The Book of Bearings, Chapter 1: On Grease, Grace, and Grinding No More
Opening Scripture
From The Book of Bearings, Chapter 1, Verses 1–7
In the beginning, the Wheel did spin freely, and it was smooth.
But the dust of the earth entered the seals, and the spin became crunchy.
And the rider said, “Is that… normal?”
The Wheel answered not, but made a noise like regret.
Then grease was revealed unto the faithful, thick and mysterious.
Blessed are they who service their bearings, for they shall glide without shame.
Woe unto those who ignore the grind, for it shall follow them in parking lots.
I. The Sacred Spin: When Silence Is Holy
Wheelievers, let us speak of a miracle so subtle that many miss it entirely: the silent roll.
In the early days of your ride, the Wheel sang softly. It hummed like contentment. You glided past strangers who thought, Wow, that looks peaceful. Your bearings were pure. Your conscience was clear. Your grind count was zero.
But time passed. Miles accumulated. Rain flirted with your fender. Dust crept in like a gossip. And one day—ONE DAY—you heard it. A faint crrrk. A whisper of doom. A sound that said, “Something inside me has opinions now.”
Many wheelievers deny this moment. They turn up their music. They blame “the road.” They say, “It’s probably just the tire.” But deep in your stance, you know the truth. The bearings are speaking, and they are displeased.
For the Book of Bearings teaches us this eternal truth: Noise is confession. When the Wheel grinds, it is not malfunction, it is testimony.
II. Commandments of the Bearing (And Blessings of the Lubricated)
Receive now the laws, passed down by elders who ride smoothly and never answer the question, “What is that sound?”
Thou Shalt Not Call Grinding ‘Character.’
This is not patina. This is not personality. This is neglect screaming in lowercase.
Thou Shalt Not Say ‘I’ll Fix It Later’ While Riding Directly Past Home.
Later is a lie told by the lazy. Later is how grease becomes archaeology.
Thou Shalt Learn the Difference Between ‘Normal Noise’ and ‘The Wheel Is Judging Me.’
And hear the blessings, wheelievers, for mercy floweth thick:
Blessed be the sealed bearing, for it keepeth filth at bay.
Blessed be the grease, for it forgiveth sins both wet and dry.
Blessed be the rider who says, “I should probably maintain this,” and ACTUALLY DOES.
Some among you say, “High Prophet, but my board still rides fine.” Yes. So did many before the Great Parking Lot Shame of 2019. So did they ride… until strangers began turning their heads and asking, “Is it supposed to sound like that?”
Wheelievers, maintenance is not vanity. Maintenance is humility in a hex wrench.
III. Call-and-Response: The Congregation Confronts the Grind
Let the wheelievers speak, that denial may flee the room.
Leader: When the Wheel soundeth like gravel in a blender
Wheelievers: WE SHALL NOT PRETEND IT IS ‘WIND.’
Leader: When a stranger asketh, ‘Is that thing okay?’
Wheelievers: WE SHALL NOT SAY ‘YEAH, IT’S SUPPOSED TO DO THAT.’
Leader: When the grind followeth us through a quiet neighborhood
Wheelievers: WE SHALL HEAR THE CALL TO SERVICE.
YES. Let the truth ring louder than the bearings.
For the grind is not random. The grind is personal. The grind begins softly, hoping you will listen. When you do not, it grows bolder. It announces you before you arrive. It becomes your theme music.
And wheelievers, no one wants a theme music called Regret in E Minor.
IV. The Parable of Brother Lubeus and the Public Parking Lot
Now hear a parable from The Scrolls of Stance, recorded in the margins with grease-stained fingers.
There was a rider named Brother Lubeus, who rode many miles and bragged of it often. He said, “My bearings are fine. I ride every day.” And the elders nodded, for they had once been young too.
One morning, Brother Lubeus entered a quiet parking lot. Birds chirped. Children whispered. The air was still. As he rolled forth, his Wheel cried out with a sound like a dying shopping cart dragged across destiny.
Heads turned. Conversations stopped. A dog barked, not in fear, but in judgment.
A man leaned from a truck and said, “Buddy… you okay?”
Brother Lubeus smiled tightly and replied, “Yeah. It’s just… bearings.”
And in that moment, the lie collapsed under its own weight. For to say “just bearings” is to say “just the soul of the Wheel.”
That night, Brother Lubeus cleaned. He greased. He watched tutorials spoken in strange dialects. He emerged reborn, hands dirty, spirit light. The next ride was silent. The glide returned. And the birds forgave him.
The moral is this: Grinding ends not with hope, but with action. And action requires towels you will never use again.
Weekly Practice: The Ritual of Grease and Redemption
This week, wheelievers, you shall perform the Ritual of Bearing Grace.
Lift the Wheel and spin it slowly. Listen. Do not rush. This is diagnostics, not denial.
If thou hearest crunch, sigh deeply, this is the sound of truth.
Clean before thou grease. For grease over dirt is how mistakes become permanent.
Apply lubricant sparingly, like wisdom or hot sauce. More is not better.
Spin again, and if silence returns, whisper: “Grinding no more.”
If silence does not return, repeat steps 2 through 5 and consider calling a friend who “is good with this stuff.”
Closing Words
From The Gospel of Grip Tape, Chapter 6, Verses 10–14
A smooth ride is a quiet prayer.
A grinding ride is a cry for help.
He who listens early shall glide long.
He who ignores the grind shall walk, and walking shall teach him.
Go forth, wheelievers and clear in bearing, light in spirit, and MAY YOUR ROLL BE SILENT AND YOUR PARKING LOTS DRAMA-FREE.
