Wait a minute...? There it was! Not sure what, but distant verbage now descended from those dark skies..."wob da bank...walk the plank...arrr! Walk the Plank"*

Of course! That's it!! The Wright brothers have called upon me to summons my greatest talent (putting right foot in front of left) and lead Walk the Plank...with a Doc (WTPWAD)!
With power comes responsibility. I was now communicating with one of the aviation gods.

There was no time to waste. I was in North Carolina only for 6 more days.
Hmmm... Let's see...It would be easy to carry out the theme.
There is a bountiful supply of pirate gear in every beach shop you could find.
I printed up dozens of WTPWAD fliers. Dodging all the minivans with the roof trunks on Route 158, I hurriedly posted in every Harris Teeter, Brew-Thru, Food Lion, and Duck Doughnuts I could find.
It felt so natural, as if the 1903 Wright Flyer itself was guiding my path.
My family would come to have fun with it.
They dressed me like Captain FeatherSword.
I was complete with the cheesy purple felt 3 cornered hat, poofy Seinfeld shirt, black plastic eye patch (slowly cutting into my right upper cheek), and a 'parrot' made out of multicolored duck tape on my left shoulder. This was going to be great. (Everyday I'm shufflin')
We laughed and I teased the kids with "Arrrrgh"!, "
"Ahoy Matey's!". "While I'm gone, Batten Down the Hatches!"
I hopped in the Jeep and I was off to Avalon Pier at MP7, closest thing I could find to a 'plank'.
Curious fishermen lined both sides of this 696 foot boardwalk extending into the great beast of the Atlantic.
Ignoring their awkward stares and inappropriate comments, I made the long walk to our selected meeting locale. I had chosen the three-walled, tin-roofed fish cleaning shack at the end of the pier. It opened to the surf.
As I turned the corner into the shelter, I expected to see a few like-minded tourists looking to walk off a couple crab cakes.
Nope.
The smell hit me first, but shortly thereafter, I was staring into the blood-shot eyes of 13 genuine, disgusted pirates.  I was on time, but it certainly didn't seem that way to the others.
My eyes were watering from the pungency in the air. Their clothes likely had been of sharp color, 100 years ago. They were now covered with at least two layers of soot, the first one darker than the second. Teeth, if present, were as unique as snowflakes - not one pointed in the same direction as another. When they spoke, the stench was eerily reminiscent of death. Each pirate had a real parrot on their right shoulder. The parrot that my daughter made of duct tape still sat on my left shoulder. All the pirates, and their parrots, were staring at it.
I turned my head to glance at the somewhat mangled adhesive mass on my shoulder, looked back at them (still watching me), then smacked it off. It made a little bit of a thud when it hit the floor. The pirates were still staring at me; the parrots were looking down at what they may have thought was now a dead bird. The parrots then looked back up at me.
I swallowed hard and smiled - looking for a window of opportunity.
Nothing. 39 eyes staring right through me.
Their intimidation was working.
"Seems like you guys may already know each other? (Gulp) Why don't we go around the room and introduce ourselves?"
One of the larger men in the back spoke first. I would have described him as unshaven, but that would not serve to differentiate him.
"'Quadruped' Joe Grimm."
Then, like the Whack-a-Mole game at Dave & Buster's, it started ("Everyday I'm shuff-el-in!")
"Shoutin' Booker Dawkins" - the small man immediately in front, to my left shared. Rather loudly I must add.
"Cap'n Edmund Slashface"
"Eel Skin Pablo"
"Epileptic Brett Smithe"
"Filthy Jim Teach" This looked like an unkempt Zach Galifinakis.
"Gangrenous Barney Bellamy" - maybe that's the smell?
"Hackin' Maurice Dagger"
"Cap'n Dan Bloodbucket"
"Scurv-aceous Baird Hawkins"
"Sea Monkey Jude"
"High Pitched Eric"
and finally
"Stinkin' Butch Smythe"
Okay, we're making progress.
Quickly surveying the group, one could immediately tell we would not likely remain as a group while we walked. 5 of the 13 had short, wooden peg legs.
Krissy had recommended I bring a lot of rum (as a joke) to put in our coffee; now I couldn't have been more excited that I did.
Most, actually all, of our participants chose to skip the "coffee" part. They downed the rum as they gnawed on hard tack sea biscuits and salmagundi (traditional pirate fare - Thanks Krissy!!). 
It was not time for our pre-walk medical discussion. I quickly changed from our scheduled talk on choosing the proper suntan lotion SBF.
"Today we are going to share how to prevent and treat scurvy, ricketts, along with multiple venereal diseases"
After I lectured on the aforementioned maladies, we opened it up for discussion. (I regret to say say there were no good questions. In addition, they certainly did not appreciate my medical recommendations on how celibacy was an effective way to avoid VD.)
Since everybody already had an eye patch on, I pulled out my eye chart. (All doctors carry these in case of emergency)
We had a lot fun with this (not really).
 "Alright guys - It's time! Let's go get some exercise!"
I didn't mind at all, but due to multiple participants having hooks replacing their hands (and the rest being apathetic), I needed to start everybody's pedometer and place it on their sash.
After this was complete, my eyes watering from the stench, I headed out of the shack. My head down trying to avoid the stares of the fisherman and drum up any possible small talk I could offer to these first participants of WWAD - OBX.
50 paces away from the shack, I looked up to see who was with me.

Nobody.

I headed back to the shack. 100 more steps on the pedometer than my colleagues. They were all sitting, reclining, or leaning in various positions. Each and every walk participant held a rum-filled paper coffee cup with zero intention of walking.
Eel Skin Pablo was in the corner chewing on his pedometer. If he wasn't careful, he would soon swallow it.
Most of the pirates were smiling and a few were singing a sea shanty.
They did not acknowledge me.
I waited around for a moment or two, before I decided to take off. They seemed like they were going to be fine without me.
As I walked away, I noticed blood dripping on my right shoe. I now remembered that not wanting to offend anyone, I had shaken a lot of "hands" (hooks) after the talk. Looking at my right hand, I now saw multiple lacerations that would require medical assistance.
I headed off to The Outer Banks Hospital for some sutures. My right hand wrapped in a towel; my left hand clutching a Walk with a Doc toolkit.
I wonder if anyone in hospital community relations will be available today?

*(Editor's Note)
If you are a pirate, we apologize. First and foremost, we are sorry for the length and lack of quality in this newsletter. Second, we are deeply regretful for the multiple pirate stereotypes that Dr. Sabgir chose to exploit.
We are indeed aware that, by definition, pirates are people that rob and plunder.
That being said, there may be some endearing qualities that were omitted from today's letter - for that we are sorry.

** For this week's walks and locations, please go to www.walkwithadoc.org and click on the black shoes.

***It later surfaced that the orator of the words was a relatively undersized 6 year old named Michael from Donegal, PA. He had been playing "Swashbucklers" around the side of the museum with his 9 year old brother, Ernie. Unfortunately for Dr. Sabgir, Wilbur and Orville hadn't said a thing. No Field of Dreams moment had occurred.