The Best Places in the United States

A resale and new boutique in Tempe whose T-shirts announce it as "a safe haven for weirdos," which is accurate marketing. Rocket a Go~Go covers the full spectrum of alt fashion, from pinup and rockabilly to goth, punk, and rave, with brands like Doc Martens, Tripp, and Demonia filling the racks alongside studded belts, horror-themed jewelry, and Halloween housewares. Sizes run 0 to 3X, and you can buy, sell, or trade.

Every Wednesday evening, a crowd of cheerful masochists gathers outside this long-running specialty running store before six, stretches in the parking lot, and then disappears into a Phoenix neighborhood in the heat. Runner's Den has been fitting Phoenicians for shoes, clothes, and gear for an old-school institution, with staff who'll analyze your gait and point you toward the next road race on the calendar. The weekly group run ends with snacks and fellowship, possibly hot dogs.

The Chicago dogs are the tell: a poppy-seed bun, the full Chicago lineup of toppings, and a strict no-ketchup policy enforced by peer pressure alone. Sloan Park is the Cubs' spring training home in Mesa, built with green steelwork and red brick that quietly impersonates Wrigley in the desert sun. There's a rooftop bar, a lawn in the outfield, and food trucks in the Citrus Grove, so the game is almost secondary.

Su Teatro has been Denver's anchor for Chicano theater for decades, running out of the Denver Civic Theatre at the heart of the Santa Fe Arts District, which also happens to be the city's historic Latino neighborhood. The company produces its own touring work and rents the space to outside groups, so the calendar stays eclectic. If you're catching one of their own shows, you're in the right hands.

The slot machines alone number over a thousand, which tells you something about the scale of Talking Stick Casino before you've even found the table games. It's a full-on resort casino with blackjack, craps, roulette, sports betting, a spa, hotel rooms, a pool that hosts live concerts, and enough restaurants to cover everything from Mediterranean to fine dining. The outside world does tend to dissolve once those doors close behind you.

A record store where the turntable wall runs from a $60 Crosley mini to a $13,000 German Firebird, with a Lamborghini collab somewhere in the middle playing actual engine sounds. The crates on the floor hold used records in rough shape for nearly nothing, while four-figure collectibles wait behind the counter. Phoenix New Times named it the city's favorite record store, and it opens early on Record Store Day with the full spread.

The DJ here plays real saxophone solos during your Motown number and rosins up an actual fiddle when someone calls "The Devil Went Down to Georgia." This folksy Scottsdale bar and grill runs karaoke every night of the week, which already puts it in rare company in the Valley. The live accompaniment means no one has to endure a slide that reads "Instrumental Break, 16 Bars" while the singer reconsiders their choices.

A live music club on Indian School Road that's been the Valley's home for blues, jazz, and roots acts for as long as anyone can remember. Owner Bob Corritore, a serious figure in the blues world, has put Pinetop Perkins and Sanford Clark on that stage. Local and touring rock acts fill the gaps. The bartenders are half the reason to stay, apparently able to match any set with a story.

The front door looks like it belongs to a golf pro shop, but step through it and you're heading downstairs into a candlelit, white-tablecloth seafood restaurant that has been around forever. The menu pulls from coasts plural, Boston to New Zealand, with lobster, scallops, and a bucket of Blue Hill Bay mussels in drawn butter that earns its own sentence. Subterranean and unapologetically old-school in the best Scottsdale way.

A thrift shop that tapes a handwritten note to every tested electronic, confirming it actually works, which sounds minor until you've hauled home three dead blenders from Goodwill. White Dove runs several Valley locations, keeps the floor clean and organized, and puts real finds in a glass case rather than quietly flipping them online. Proceeds go to Hospice of the Valley, so the dopamine hit comes with a clean conscience.

Endless bins of vinyl organized well enough to lose an afternoon in, plus shelves of CDs, books, instruments, memorabilia, and toys for anyone still convinced that owning a thing beats streaming it. Zia buys and trades more liberally than most used-music shops, though the math is roughly a quarter of resale value in cash. Bring your duplicates, leave with someone else's.

A Sicilian family splits the room between a bakery counter stacked with lobster tail pastries and sweet cannoli and a full sit-down dining area with a bar, so you can eat chicken parm and lasagna, then carry dessert home. The savory cannoli, stuffed with sausage, jalapeños, and oozing mozzarella, has earned its own following. Finish with the house limoncello, made cream-style in the Sicilian way, which lands somewhere between a digestif and a milkshake.

