Eastern Shore Grand Prix

Although living on the Eastern Shore has its advantages, it also has some entertainment setbacks, too. Of course, one can fish, hunt, crab, swim, walk beaches, and engage in shell hunting. You could visit some of the sights that include lighthouses, freely wandering ponies, and vineyards. There are miles of bike trails and roads, bird watching sites, and shopping venues to enjoy. But, after years of engaging in these activities, boredom can easily set in.

So it was with interest that I watched a television commercial that offered Scooty-Scoot scooters for the handicapped. It seems as though the federal government would like everyone to be mobile and will subsidize the purchase of a Scooty-Scoot for practically anyone.

The price was never mentioned on this TV ad, so I can only imagine it is far more expensive than my riding mower, more traditionally known on The Shore as a ‘grass cutter.’ One of mine - I have two – has an automatic transmission, hydrostatic throttle control, a trailer hitch, headlights, digital display, adjustable seat, and a cup holder. But, I digress.

Those Scooty-Scoots are shown with a woman driving one in tight circles inside her kitchen, waving while wearing a parade-like smile and appearing to be under the influence of some sort of narcotic.

This inviting display of senior debauchery actually held some appeal for me even though I’m not handicapped or require assistance to be ambulatory. Bringing road racing on The Eastern Shore would erase all the ethical and principled feelings that would need to be discarded to actually acquire one – or two – of these Scooty-Scoots.

I commented on the charm of having one of these – if only to give Smokey the Cat a brief ride around our humble abode. My sainted wife, upon returning to Earth from her rant said, “Over my dead body!”

It took a few minutes for me to ponder her offer and all ramifications associated therewith when I countered with, “Why not?”

Her blood pressure came down low enough for us to cancel the 911 call when she pushed her eyeballs back into their respective sockets and said, “And what are you going to do with it?”

Anticipating such a mundane query, I told her I would use mine to race hers up and down the country roads of Accomack County.

“You want two?!?!?!?!” she retorted.

It’s tough to race with just one, was my explanation. And short of using charts and a PowerPoint presentation, I endured to get my well-balanced point across.

Alas, she did not buy my argument, rather acting like Donald Trump on an episode of Celebrity Apprentice.

Road course Grand Prix’s are common throughout the world but, I’m afraid one will not be coming to The Shore anytime soon. Just don’t blame me.

At last I lost

This year marks a true milestone for me. Fifty years ago I began my diet, in earnest, and am proud to announce I lost – drum roll, please – nine pounds! Such a feat deserves a reward in the form of a glass of ice water.

Although I’m a spitting image of Tom Selleck, my annoying doctor feels I need to lose another 91 pounds, which would give me the advantage of stealth when hiding behind a piece of rope.

To accomplish this weight loss coup I foolishly began scrutinizing those oh, so important nutrition labels on packages. What I found was astonishing, to say the least.

It’s hard to believe a pecan pie has 180 grams of fat and 38 grams of sugar, per slice. Immediately, my attention was diverted toward those “sugar-free” pies. Those contain only 176 grams of fat and 34 grams of sugar, per slice. Not the win-win situation for which I was hoping.

Reading diet books made me direct my hunger-beater toward popcorn. Regular, dry, unsalted popcorn contains almost no fat but, tastes like filling from a ruptured bean bag chair. I know; I’ve tried it. So, my next great idea was to try buttered microwave popcorn with salt. Unfortunately, the nutrition data for microwave popcorn bags must be multiplied by three as those numbers reflect three servings. Again, a surprise for which I was not prepared.

Some diet drinks are labeled similarly with servings measured in thimbles. Snacks, such as potato sticks are more conveniently measured in actual numbers. One serving is 18 sticks. For the record, Smokey the Cat can, and has, eaten 27 sticks. It is convenient to be able to eat and play Jenga, though.

But in the course of my travels while telling my tales of woe, I have met very helpful folks who appear to be Ethiopian refugees willing to offer healthy eating advice.

“I eat lots of beans. They’re full of protein,” say these well-meaning single folks. They’re single because they consume lots of beans which digest into lots of methane gas and don’t have time to date as they literally reside in the bathroom. Hence their single status.

“Rice cakes fill me up!” is another heap of advice. They may as well have offered me used paper towels as a snack.

“Soy and tofu burgers are delicious!” is another lie. The Geneva Conventions prohibit feeding prisoners-of-war stuff like that.

And then I found an energy drink that allegedly provides vim to cover five hours of a day. It contains no sugar, no calories, no carbs, no kidding. But, the labels do indicate they are loaded with vitamins B6 an B12 in daily percentage allowable amounts of 2000 and 8333%, respectively.

Not being a nutritionist, I don’t know what the side effects of vitamin B6 and B12 overdoses are. So, I’ll stick to my breakfast, lunch, and dinner of drinking diet water with low calorie ice cubes while watching Smokey eat his kibble.