beerheads in go-fast boats about to swamp you. No polluted water seeping in from city streets. We're talking pristine. That means virtually any spot in the park where you can launch a canoe you'll encounter serene natural beauty unmatched in South Florida. Stop at the visitor's center at park headquarters and ask as many questions as you can. The rangers will help you select a route to fit your skills and interests. Rental canoes (and kayaks) are available at Flamingo, the end-of-the-road settlement 34 miles from the park entrance. From there you can paddle out on Florida Bay or up the Buttonwood canal toward vast Whitewater Bay. They'll also rent you a canoe stashed at Nine Mile Pond, a delightful trail featuring a variety of waterscapes, eleven miles up the road from Flamingo. If you have your own canoe, you already know this and more about the dozens of great paddling adventures that beckon throughout the park.

We'll save for another time our recommendations for a paddle that highlights natural beauty and wildlife. This is urban kayaking at its gritty best. Launch at the public boat ramp on Watson Island, access to which is obscured by construction of the new Parrot Jungle. (It's on the east side of the island between the Miami Yacht Club and the Miami Outboard Club.) Circle north around Watson, carefully cross the Intracoastal, follow the shoreline south toward downtown Miami, then head upriver and get ready for adventure. As people like to say, this is a working river, and the activity increases the farther upstream you go. The action constantly changes, so it's impossible to predict exactly what you'll see, but you can be guaranteed some close encounters with a wide variety of cargo vessels, from tramp steamers to surprisingly large modern freighters, next to which you'll feel really tiny. (The entire river is a no-wake zone, so all these encounters are gentle.) Also guaranteed: a fascinating look at residential life along the river from a perspective you'll never get on dry land. There's much more of it than you might imagine, and it's very colorful. Pack a picnic lunch and take it ashore at lovely Sewell Park, just upriver from the Dolphin Expressway overpass. You won't get sick from having river water splashed on you, but it's a good idea to rinse off when you get home.

These lakes are constantly buzzed by airplanes taking off and landing at Miami International Airport, but that doesn't seem to bother anglers who swear this is one of the hottest spots in South Florida for the feisty peacock bass. Not a true relative of the largemouth bass, peacocks are actually cichlids, a huge family of fresh-water tropicals native to Central and South America. Several species have become established here, and the peacock is among the most colorful and aggressive. They can range up to seven pounds. Fishing from shore in the park is prohibited, but there is a boat ramp here and free parking.

Why? After all, it's just a gym. Here's why: The faux glitz and glamour so annoyingly present at many of today's so-called health clubs is nowhere in sight here. And it's not missed a bit, thank you. The space is small but has everything a serious gym rat needs, from free weights and a variety of cardio machines to aerobic classes and fitness consultations. The clientele is primarily Miami Shores, so the place is devoid of those chemically enhanced herds roaming Miami Beach. No shimmering, multilevel spa-o-rama, useless computerized gadgets, tanning salon, gift shop, laser-light shows, or infomercial staff straight out of central casting. The membership rates are competitive: $160 for three months; $270 for six; $449 per year. And even with its limited space, M Power Project is never so packed that waiting lists are required for certain machines. People come, do their business, and leave. It's the way a gym should be.

Haulover is tops not just because it includes South Florida's only official nude beach. That definitely is a plus, but this is the best beach in Miami-Dade County because it has it all. At the southern end is Haulover Cut, a great place to fish and to watch pleasure craft come and go. It's also a favored spot for family picnics beneath the pine trees. In addition the southern tip offers a fine swimming area for youngsters; the rock jetty curls around to form a little cove of calm water. Haulover, which is maintained by the county, can boast long stretches of sand with very few people. Even on weekends it's easy to find solitude south of the lifeguard headquarters. Besides being a destination spot for people who hate tan lines, Haulover is also one of the few beaches popular with African-American families. Add to that ample parking at a reasonable rate (four dollars all day) and you have a clear winner.

If you think this particular blue ribbon is a perennial favorite, you'd be right. If you believe we choose it because of the coral grottoes, underwater caves, and glorious waterfalls, you'd be absolutely correct. And if you surmise that the porticos and loggias provide us with some much-needed shade during times of sun, then yes, you're in the know. But the real reason we pick this 820,000-gallon, spring-fed pool as the most refreshing place for Miamians to bathe is a caveat: No children under the age of three are allowed. Which means -- you guessed it -- there's no P in the V.

