A Valley calf-roping star’s lifelong fight to thrive despite disability is tested again after a debilitating accident.
Boyd Smith is a man of resolve. Born in Phoenix with no arms and only one fully developed leg, he has lived an honest and hardworking life. He started riding horses at 15 years old and spent decades as a landscaper and respected team calf-roper, and has the belt buckles to prove it.

Homegrown boxing champ Michael Carbajal contends that brother Danny stole his fortune. Their latest dust-up has an unlikely cornerman: Sheriff Joe.
The Ninth Street Gym has no air-conditioning. “I don’t believe in it,” says Michael Carbajal, 47, the Olympic silver medalist and International Boxing Hall of Fame inductee. Young contenders need to feel how hot it gets under the spotlights, he says.

Arizona’s long owner-less NHL franchise will play in Glendale for at least another season. But will the city’s latest dowry deal go through?

Judging from the Phoenix Coyotes’ abysmal attendance figures over the past five years, it seems highly unlikely that you – a Valley resident – have intimate knowledge of professional hockey. But if you do, you know that the 2011-2012 season was a momentous one for Arizona’s NHL franchise. Momentous in two ways.

New York City isn’t the only American metropolis with a celestial pseudo-holiday. We present: Phoenixhenge.

On May 30 of this year – and again on July 11 – the sun-starved denizens of New York City’s most populous borough celebrated something called Manhattanhenge.
More godless big city paganism? Sort of. Also known as the “Manhattan solstice,” Manhattanhenge marks a biannual phenomenon in which the sun sets exactly along the island’s slightly-upturned east-west street grid. This favors Manhattanites with a rare bath of early-evening light as the descending sun squeezes between the city’s long, deep valleys of glass and steel – an effect similar to that created by the ancient rock monuments at the druid-frequented Stonehenge site in England. Manhattanhenge is a polite, decidedly un-debauched affair. The event is chiefly popular with photography buffs and amateur astronomers.

So, which came first: the chicken or the neighborhood?

In a not-so-quiet neighborhood of Phoenix, near 32nd Street north of Thomas, you will find an age-old joke come alive: chickens crossing the road.
Aside from getting to the other side, they’re seeking shade beneath shrubbery, scurrying away from curious cats and inspecting gardens for insect treats, all the while creating a cacophony of crows and clucks so loud, I had vivid flashbacks of childhood days spent at my grandparents’ Minnesota farm.

Canadian homebuyers helped stabilize Valley real estate during its darkest hour. Now leave some for us, eh?

Two summers ago – during the nadir of Arizona’s real estate fortunes – USA Today ran a story under the headline “Canadians Become Top Out-of-State Homebuyers in Arizona.” The article described how Canadian snowbirds, lured by warm winters and a generous exchange rate, were starting to outpace pack-leading California buyers in snapping up bargain-basement Arizona homes – a trend that held through this spring.

Competitive barbecue is becoming a big deal in the Valley. And there’s the rub.

Move over, mixed martial arts. Take a hike, lacrosse. The fastest-growing sport in Arizona just might be barbecue. Before you start raising the inevitable objections – how could the smoking of meat constitute a sport? – consider that competitive barbecue requires endurance, constant practice and a well-devised game plan. “I’d say it’s a sport,” Michael Reimann says. “It involves training and strategy. But like any sport, it’s also an art. You have to perfect your art.”

Think driving across town for dinner is crazy? What about flying to Payson for breakfast? Take to the sky with the Valley’s $100 hamburger club.

et’s go to Sedona,” Scott Pasmore deadpans, opening the throttle on his two-seat, homemade airplane. After a brief taxi down the runway, we’re aloft, floating placidly over Deer Valley Airport like a fiberglass sparrow.

A year after the much-publicized Coronado mansion deaths, Dina Shacknai – mother of 6-year-old Max Shacknai – talks for the first time about the tragedy and her efforts to create a legacy for her only child.
Dina Shacknai tells a charming story about her late son, Max, and she relates it so vividly the boy seems to inhabit the room – his 6-year-old essence finding a momentary foothold in his mother's weary smile and tear-shot eyes.

A hearty Asian fish breed keeps Valley waterways weed-free. Anglers love them, too.

Thomas Hemphill fondly recalls the fishing trips of his youth. On those sun-kissed, halcyon days of amateur angling, Hemphill would catch catfish and carp at the local watering hole with his father and uncle, listen to the frogs croak, and swap stories as the sun went down. The 55-year-old Bass Pro sales associate calls  it “wonderful” bonding time.
Yep, there’s nothing like fishing in a Mesa canal.

Valley entrepreneurs are foregoing banks in favor of online “crowd-sourcing.”
“The dirty faux paint on the walls makes it look like a little gnome cave,” Aaron Johnson says.
This is fitting given the name of the charming bookstore we’re standing in: Lawn Gnome Publishing. As owner Johnson, 30, shows me around half of an old bungalow on Fifth and Roosevelt streets in Downtown Phoenix, his eyes light up like Willy Wonka leading children around the chocolate factory.