The people have spoken and the choice of Guardian readers for the final nominee for UK invertebrate of the year is resounding: all hail Lumbricus terrestris, the common earthworm.

The common earthworm – also known as the lob worm, dew worm, nightcrawler and, in Germany, the rain worm – is the soil-maker. Without its labours, we would struggle to feed ourselves.

Worms can bring 40 tonnes of soil to the surface per hectare a year in Britain. They are the engineers of an ecosystem that may be as diverse as the Amazon rainforest. Their diggings aerate soil and they pull fallen leaves and other organic matter into the earth and recycle them. Worms make soils less prone to flooding in winter and less baking hard in summer, they boost microbial activity and, of course, support plant growth.

But #VoteWorm is to celebrate majesty and dignity too. These are gorgeous creatures, many shades of pink, stretching out to 35cm long, and coiling and gliding – never “slithering”, as the pestilent centipede put it in James and the Giant Peach – through the earth.

The worm’s backers know this well. Lily, aged four, nominates the earthworm “because they help make compost to help our garden grow, they feel very soft and when they have got mud on them they are like a wiggly piece of string”.

We think the myopic adult world is blind to the brilliance of worms but they have long had influential advocates from Cleopatra and Charles Darwin to George Monbiot.

Today, Guardian-reading soil scientists and horticulturalists make a powerful case to Vote Worm but so, too, does Gill from North Wales, who has been earthworm-phobic since she was Lily’s age. “Much gratitude for all the thrashing ones, the little thready ones, the slimy ones, the knotted ones, the ones with ‘saddles’, the blue-tinged ones, even the enormous ones stretching terrifyingly across my drive when the ground is sodden,” she writes. “Thank you all, for what you do.”

Take heed of Trevor Lawson from Amersham. Not only are earthworms critically important, he argues, they are “the best symbol of everything that matters about being an invertebrate in our anthropocentric worldview – vulnerable, crushable, rarely considered, even despised for their apparent blind ignorance, and yet through sheer force of numbers and extraordinary evolutionary adaptation, they are capable of shaping the entire world around us as we, in our own wilful ignorance, stumble blindly on.”

#VoteWorm’s last word goes to reader Jacqui from Wiltshire who says: “200 words for this hero?! Really! Give the worm a gong!”

• At midnight on Friday 12 April, voting will open to decide the Guardian’s UK invertebrate of the year with the winner to be announced on Monday 15 April.

Thirteen years ago, riding through central London on my way to meet a friend one evening, I found myself surrounded by hundreds of cyclists, some blaring horns, one popping wheelies, and even someone covered in lights, thundering out drum’n’bass from a mobile sound system.

In spite of being overdressed in a shirt and my best trousers, I was taken by the spontaneous solidarity of this diverse group, who I later found was mostly made up of strangers.

Having been swept along in their pack, we made our way to the West End as other traffic momentarily came to a halt to let us pass, while perplexed tourists and shoppers looked on.

This was my first experience of Critical Mass, a monthly, leaderless event held around the world, which promotes safer cycling by riding in numbers.

As a nervous cyclist getting used to riding in London, participating in a “rideout” gave me a rare chance to briefly experience what roads in the capital could be like without cars. It was liberating.

This Sunday, hundreds of cyclists are expected to take part in the 30th anniversary of the first London event. Just like in 1994, the rolling demonstration will reiterate a message that cyclists have an equal right to use the road and that they should be able to ride in safety. Although numbers have been falling, about 100 cyclists still die on British roads each year, according to government data.

Inspired by rides first held in the US, Critical Mass tries to set off from the same starting point on the last Friday of every month; in London it is the South Bank, under Waterloo Bridge.

A mix of riders turn up, from cycling activists and environmentalists to those who just want to ride for fun.

There is no planned route; the pack simply follows riders who happen to be at the front. By forming a “critical mass” and riding slowly around a city, riders take up as much road as is needed to keep everybody safe.

A Critical Mass website explains: “Critical Mass is not an organisation or group, but an idea or tactic, Critical Mass allows people to reclaim cities with their bikes, just by getting together and outnumbering the cars on the road”

There is no question that rides are disruptive in their nature. At roundabouts and junctions, a few “corkers” will move out to stop traffic coming in from sidestreets so the pack can stick together. Sometimes, the disruption leads to arguments, as I witnessed on my first ride. Fortunately, a standoff between a young rider and a motorist was defused quickly.

The rides often last for a few hours and their noise and colour give them a reputation for being a bit lively.

That Critical Mass London still exists is somewhat of an achievement given that there have been high-profile attempts to restrict or even ban it. In 2007 moves to outlaw it unless its route was notified to the police in advance were overturned when the House of Lords allowed an appeal against a previous ruling by the court of appeal.

The law lords held that the event, which had no organisers or set route and proceeded on a “follow my leader” basis, was not governed by the Public Order Act 1986.

It is not easy to measure what 30 years of Critical Mass London rideouts have achieved, but its participants would probably want to believe that it has helped raise the profile of cyclists. They would also argue that they have helped change the stereotype that cyclists on the capital’s roads are still the minority.

The event endures, and this weekend a diverse group of people will celebrate their right to use the road safely and in an environmentally friendly manner. In a symbolic act of defiance, many will also get off their bikes during the ride to hold their bikes above their heads and join in with a traditional “bike lift” or “bike salute” (probably to a backdrop of car horns blaring).