Your kids are going to scream either in delight or terror, depending on how they feel about swimming beneath the tentacles of a 21-foot-tall, water-shooting octopus. Located in the northeast corner of the Fontainebleau's property, adjacent to the boardwalk, the Cookie complex includes a 7000-square-foot wading pool, only a couple of feet deep, meant for small children. On the shallower side of the pool, two blue dolphins spit water into the pool. There's also a waterfall and a 260-foot spiral waterslide into another pool, and a lazy-river raft ride. A five-million-dollar project, Cookie's World took more than three years to complete, delayed when the building crew hit an old sea wall during construction. Cookie herself measures a whopping 75 feet by 95 feet and can be broken down into small pieces in the advent of a hurricane. But we kind of like the idea of a giant storm lifting the octopus and then dropping it on top of, say, city hall.

It's open late -- till 2:00 a.m. weekdays and 3:00 a.m. Friday and Saturday. It has a bar and a grill. It sports a cluster of billiard tables in the middle of the room, center of the action, and video games bleeping in the corner. Surrounding it all, on either side, are lanes upon shiny lanes, 72 in all, with by-now-standard computerized scoring and comfy swivel chairs, appealing to the dedicated and the dilettante alike. And every bowler gets a free pair of socks with shoe rental. So if you find yourself barefoot at 1:00 a.m., itching for entertainment, dying for a beer, and desperate for fries, you now know where to go.

Built in 1990 with more than $13 million of taxpayers' money, this beautiful little stadium was to be the spring-training home of the Cleveland Indians. But before the tribe could move in Hurricane Andrew did a number on the place. After the 1992 storm, the City of Homestead spent several million dollars more to rebuild the stadium. By then, though, the city's chance at Big Show glory had passed; since then no Major League Baseball team has seriously looked at moving south. Now the stadium sits mostly empty, eating up $129,000 a year in maintenance costs. In hopes of easing the financial burden, the city has issued a request for proposals to anyone who wants to lease, manage, or buy the stadium, along with its five adjacent practice fields, batting cages, clubhouses, laundry and whirlpool facilities. But in the meantime the stadium is available for rent: $300 for a day game, or up to ten times that if you want to play under the lights and have the concession stands up and running. Oh, and did we mention seating? Molded plastic seats for 6500 of your closest friends. Contact Homestead parks and recreation director Kirk Hearin at 305-247-1801, extension 265.

Everyone knows that to find decent surf you have to drive north to Sebastian Inlet or fly south to Barbados. Locally the crowds congregate around First and Second streets in Miami Beach. But the truth is that nothing breaks along South Florida beaches without a storm swell. And when there is a strong swell -- especially from the northeast during winter -- you should check out 23rd Street, right in front of the Roney Plaza. A somewhat-permanent sandbar approximately 30 yards offshore pumps up a northeast swell something sweet. We've seen it overhead and hollow at the same time First Street is undifferentiated mush -- make that undifferentiated mush with way too many people in the water.

Not every duffer can afford to attack the Blue Monster at Doral, or even that all-sand monstrosity out there dreamed up by Greg Norman. Many golfers can't even afford to play a relatively modest municipal course, what with greens fees starting at $50 or more. No, golfers like us cast our lot at the low end of the sport. That's why one of our favorite courses is the nine-hole circuit at Greynolds Park, owned and operated by Miami-Dade County. For very nominal fees we get to enjoy nine fairly well-maintained holes, the most challenging of which is the par-five seventh: 521 long yards, with a bend to the right midway through. The green is an elevated island surrounded by sand traps. It looks easy, but believe us, it's proved impossible to par. The last time we played there, the double bogey on seven was all that kept us from the best score of our lives. Our entire lives! The course is open seven days. Here are the fees for Miami-Dade residents under age 62 (seniors get a discount): Till 2:00 p.m. it's $9.91; after 2:00 it's $6.63 (tax included); because they are renovating the greens, however, fees are $6.63 all day until around August 1. They also offer a special after 10:00 a.m.: $16.99 for two people and one electric cart.

