When the LED turned from hopeful green to judgmental amber, the wheelievers felt the sacred tug: take up thy cord and walk. Thus began the Pilgrimage to the Charging Station, past the Bench of Denial (“one more lap”), through the Leaf Gauntlet (smells like pie, rides like soap), and onward to the locked patio outlet where faith goes to learn boundaries. At the shrine we kept the Canon of the Plug, first fruits to the desperate, step aside at 80%, coil thy cord as if another soul exists. We rejected false doctrines (sunbathing does not “soak electrons”) and praised true miracles (+2% downhill regen, the café barista who says “sure”). Go in peace, and may your pushback be pastoral and your outlet unoccupied. A-Wheel-men.

On the Fall Equinox, when daylight and darkness split the ride 50/50, the wheelievers gather to recentre feet, PSI, and pride. “Magnetic pushback” becomes the firmware of grace, damp leaves reveal themselves as cinnamon-scented traps, and a humble speed bump doubles as an altar. Low battery speaks like a prophet (“Prepare ye the charging cable”), while the Autumn Commandments remind us to honor chargers, heed the cold, and carve with humility. This satirical homily blesses bearings, patches egos, and sends wheelievers forth in peace.