The coronation of the new prince.
  
  Cardiff, the capital of Wales, is waiting in suspense. Many notable people have been invited and are supported by the citizens of the city to see this magical event.
  Rumours have been going through the street for a few days. "There will be a new Prince of Wales."
  The festivities are taking place and there is much laughter and joy. Men in their sunday outfits are parading through the street, women are strolling to be seen. Childeren are running around and enjoy all the generousity.
  Music fills the streets, shopkeepers sell their goods and the guild of thiefs is working overtime.
  The main square infront of the majestic townhall is a bustling mellee and everybody is overjoyed and excited. This is the day they have been waiting for.
  There is a big podium that is shining in the Autumn sun. It is empty but, this is the spot everybody wants to see when the clock strikes ten.
  The mayor of Cardiff comes on but the crowd is still occupied with their interest in eachother.
  Rumours are going around. Big stories are being told. Everybody has something to tell. But it all is about one thing. They saw, they heard, they met and some people even brag about the fact that they have touched him. Him, in this case, is no other then the next Prince of Wales.
  Numerous notables of the city and of Wales are joining the mayor and the podium looks to be filled real quick. They are pushing and pulling eachother to try to get infront.
  The closer you get, the bigger story you can tell when you are joining the festivities in the pub.
  
  The drums are starting, and trumpets blow. The crowd is silenced. The sound rolls down the heads of

the people, passing the buildings and fade in the alleys around the townsquare.
  The mayor is starting his monologue about three epic Welsh days. Days that can only occur in Wales. Because Wales is the place where legends are being born.
  Three days of hard labour that tests the men that seeking the crownjewels of Llywelyn ap Gruffydd.
  
  Starting in Welshpool, 120 men set voyage to Bangor. The start of a journey with an unknown outcome. Cymru Taith had begun.
  Welshpool screamed their heroes away. Not out of anger, they screamed out of joy. Among these men there would be one. The one that would be their new Prince.
  The stage was brutal and in Bangor only the best would prevail.
  Young Slavomil Dittrich was there first. He was the best and took the "Dragons" jersey. The new number one was known. A surprise winner but a good one, beating Joselito Rangel and Goddard Scothern.
  
  The "Dragons" jersey would be heavily contested on day two. The timetrial in Newport. The weather was reasonable for Welsh standards. Terrible in the words of foreigners.
  Alfeu Freitas attacked the jersey with all he got and prevailed at the end. But the dragon in Slavomil Dittrich made him flying over the streets and gave him a second place ahead of Toine Touzet.
  This was the blow that weakened the competition. Only disaster would change the outcome of this years Taith.
  
  Stage three from Newport to Cardiff was a mere formality. Nicolaas Arnolds won this sprint in the streets of Cardiff ahead of Juan Lizarraga and Willy Malmros.
  But as a nobleman, Slavomil Dittrich was right behind his fellow warriors finishing fifth.
  
  And now the moment

has come. Trumpets shout again, drums roar over the heads. The crowd is holding their breath and the notables on the podium are striding aside, forming an honarary salute and are welcoming
  Damario Crusellas and Anghel Ghidarcea. These two are the men that will guard each side of the stage.
  They are given the honorary signs and are welcomed with cheers from the public. They stand proud, and strong, ready for their task given to them.
  And here he comes, the new "Prince of Wales". Marching on the podium like a true warrior. The crowd goes mad and the buildings tremble. This is the one, this is him. They are waiting for him and him alone.
  This is their new prince. This is Slavomil Dittrich, the new "Prince of Wales".
  His name is chanted, starting in a small corner at the back, but soon picked up by others, Slavomil, Slavomil, Slavomil the people scream.
  This is their new prince and they are welcoming him with all their heart. They have seen him battle the elements, battle his fellow companions, battle with himself, and doing the Dragon of Wales proud.
  Slavomil Dittrich is now a true Welshmen, a hero, a monument.
  But that is not all why the Welsh have put him in their heart. The reason why they love him is that he is, not only their Prince, but he is their own. Like many Welsh, Slavomil is too, a ginger.
  And being a ginger is being Welsh. He is their "Ginger Prince of Wales".
  
  This Taith is over, but the festivities are not. They have just begun. Thank you all for this spectacular journey through Wales. All the riders, all the managers, all the supporters. Thank you and goodbye.
  
  Written by pundit Finz from NightmareChaos to OCM Magazine