Spicy Boy's is a casual Cajun counter-service joint in Cleveland Park, the sort of place where you order at the register and eat with plastic forks. The gumbo is a smoky, densely layered stew that has talked more than one regular out of their stated plan to branch out. The Nashville Scene has handed out Best of Nashville nods for the gumbo, a rum-heavy Painkiller, and a root beer float, so dessert is covered.

Butcher & Bee is a Middle Eastern-leaning, mostly meatless sit-down restaurant on Main Street, and it adds a 2.2 percent charge to every check to fund staff health insurance. The kitchen takes seasonality seriously enough that August arrives as tomatoes in everything, cocktails included. The "Order Like a Pro" option hands the menu to the cooks, a relief if you hate choosing. Nashville Scene has named it Best Restaurant.

A pharmacist who loved nature enough to deed his 1930s wood cottage and grounds to the Tropical Audubon Society upon his death is a hard act to follow, but the place keeps the faith. Now the society's headquarters, the Steinberg Nature Center spreads across 2.2 acres of pine rockland and tropical hardwood hammock, the latter considered critically endangered. Tours cover the cottage and the trails, and the whole thing reads as a quiet argument for what South Miami looked like before the malls arrived.

A 20-by-20-foot phoenix sculpture lit from within by LEDs, it becomes a glowing beacon after dark along the light rail corridor linking north and south Phoenix. By day the fiberglass catches sunlight and pulls color out of thin air. Isaac Caruso spent seven years on it, which feels right for something this unhurried about making an impression. The fiery palette and upswept feathers do the talking without any help from a plaque.

Wall-to-wall shelves of retro cartridges, rare consoles, and reproduction carts fill this strip-mall game shop in Mesa, where the vibe runs closer to a friend's basement than a retail floor. Staff will happily disappear into a thirty-minute conversation about a 1994 JRPG without once making you feel like a tourist. Prices are honest, the selection is deep, and nobody here is gatekeeping anything.

Sand in your mat is the only real hazard at this free outdoor yoga class, which runs every morning and evening on the beach at Third Street, 365 days a year. Volunteer teachers rotate through, so the vibe shifts session to session, and all levels show up, from first-timers to regulars who've clearly been greeting the Atlantic sunrise upside down for years. Bring a towel, and tip your teacher.

Half skate park, half food rescue operation, 4DWN is the kind of place that makes you feel slightly lazy for only doing one thing with your afternoon. Professional skaters built the ramps, and the same organization diverts fresh produce from landfills and hands it out free each week, no processed food allowed. Show up to skate, to volunteer, or just to watch people who are considerably better on wheels than you will ever be.

The whole roast ducks hanging in the hot deli are your first clue that this is not a routine grocery run. Arizona's only outpost of the pan-Asian supermarket chain stocks an enormous produce section, a serious fresh seafood counter, and an aisle of imported snacks that rewards slow browsing. The bakery near the exit, stocked with egg tarts and milk bread, is the reason most carts get a little heavier on the way out.

A paved loop through the Everglades where alligators sun themselves close enough to make you reconsider your shoes. The Anhinga Trail starts at Royal Palm Visitor Center and runs less than a mile out and back, with a wooden boardwalk section that puts you over the water. Herons, egrets, ibis, turtles, and the trail's namesake snakebird are regulars. There's no shade, so an early start and sunscreen are less optional than they sound.

A gallery and gift shop in Old Town Scottsdale where a Chuck Jones Looney Tunes painting might hang next to Dr. Seuss drawings and a rack of stickers. The mix is deliberately eclectic, leaning into pop culture without apology, and the shelves stretch into jewelry, books, and children's items. It anchors the Thursday Scottsdale Art Walk but stays open seven days a week, which is a quiet mercy for anyone who can't do crowds.

A few hundred classic arcade cabinets in a Miami strip mall, humming and flickering the way they did before everything moved to a screen you hold in your hand. Arcade Odyssey stocks a rotating mix of rarities alongside the expected Mortal Kombat and pinball machines, so even people who grew up on this stuff will spot things they haven't seen in years. Acting like a twelve-year-old is not just tolerated here, it's the whole point.

A B-17G Flying Fortress sits on the tarmac at Falcon Field, and you can climb inside it, which is either thrilling or deeply clarifying about how uncomfortable the war effort was. This aviation museum at Mesa's working airport spans WWI through Vietnam, mixing warbirds like a B-25 and an F-4 Phantom with artifacts and memorabilia. The 30,000-square-foot hangar floor disappears fast once you're standing next to a MiG.

