Table Mountain should have been visible on the horizon. Cape Town’s most distinguishing landmark, that famous flat-topped peak signalling the bottom of the continent, and the end of The Big Africa Cycle, would have made for a great picture-taking backdrop as I pushed south from Langebaan.

 Instead the rain came down and my not-so-waterproof jacket proved ineffective on the R27 to Cape Town. This was the busiest road I’d been on in South Africa, and I was right to think that the hard-shoulder on South African roads is neither for cyclists nor emergency breakdowns, but for vehicles to move into whilst being overtaken.

“The mountain is right there”, said my host in Melbosstrand, pointing to a grey cloud some 30km south of us. I had arrived here soaked to the skin and glad that Jimmy and Magda, whom I met at a campsite in the Fish River Canyon a few weeks before, had got in touch to invite me to stay with them.

 Their house was full of bikes (7 I think?) and behind the bar in the living room (just across from the fireplace where a popular local fish called Snoek, similar to barracuda, was being braaied on the first evening I arrived) a collection of Cape Argus medals hung from the wall.

The Cape Argus Cycle Race is to South Africa what the London Marathon is to England. Something like 35,000 cyclists come together in Cape Town every year to cycle 110km around the Cape Peninsula. Jimmy had done it more than 20 times, and one certificate alongside the medals showed his personal best time of 2 hours 46 minutes.

 Cycling culture is big among South Africa’s white population, but there are few tourers or recreational cyclists, in comparison to those on flashy road racers and mountain bikes. As Jimmy donned his lycra and decided to accompany me into Cape Town on a grey Sunday morning, his wife exclaimed “But you don’t wear a helmet”? I could have explained that the only time in my life where I’ve worn a helmet was when I was age 11 and it was required of me to pass my cycling proficiency test. I took it off when I cycled back home from school. Some 82,000km of touring later I’ve never felt the need to suddenly start wearing one. “Make sure you get one when you’re in Cape Town”, she worryingly advised as we pedalled off. It only seems to be non-whites in South Africa who don’t wear a helmet, and they of course don’t have flashy bikes, nor the lycra.

Neither did my next cycling partner, who met me 15km outside of Cape Town on his ebay purchased pink road-racer. Barry moved out from the UK to live in Cape Town last year, and responded to my website request to have company join me on the ride into the city. Once Jimmy turned back to avoid the rain that would soon fall, it was just the two of us who rode into the centre.

 Central Cape Town was mostly deserted, and as we arrived at a busy coffee shop alongside the V&A Waterfront, it didn’t really dawn on me that I had finally arrived at my destination. What an anti-climax. But then what was I expecting?

 A few days later as I aimlessly explored a busy shopping mall looking for good coffee and WIFI, I picked up a book by Riaan Manser, a South African who claims he was the first person ever to ride his bicycle around Africa. That I very much doubt, but he describes the media attention and cameras that awaited his arrival in Cape Town, and all the attached publicity that went with this amazing achievement. I had none of this, nor did I 4 years ago when I rode back into the UK after cycling back from Japan. Unless one is a celebrity, has other people wanting to make you a celebrity, or fancies some eco-tripping self-promotion and motivation for his effort and cause (which I will claim to have done before) a journey like this will end largely unnoticed. For me, arriving in Cape Town was just like another day on the road, and when you’ve been going so long, taking detours and  moving slowly with no real rush to finish, there is no sudden sense of ‘this is the end and I did it’. It kind of sinks in slowly.

 Of course cycling into Cape Town wasn’t really the end. I wanted to reach Cape Point, Africa’s most south-westerly point, but the weather forecast was grim for the next two days.

 So I took Barry up on the offer to stay with him and his wife in their apartment in one of Cape Town’s southern suburbs. For the first time in South Africa I now felt in a very much more English speaking environment. They were both English, and English, rather than Africaans, seems to be the dominant language in southern Cape Town.

