How do these things happen? Is there a message in there somewhere?
The bike has run faultlessly the last 20,000 miles across the continent of Africa.
It must like it here. The petrol's cheaper I suppose. Or there's more sunshine than back in England.

Because this morning, ready to leave for the last half-mile to the cargo shed, it was dead to the world. Not a spark of life from the starter button.
No...... it must be nerves, mine or the bike's.
Check everything again.
Ignition on - Check. Double check.
In neutral, make sure, down first, up second, down a click, neutral - Check.
Ignition cut-out on - Check. Double check.
Any lights? Yes there are lights - Check.
Starter button - dead.
One of the many hotel guests who have passed by wanting to know all about my journey, comes up to me with the usual greetings and questions.
"Yes, it's been a wonderful journey, a magnificent continent!"
"Had any problems, any breakdowns?"
"No, it's just not starting right now, doesn't like the idea of going on a plane, never flown before."
It's like that poem:
"Fear not, fear not, thou Hotel-Guest!
This bike won't let me down.

Alone, alone, all, all alone,
Alone on a wide wide land!
And never my bike has failed to start
Despite it not liking the sand."

Until this morning.
Another round of checks, including all the lights so the battery doesn't get left out. Check.
No, no action at all from the starter button.
So it's the kick-starter then.
The first prod results in a definite cough and firing, so everything's OK there.
Second prod and the engine runs!
Well, what's all that about?
But no time for philosophical ponderings, off to the cargo area.

I pulled up next to the loading ramp and they're expecting me.
"Go round to the airside so we can get you up onto the bay. I'll give you a pass."
I knew the way airside as I had to go round there for the weighing a few weeks earlier. It seems quite something to be riding through the Cape Town Airport security into the aircraft taxi-ing area, in front of the noses of the waiting freight planes. Years ago it would have been unremarkable, you just needed to be driving a car with "Post Office Telephones" on the side, and you'd be waved straight through in amongst the BOAC 707s and whatever else was flying around in the 60s.

With pass in hand, I switched on again, tried the starter button. And there was life. So it's a mystery. That won't be solved, if it needs to be solved, until H.M. and I get away from this cargo shed and back to my shed.

The wrap-up photos:

The cockpit, with one year's flight plan, tyre pressures and fuel range in the head-up display on the screen. Along with GPS navigator, master key for the toilets (wooden trowel handle) and map compartment.

Close-up 1: Maps and navigator.

Close-up 2: Stowed under the navigator's seat (on the right), is the ship's log. 68,282.8 statute miles. Subtract 48,236 (from flight plan in top picture above), gives 20,046 miles covered.

And, suddenly, it all looks like this:

Grounded. In dry dock!

Final flight plan on the dismantled head-up display.

Reversed, to reveal the other name for H.M. The Bike.

Hoping for some weight-loss, it's placed on the industrial bathroom scales. (Flat square plate on the left).

Then I learned something that arrived just too late. "Things I wish I'd known at the start of the journey."

As I've said before, the bike's air filter just doesn't seem up to the job. The oil consumption is OK still, but considerably higher than on joining the road to Dover. A paper cartridge is needed really, but it would be too big.
Here's the answer, but too late now I'm afraid. To anyone starting out on an African adventure, or even just going to the local shops in Tanzania, I strongly recommend you try this set-up to keep all the dirt and dust out of your engine:

V

No wonder H.M. The Bike didn't want to start this morning......