Our tour of the island's southern end was so wonderful, we thought it'd be a good idea to break out the bikes and see what the northern part had to offer. We hadn't used them much since Great Harbor, so both our bicycles and our thigh muscles were a bit rusty.

As I'd mentioned before, we're not 'early movers' and today was no exception. Of course this imprudence meant we'd be laboring directly under the hot sun. But that just gave us reason to stop and seek refreshment along the way! And a mere 1 mile up the road we came upon just such an inducement.

Augusta Bay, a very pretty, beachside boutique resort overlooking Elizabeth Harbor exhibited the perfect spot for a brief sojourn. Since it was the off season, the facility was nearly vacant, and our patronage was unreservedly welcomed. We nursed our drinks under a poolside umbrella overlooking a long dock with two tiki huts perched on the end. It was a picture right out of a Condé Nast Traveller publication! How lucky we felt to enjoy such a sumptuous setting for the cost of a couple cocktails!

After immediately passing by two or three more exclusive resorts, Queens Highway became a hot, hilly ribbon of asphalt winding through scattered residences, vague warehouses, and indeterminate shops. There was a lot more traffic traveling in this direction than we'd encountered south of George Town, though really only an occasional vehicle every now and again. The road had no berm, but we were always courteously given a wide berth.

My idea of popping into magazine-cover worthy cafés along the way, however, was waning rapidly. Eventually, I spotted a business with large water cooler bottles in the window. I was parched, so pulled over in the hopes we could at the very least fill our empties from a tap.

While there, we discovered our prominence in the community. Apparently a couple of caucasians pedaling clown-sized bicycles across an island of just over seven-thousand people, mostly of African descent, really stood out! The folks behind the counter were happy to fill our needs, and several customers wanted to know where we'd been, and where we were headed.

"You should go to 'Catch-a-Fire' jez down da road der. Iz a real nice place dat jez open!" suggested one of the islanders. Perfect! We now had hydration, and a destination for which to aim.

The Bahamas' 700 islands are, for the most part low and flat. At only 206 feet, Mt. Alvernia on Cat Island rises to the nation's maximum elevation. Not much to brag about. However, I think it's notable that Great Exuma boasts the 5th highest point, at 128 feet. And it turns out Don and I were about to summit that peak on 4 really puny wheels!

Our lack of cardio exercise was really taking its toll. Fortunately, a sign indicating the turn-off appeared just before I was ready to turn back. The road started out decent enough; it was paved, though bumpy and desolate. But it seemed to go on and on, until we finally came to a dog leg. Now, we were trudging along a deeply rutted dirt track. With dust and cuss words flying, we began to doubt the merit of the recommendation. Never mind the inaccuracy of "jez down da road der!" And then ANOTHER turn down a dirt road appeared!

"If this place isn't at the end of this street, that's it!" I groused, though backtracking over what we'd just done was not an enamoring idea. And then an even more disconcerting thought popped into my head.

"It's a Wednesday. What if they're not even OPEN today!?" I howled.

Nothing but dry bush and palm scrub lie on either side of the road. We were deep into the interior of the island where there was no shade, no refreshing ocean breezes, no signs of humankind whatsoever! So on through the dust and heat we pedaled.

After pumping over 6 miles, we'd finally reached both the western shore and the end of the road! The rust-cycles were unceremoniously dumped at the foot of a large, bamboo arch beckoning entry to the very distinctive Catch-a-Fire Sunset Bar and Grill. The expansive view of the Great Bahama Bank it faced was breathtaking – definitely worth the trouble!

Fortunately, the bar was opening in just 30 minutes, giving us the opportunity to walk around the adjoined Sunset Bluff resort's attractive grounds. There were quaint, tropical colored cottages scattered amongst lush gardens, an indigo blue infinity pool sitting in contrast to the shallow, pale green seas just beyond, and some of the most unique furnishings we'd ever seen.

Being the first (and only) patrons at the moment also afforded us the opportunity to learn about the resort and restaurant directly from one of the owners. British expats Tony and Jo Hope built and ran both places, and their creativity really shone through. All the restaurant's heavy wooden tables and chairs were made of old Thai ox cart parts. Tony pointed out the wheels used as arm rests, and bar seats. He noted, with some chagrin, that the cost of purchasing the striking teak and rosewood was negligible. Shipping it in to the Bahamas, however, was quite another matter!