Drive time from Miami is almost exactly the same as to Key West. But the similarities stop there. Captiva does not cater to inebriated college kids staggering down its main tourist drag. Captiva doesn't even have a tourist drag. The closest thing to Duval Street you'll find on this barrier island west of Fort Myers and north of Sanibel is a dusty little path called Andy Rosse Lane, which dead-ends at the beach and the venerable Mucky Duck pub and grill. A cluster of restaurants and shops dot the lane, but there's nothing approaching a Key West saloon. That's not why people vacation here, or build waterfront mansions here. Captiva is captivating because it is quiet, relaxed, civilized, and hemmed by a wide, inviting beach. Another attraction: The shoreline faces west, across the Gulf of Mexico, which means every day you can saunter down to water's edge and watch the sun set. The light shows are often spectacular. Aside from the South Seas Resort (941-481-3636), a sprawling complex occupying the north end of the island, there are only a small number of hostelries: 'Tween Waters Inn (941-472-5161), Jensen's on the Gulf (941-472-4684), Jensen's Twin Palm Marina (941-472-5800), and the Captiva Island Inn (941-395-0882). Demand is high, supply is limited, and therefore rates can be pricey, though summertime is reasonable. But you're not staying for a month; you're just popping over for a quick getaway, a weekend retreat to restore your soul. Captiva is worth it.

Admit it. You don't go up to Broward unless you have to. No shame in that. Broward people won't visit Miami on a dare. Maybe you fly out of the airport. Maybe you've driven north to catch concerts at the recently shuttered Sunrise Musical Theater. Maybe you're unlucky enough to work off I-75. So entrenched is the divide between the two counties that a pleasure trip into Fort Lauderdale is actually a decent escape. Seriously, it can be a good day. From downtown glide the canals on the Water Taxi, heading toward the ocean while you calculate the immense wealth it took to build the waterfront pleasure palaces. Walk the brick sidewalk of A1A, dodging Rollerbladers while noting the slightly raw feel of the crowd. (That spring-break feel never fully disappeared.) The beach is always nice, even when it's a thin strip of sand. Walk back up Las Olas Boulevard, an attractive shopping drag not yet contaminated by the Gap and Victoria's Secret. Often an art fair is under way. Continue west on the Riverwalk, which winds past a pretty good art museum on its way to a funky strip of bars and passable restaurants. Have a full meal. Order another round of drinks. Take your time. Home is only half an hour away.

When this Fort Lauderdale favorite recently opened up shop down our way, the owners chose its location wisely: the Miami Beach Marina. From here you have a wide variety of navigational options, unlike many other rental operations. You can spin through the vastness of Biscayne Bay, cruise the waterways and cozy canals behind gorgeous luxury homes, or head out to the open Atlantic, where the chop will test your riding skills. East Coast Water Sports features brand-new 2002 machines and charges $65 for a half-hour. If you want more time, they can arrange a discounted rate -- but be sure to ask first. The burgeoning popularity of personal watercraft has been accompanied by a nasty reputation for discourtesy and danger. East Coast's experts recognize the problem and know that ultimately it's bad for business. So listen to their instructions and you'll learn to have fun responsibly and safely.

This twelve-mile ride is far from the well-beaten tourist paths, which is precisely the point. Unless you live in one of these vibrant neighborhoods, you may not be familiar with their charms. Here's your chance. Begin at the Torch of Friendship on Biscayne Boulevard at Third Street, in Bayfront Park. Head north on Biscayne (beware the traffic squeeze between American Airlines Arena and the I-395 overpass). At the old Sears Tower (site of the new performing arts center), turn left one block to NE Second Avenue. Head north to 29th Street (Enriqueta's Sandwich Shop, a "Best of Miami" multiple winner, is on the corner) and turn left or west. Now you're in the Puerto Rican enclave of Wynwood, home to the old Fashion District (south of 29th Street) and a burgeoning art and design neighborhood. Many new residential lofts and art galleries are opening among the warehouses and thrift shops. Continuing west, you'll pass under I-95 and enter Allapattah (the name comes from the Seminole word for alligator), a neighborhood first settled in 1856 by William P. Wagner, whose 40-acre spread included the land now occupied by Miami Jackson High School. At NW Seventeenth Avenue pedal up to La Mia Laundry's cafecito window for an espresso jolt. Here 29th Street ends its uninterrupted westward march, but you should continue west, wending your way through the neighborhood streets till you reach NW 22nd Avenue. Turn left or south through the heart of Allapattah to Twentieth Street, where you'll find El Camello, a former gas station transformed into an outdoor lunchstand. (You'll know you're there when you see the rotating camel.) This is the perfect spot for a $1.99 breakfast, fruit shake, or coco frio. Now bike east on Twentieth Street back to Seventeenth Avenue. Go south on Seventeenth and cross over the Miami River. Look down to the south bank and behold Sewell Park (see "Best Public Park for Santería Rituals"), a lovely pit stop accessible from South River Drive off Seventeenth Avenue. Continue south on Seventeenth to the epicenter of Little Havana, where, on SW First Street between Seventeenth and Sixteenth avenues, you'll encounter a wonderfully rustic restaurant called Yambo. Take note: Yambo is Nicaraguan, not Cuban. Here's what our restaurant critic had to say: "Yambo offers one of those 'out-of-country' experiences that alone is worth the price of admission." Take time here for lunch and a cold cerveza, then push on to a unique museum just a few blocks north and west. The modest house at 2319 NW Second Street is the former Miami home of little Elian Gonzalez. Today it is a museum, open Sundays from 10:00 a.m. to 6:00 p.m. (free admission). After reliving that turbulent chapter of Miami history, go east on Calle Ocho, through the historic center of Little Havana, to upscale Brickell Avenue. Turn north on Brickell and be sure to stop at the Miami River bridge and pay your respects at the mysterious Miami Circle, which someday (we hope) will be fully accessible and smartly developed as the cultural treasure it most surely is.

