By Jason Smith, of Bikecation Wales

Without question one of the most magical days I have ever had on a bike. A day which displayed all that is good about human nature and spirit. A day which encapsulated a sense of community on so many different levels. A day that had to be experienced to understand it. A day to be cherished.
I rode Velothon Wales 2016 as part of a team of six acting as lanterne rouge. The term was first used in the Tour de France to describe the last man of the peloton. 
Our role at the Velothon was to encourage and support riders struggling at the tail end of the amateur peloton. 
To keep them going for as long as possible before being inevitably swept up by the following broom wagon. After all, the pros were hot on our heels. 
The very nature of our role meant we met with a very different sort of cyclist than you might imagine. 
There were women who had set themselves health and fitness goals, who just wanted to cycle further than they had ever dared imagine. 
There were people raising money for umpteen charitable causes dear to their hearts. 
Then there were two guys who I shall never forget. I met the first at Llantrisant, on the way to Usk. He had recently been the recipient of two organ donations. He had a simple goal – to just make 50km. 
We helped him achieve that by pacing him ahead of the sweep car to the first feed station at Usk. He was over the moon. 
The second guy I met at Newbridge. He was riding for his 13-year-old son, who had recently died. 
Riding, I suspect to help quell those personal demons that any parent would have in the face of such tragedy. Sadly we couldn’t help him stay ahead of the pace and he succumbed to the sweep. We were all inconsolable.
We didn’t just meet cyclists. We were greeted, cheered and supported by swathes of local communities of all ages all along the route. 
At Langstone we rode through a tunnel of kids clattering saucepans with spoons to replicate cowbells. 
Usk square was a gigantic summer party. 
Govilon, at the bottom of the Tumble, one man had turned his drive into an impromptu bike repair station. 
The Blaenavon/Pontypool valley had families enjoying a day out with barbeques and gazebos on the side of the road. 
People lined road bridges and central reservations. Caerphilly mountain was like a scene from the Tour de France, ringing to the sound of cowbells. We were clapped and cheered all along the streets of Cardiff, from Lisvane to Cathays.
Sadly, the event has it’s detractors. Detractors who just don’t get it. 
It would be a travesty if this event was lost.
There would be no outlet to ease personal demons; no mechanism to pursue personal goals; no challenge for the thousands raising money for charity and no inspiration to the hundreds of kids who lined the route. 
Let’s keep it alive.