A drum shop tucked into an unremarkable strip mall in Scottsdale, stocked deep enough that "in stock" is practically the store's motto. The owner, Ron, runs the place himself, steers you toward what you need rather than what costs more, and knows his inventory cold. If you're scrambling to replace a snare head before tonight's gig, this is the call to make before you panic-order online.

An open-air pedal bar that trundles through Old Town Scottsdale with a ring of barstools, a cooler stocked with canned drinks, and a rotating set of bar stops along the route. Yes, it looks exactly like the thing you made fun of from the sidewalk. The joke is that it's a good time, provided your group has at least some tolerance for novelty and zero tolerance for dignity. Pack your friends, grab a Beatbox, and let Scottsdale happen to you.

Tucked into a nondescript commercial park in south Phoenix, Arizona Power Exchange is a members-based BDSM dungeon and community hub that's been around forever. The calendar runs from shibari workshops and non-monogamy discussions to fetish balls and, improbably, board game nights. Two public events a year, Kink Karnival and Bizarre Bazaar, let the curious browse gear and watch demos before committing to anything.

The walls at this Phoenix custom cap shop are stacked floor-to-ceiling with thousands of hats, plain or absurd, and the embroidery counter does the rest. Famous cartoon characters brandishing weapons, fighting roosters, Grim Reapers, "Sinaloa is mine" stitched black on black, a bedazzled Yankees logo. You hand them a hat and a vision; they sew it on. You can be basically anyone walking out, which also means almost no one is off the table.

A mom-and-pop pet grooming shop in a west-side strip mall, Bark & Purr handles cats and dogs of any age, including the anxious, reactive, and difficult cases that other groomers quietly turn away. The staff take time before your appointment to understand your pet's particular quirks, so call ahead rather than walking in. Wear something dark-colored, or don't, and just lean into it.

Red lighting, treadmills, and the ambient sound of people pushing through intervals they'll regret tomorrow. Barry's is a boutique fitness studio where the signature classes split time between running and weight work, and the crowd skews conspicuously fit. Miami New Times gave it a Best of Miami nod, which is one way to describe the demographics. Come for the workout; the rest is incidental.

A baseball bat bracelet modeled after Cartier's nail design tells you everything about this Old Town Scottsdale shop's angle. Baseballism sells clothes and accessories that celebrate the game in general rather than pushing straight team merch, so the hoodies and glove-leather bags work year-round, not just during Cactus League season. It skews tasteful, which is a word that doesn't get used much in the souvenir aisle.

A small waterfront park just off Biscayne Boulevard where downtown Miami sits across the water like a postcard you didn't pay for. Benches face the bay, waves knock against the rocks, and on a quiet morning it might be just you and a coffee from the strip nearby. Sunset turns the whole thing gold, which the Instagram crowd has noticed, though it's rarely crowded enough to matter.

Threading salon tucked into a Phoenix strip mall where regulars know to book ahead, because walk-ins are usually out of luck. The specialists work fast and light, shaping brows by feel and conversation: tell them exactly what arch you want, or let them read your face and advise. Full-face threading, tinting, and brow lifts round out the menu for anyone who showed up with time to spare. Closed Sundays and Mondays, so plan accordingly.

The lighthouse at the southern tip of Key Biscayne has been standing since before anyone alive can remember, and climbing its 109 steps earns you a view that explains why people keep moving to Miami. Bill Baggs is a state park with serious birding credentials, over 260 species spotted inside its boundaries, plus barbecue grills, a cafe, and enough white sand to make the drive across the causeway feel like a reasonable life choice.

Thirty bar stations, live bull riding, and a floor big enough that two-steppers never have to negotiate for elbow room: Billy Bob's Texas is the kind of honky tonk that makes the word feel undersized. The building spent earlier lives as a cattle barn and an airplane factory before finding its calling as a live music and dancing venue. Willie Nelson's Fourth of July picnic has landed here. Wear boots; you'll feel underdressed without them.

Ninety-five percent of Biscayne National Park is water, which makes it the rare national park where the main thing to do is go under. The Florida Reef is the only living coral barrier reef in the continental U.S., and the Biscayne Maritime Heritage Trail strings together historic shipwrecks you reach by boat. If staying dry matters, a boat tour covers Stiltsville's strange stilted homes and the old lighthouse on uninhabited Boca Chita Key.