There are those hearty runners with lungs of steel who prefer inhaling the fumes along South Dixie Highway. But the adage "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger" isn't likely to apply to the respiratory and cardiovascular systems. Besides, most of us get our daily recommended dose of automobile exhaust with no effort at all. This metropolis has precious few pathways left where the air is virtually pristine. None is purer than the place where the Atlantic Ocean, that vast watery plain where cars and trucks fear to tread, delivers its well-traveled winds. Specifically with the jogger's winged feet in mind, the sandscape that begins at 21st Street and stretches north is optimal. A large public parking lot is located just west of the boardwalk, whose planks offer a firmer firmament than the beach itself. But one can also dash through the sand without requiring a one-horse open sleigh because it tends to be packed alongside the dunes. Floodlights shining down from the mountain range of Collins Avenue condos and hotels make night jogs a pleasant alternative, especially in the heavy heat of summer.

Late at night, as commuters sleep, our infamous river of congested concrete welcomes vehicles as a junkie does a fix. Windows down. Stereo blasting. The ethereal glow of street lamps. The wind a soothing subtropical balm. In the quiet wee hours, I-95's engineered beauty emerges, unclogged and serene. Inviting. The southbound HOV flyover, high above the Golden Glades interchange, presents a magical panorama: an endless carpet of lights, a brooding horizon, the glimmering skyline of downtown Miami. You are approaching Oz. At 75 miles per hour. With virtually no one else in sight.

We're talking about way up at the northern tip of the park near Bear Cut, the swift-moving channel that separates Key Biscayne from Virginia Key. This is the very essence of serene. Outside of adventurous nudists and the occasional school science class trolling for sea specimens, few people explore this last vestige of Miami's natural coast. Get there early on a bright morning and you'll think you've stepped into a travel brochure, shuffling through virgin sand and splashing in crystalline water. Looking to the east you'll see nothing but open sky and ocean. Turn your gaze northward and you can pity the poor souls trapped in traffic or attached to cell phones in the big city. But move quickly if you want to enjoy the place. Fashion photographers increasingly use the beach's vistas and lush backgrounds, and the county parks department recently completed a boardwalk that will deposit too many visitors.

Scientifically speaking, the highest density of toplessness in this urbanized region has been recorded at the official nude beach at Haulover Park. Using the latest global positioning satellite technologies, our researchers have determined this is still the case. But in science, as in art, quality and quantity are two entirely different forms of measurement. In the field of toplessness, gender and relativity also come to bear: Quality is determined not only by the observer but also by the observed (i.e., the topless). Our field-survey crews recently detected high rates of female toplessness along the southernmost reaches of South Beach, especially vectoring east from Third and Fourth streets. Smaller populations were observed as far north as the Eighteenth Street vector. One survey team also monitored a high concentration of chemically enhanced male toplessness somewhat south of that location on the sands east of the dilapidated Victor Hotel. For the topless who prefer solitude, our field experts recommend the northeastern curve of the beach at Key Biscayne's Cape Florida State Park, far from the gaze of scientific research.

