Oh, we've tried them all--and, more to the point, so have our friends, who are the kind of people who actually look good precariously balanced on steel blades. Walnut Ridge in Edina, tucked away off Biscayne Boulevard where only the locals are supposed to find it. Crosby Lake out in Chanhassen, where deer sometimes watch you glide; Langford Park in St. Paul, where they take their ice very, very seriously (and consequently laugh themselves silly when we show up). We even temporarily yielded to the forces of evil that brought baseball, football, and hockey indoors: At the State Fair, where they flood the coliseum November through March, we discovered that there's something to be said for wind-chill-free ice. But Isles kept drawing us back, and we realized why when we found ourselves at the far end of the trail, starting a slow, languid pirouette--just because it was dark, and we were behind the island, and the hockey crowd by the warming house was far enough away. Like belting out "Natural Woman" in your car, with the windows rolled up.