The smell of aging paper hits you before you've found a shelf to browse. Book Gallery is an antiquarian bookshop stacked floor to ceiling with rare volumes, first editions, and signed works, some behind glass. A Harper Lee-signed "To Kill a Mockingbird" and a first printing of "Naked Lunch" give a sense of the range. If the specific thing you're hunting isn't here, the owner can usually track it down.

Blacklight lanes, craft cocktails, and a Skee-Ball machine are all doing equal work here, which tells you what kind of bowling alley this is. Bowlero's Scottsdale spot near Old Town leans hard into the party-night format, with arcade classics and a food menu that runs from nachos to birria tacos. It's the kind of place where a date night can quietly become a group outing, and nobody minds.

Guitar repair and setup shop run by a luthier who is also a working musician, which turns out to matter. John Bronson has set up acoustics and electrics for the Gin Blossoms, Billy Corgan, and Roger Clyne, and when Geddy Lee's bass needed work, Fender routed it here. Beyond repairs, he understands how an instrument should feel and sound after adjustments, not just how to tighten the screws. Half the visit is talking gear with the staff, which is either a feature or a warning depending on your schedule.

A sprawling music shop on the Carpenter Freeway that stocks everything from orchestral French horns to electric guitars, Brook Mays/H&H Music is the kind of place where a parent buying a student's first rental flute ends up next to someone hunting a vintage find. The repair shop keeps it practical. If your kid is starting band this fall, this is probably where the school director pointed you.

A chest-high sea of pink balloons is probably not how you pictured spending a Tuesday, and yet here you are. Bubble Planet is an immersive walk-through attraction inside Arizona Mills Mall with a psychedelic sound-and-visuals dome, a mirrored infinity room strung with blinking lights, and a ball pit styled as a giant bubble bath. Bring your own socks or you'll pay mall-kiosk prices for a pair at the door.

The trail starts flat along the shoreline and then climbs the cliffs above Saguaro Lake, where the views keep getting better the higher you go. This five-mile out-and-back north of Phoenix is easygoing enough that you can spend most of it looking at the water rather than your feet. A side path partway along drops to the shoreline for a wade, and Burro Cove at the far end opens up to Four Peaks in the distance.

Alpacas are not llamas, and the owner of this family farm north of Phoenix will tell you so, cheerfully, before you've even met the herd. During cooler months, small groups can feed, pet, and walk the animals on a leash across the property. The alpacas tolerate photos with the patience of minor celebrities who have made peace with their fame. A casual, outdoor animal encounter, and a good excuse to finally learn the difference.

Phoenix logs more sunny flying days than almost anywhere, which explains why the metro supports over forty aviation schools. CAE stands out by skipping the small-Cessna rite of passage: their simulator-based training puts you at the controls of a Boeing 737NG or an Embraer before you ever touch the real thing. The kind of place where weekend hobby shades into a second career, whether you know it yet or not.

The bureks sell out before the lunch rush is over, which tells you something about this family-run Balkan restaurant in north Phoenix. The menu runs to exactly the kind of southeastern European comfort food that improves overnight, including a goulash with mashed potatoes that does most of its best work as leftovers. Silky veal soup, warm lepinja flatbread, and a pastry case for dessert round out a meal that requires zero willpower to finish.

A massive antique mall in Mesa where you can lose an entire afternoon without noticing. The stock runs from vintage furniture and jewelry to old maps, cookware, and the kind of tchotchkes that somehow feel essential in the moment. Prices stay low and the inventory turns constantly, so repeat visits rarely feel redundant. Bring comfortable shoes and no particular agenda, and expect to leave with something you cannot explain.

Central Market is a grocery store that programs its sound system the way a record collector programs a party, pulling obscure B-sides and local finds between the funk grooves and jazzy lo-fi. The mix shifts with in-store themes, so the playlist on a given Tuesday is not an accident. It won a Dallas Observer Best of Dallas nod for it, which says something about how low the bar is everywhere else.

Sports memorabilia covers every surface here, bathrooms included, because half-measures are for people who don't care. Named for a beloved late Nuggets trainer, this Cherry Creek sports bar has been around forever and carries that weight lightly. The menu sits a notch above standard bar fare, and the TVs outnumber the regulars on a slow night. When the Nuggets are playing, there is nowhere more logical to be.