This trail doesn't really have a name. In fact it's barely acknowledged by park officials. But if you stop at the visitors' center on your way in and ask for a map of the Long Pine Key Trail (bicycles permitted), you'll receive a photocopied, hand-sketched diagram on a single sheet of paper. Here's what to do with it: Drive nine miles from the park entrance and look for a dirt road on the left (south) side of the park's main thoroughfare. The intersection, marked by a stop sign for drivers re-entering the main road, is the beginning of the Long Pine Key Trail. Park there or drive on to Pine Glades Lake, about a half-mile, where you'll find an unimproved parking area. The hike-and-bike trail formally begins at a nearby gate. Less than a mile ahead the trail forks, with the main branch continuing straight. Take the smaller fork to the right. (Bicycles prohibited.) In time you'll exit the pinelands and the vistas will open wide as you enter the savanna. Here you'll experience the Everglades' vastness and subtle beauty like nowhere else -- broad plains of sawgrass punctuated by hardwood hammocks shimmering like distant islands, the sky a dome of richly saturated blue highlighted by brilliant white clouds, hawks circling high, screeching in the distance. It's as if you've intruded on a hidden and private world. Roughly three miles ahead the trail turns sharply and runs parallel to an old canal carved from the oolite bedrock. In the dry season expect to encounter alligators. Herons and egrets fish the banks throughout the year. You can continue all the way to the junction with a paved road (it leads to the Daniel Beard Research Center), just prior to which a side trail heads north and hooks up with the Long Pine Key Trail. The loop back to Pine Glades Lake adds up to roughly thirteen miles. Some people may find the canal portion of the trail somewhat tedious. If so, consider following it for a mile or so then doubling back, retracing your path. Total distance will still be roughly thirteen miles but you'll get a double dose of the magnificent savanna. Bring plenty of liquids and insect repellent.

The paradoxical poetry of the name comes from the proximity to Mt. Trashmore, the alpine pile of refuse that looms up from the landscape at the edge of Biscayne Bay. With that in mind, it might be a good idea to visit when the wind is not coming from the southeast -- as it usually is. The ripe aroma of rot can be overwhelming. But you know what? The birds don't mind. In the flooded fields south of the mountain are a vast variety of wading birds and ducks. Recent sightings reported on the Tropical Audubon Society Website (www.TropicalAudubon.org) include American avocet, greater flamingo, northern shoveler, ring-necked duck, and white pelican, along with more everyday species such as great blue heron, tricolored heron, and kingfisher. Watch overhead for bald eagles and wood storks. And Mt. Trashmore itself is almost always topped with swirling black-and-white clouds of vultures and gulls. Directions: Take the 112th Avenue exit from the Florida Turnpike Extension. Turn right to SW 248th Street. Turn right and go past Mt. Trashmore on the left. Just outside the entrance to Black Point Marina, park off the road and cross to the south side of the canal. Walk west until you see the marsh on the left.

Want to know what a "Dead Rat Tree" looks like? Want to know how the "Old Man Palm" and the "Shaving Brush Tree" got their names? How about strolling through a simulated rain forest or watching iguanas bask in the sun? You can do all this at Fairchild Tropical Garden, as well as find the perfect spot for a quiet picnic. The best way to get an overview of the garden's 83 acres (and learn tons of fascinating plant trivia) is to hop on a guided tram tour. They depart on the hour. After the tour, which will leave you back at the main gate, you can grab your blanket and picnic basket and take a long, leisurely walk on shady paths or through wide-open stretches of grass dotted with native and exotic botanicals until you find a little patch of serenity to call your own. Sit under a tree on the banks of one of Fairchild's lakes, sink your toes into the cool, spongy grass, and relish the only sounds breaking the silence: chirping birds, rustling leaves, lizards scurrying through the underbrush. But leave your charcoal at home. No grills permitted. And just as well, really. Once you stray from the visitors' center, there's virtually nothing artificial to come between you and a splendid day amid nature's wonders. Open daily 9:30 a.m. to 4:30 p.m. Admission is eight dollars for adults, four dollars for children ages three to twelve, and free for members and children under three.

Hard-core mountain bikers will understand why Oleta has won for the third straight year. It's by default. There isn't any real competition in Miami-Dade County. (Amelia Earhart Park has drawn too many complaints about reliability and availability to be a contender.) So that leaves Oleta, which isn't bad at all, given that South Florida mountain bikers must do without actual mountains. It's just that it's so crowded. And it's inconvenient if you happen to live down in Kendall or Pinecrest. (Many bikers are irked at the lack of any sanctioned tracks in South Miami-Dade. To get an eyeful check out Roger Sunderland's mountain-bike Website and click on Snapper Creek under the listing for Miami-Dade: http://members.aol.com/ cyclerog/page4.html.) On the plus side, Oleta is well organized and maintained, and it gives novices a chance to get the hang of the sport. Helmets required, a rule that is enforced.