 Once the skies brightened up it was time to cycle out to Cape Point. I had company from another South African, who also recently cycled from the UK-Cape Town, but in less than six months, and a young English girl returning from a volunteer programme in Madagascar, whose cycle-enthusiast friend suggested she contact me.

 The ride was spectacular, and it is easy to see why so many Capetonians get out on their bicycles, and others are drawn to the city with its inspiring coastal location.

The late afternoon sun shone down as I wheeled my bike up for a customary photo at the Cape of Good Hope. This had more of an end-to-an-epic-journey-feel to it as I popped open a bottle of bubbly and revelled in the delight of finally making it, before a tour bus arrived and I found myself surrounded by Japanese tourists.

Celebrations at the Cape of Good Hope from Peter Gostelow on Vimeo.

My bags had been picked up earlier in the day by another South African host, who met me when I gave a talk back in Zimbabwe, and did what so many South Africans have done since I arrived in the country – warmly invite me into their house. I still needed to cycle here though, a further 30km along the eastern side of the Cape Peninsula. This was equally as scenic, and left me thinking when I was driven back along here the next morning that I could live in Cape Town.

Well maybe I will. I fly back to England in 8 days time and will return to a small village in Dorset that I pedalled out of nearly 3 years ago. There will be a reunion with family, a chance to get on the local Squash court and play a game I’ve massively missed, some local talks in schools and clubs, perhaps even some warm, sunny weather whilst the Olympics take place, but also a feeling of déjà vu.

 You see 4 years ago I arrived back in England on a bicycle, having cycled nearly 50,000km on another 3-year long solo journey. Then, very much like now, I was going back to a country I felt somewhat disconnected from. I chose not to live and rent in London as I knew it would be expensive, and without a guaranteed source of income I realised saving money for another long trip, which had long been in my mind, would be harder. I considered writing a book, but was restless and lacking the confidence to give it a shot. Instead I focused on giving public talks about my journey and supplemented that with teaching English to foreign students in the months leading up to my date of departure for this journey.

Now my focus on writing a book is far more serious, albeit equally as daunting. I don't have a publisher, nor editor, but basically need to sit down and write it. The question is not so much when, as where? Throughout my journey in Africa I’ve had more than enough solitary hours on the saddle to ponder what I will do when I finally finish. There was and remains a part of me that thinks about returning to Tanzania to write (the Swahili coast with its laid back and authentically African atmosphere, cheap cost of living and warm climate) but now that I’m here in Cape Town I sense a location with more opportunities to connect with a community of outdoor enthusiasts in a place where I won’t be dealing with the mzungu (white man) effect quite so much. Perhaps I’m just looking for more escapism, or a reason not to live in a country where those around me seem to work so hard and worry about their future.  In many ways life on the road is far simpler....

The cycling continued from Cape Town. When I first came to Africa 12 years ago it was in large part due to the suggestion from a friend at University who was living in Zambia. Now she is married with two kids and lives in Stellenbosch. A few weeks ago I considered cycling to Cape Agulhus. This afterall is the southern most point of Africa, but the choice of enduring rain-filled and windy days on the bike, or exploring the winelands around this most scenic part of the country with the chance to catch up with an old friend, wasn't too hard a decision to make.

Although the cycling is mostly over, I want to keep this website active. I will be posting a number of interesting blog posts about aspects of the journey in the weeks to come - statistics and kit for example. It would also be a great motivation to see the fundraising total for the Against Malaria Foundation top £15,000 by the time I leave South Africa on the 9th July. If each person who has read this far in my blog post donated just £5 (make it £6 as that is 2 nets guaranteed over the head of a child) then I know this could quickly become a reality.To donate please click here.

Before I go and enjoy the sunshine here in Stellenbosch I want to thank those who've been reading this website, whether you followed from the beginning or heard about the journey later on. There were plenty of challenges to overcome, but the support people have shown from reading, commenting and helping in one way or another has been tremendous.