Don and I perched ourselves onto a couple of ponderous bar stools and ordered up some rum punches. As we sat chatting with the staff, the place began to fill up. Islanders and transplants alike stopped by the bar to say hello, always mentioning that they'd seen us pedaling our way across the island. It seems every automobile that, hours earlier, swerved around us must have ultimately followed us to this establishment! We had groupies!

Both Don and I found it quite comical how well-known we'd become for cycling over 'Mount Exuma'. Of course I know we're no Edmund Hillary or Lance Armstrong. This is just a part of small island life I supposed. Anything out of the ordinary was a point of interest and apparently, we'd caused quite a stir!

Earlier in our travels, I'd mentioned the contrast between being greeted with familiarity everywhere we frequented on Vaca Key, the tiny island from which we'd embarked, and being nameless strangers on each of the Bahamian islands we visited. Now here we were near the end of our journey; travelers who were greeted with openness and an interest in becoming better acquainted. Not exactly full circle, but welcomed just the same!

Before long, one of the island's taxi drivers plopped down beside us and introduced himself with that oft repeated acknowledgment "I saw you two earlier riding your bikes 'ere!" as he passed me one of his business cards.

Of everyone we'd met, I was most happy to make his acquaintance. We'd be requesting his services this very evening, I thought. That was, until we witnessed an entire bottle of rum slide down his gullet. Ah-well, it wasn't exactly the best laid plan.

The sun began to set to the sound of a talented Rake-n-Scrape band, a genre of music native to this country. It is believed the instruments hail back to the 1800s when Africans, who'd been brought to the Bahamas, crafted melodies from whatever was available to them. A goat skin stretched across a barrel (now known as a Goombay drum), a rusty hand saw scraped by an old butter knife, and a shaken gourd full of hard seeds sufficed in their desire to make music.

Our ensemble was playing more modern instruments, but the saw was being raked and scraped, so the sound remained authentic; an easygoing, rhythmic vibe reminiscent of New Orleans zydeco and Caribbean calypso, yet as unique as the beautiful people of these islands.

The panoramic views on this side of the island fulfilled its promise for a gorgeous sunset, one we didn't want to miss. By dusk, the place was really hopping, especially for a hump day, and we'd just happened upon it! Pinch me!

It was worth the splurge on a lovely meal under a starry sky with the band and the banter in the background. But by 9 o'clock, reality nagged incessantly. We'd put off biking back to our dinghy for far too long, and now we'd be going down pitch-black roads.

"Just give me a couple of minutes and I'll pull my truck around." Tony mentioned in passing as we paid our bill.

Don and I didn't quite understand at first. His restaurant was packed, the bar was crowded shoulder to shoulder. Lovely smells were wafting from the kitchen as staff scurried back and forth conveying full trays to full tables. The band brought people to their feet while others sipped cocktails by the pool. But Tony seemed to have not given any of that another thought.

He was going to leave it for the moment to drive Don and me, and our bikes, safely back to our dinghy! It was service beyond anything we'd ever experienced. I guess that's what comes with fame! (More likely it was a show of appreciation for our making such an arduous journey just to patronize his establishment.

Even after all the hot, sweaty pedaling and complaining (mostly by me), I was glad we pushed on to the western coast. Great Exuma is a sprawling island with pockets of treasures scattered everywhere, and we were not disappointed in the one we found just around the bend (and the next bend, and the next bend). Aside from the cool drinks, great meal, entertaining music, and spectacular scenery, we were treated with special regard, and then folded into this lovely community without apprehension.

Anyone who knows Reggae may recognize that 'Catch-a-Fire' is the name of a Wailers album, recorded by famed artists Bob Marley, Peter Tosh, and of course, Bunny Wailer. (You might also have noticed all this article's subtitles are the song titles from that album.) That was where, Tony confirmed, the name of his restaurant was derived. This recording was considered one of the Rolling Stone's 500 greatest albums of all time, and includes one of our personal favorite songs, "Stir It Up". It's a tune that immediately brings to mind one of our favorite sailor movies, "Captain Ron." And from now on, 'Catch-a-Fire' will elicit one of our favorite Bahamian memories as well!