On dry land.

I was glad I walked to the Hammer Corner, was able to have my back and shoulder to the North West winds and hold on as the World was driven South with ever increasing force as the day worn on. If we had stopped at New Effington the day would have been spent watching the leaves blow from their limbs. In the last miles the only way I could keep forward progress was by using the tall grasses to slow the spin. Keeping the World on the blacktop it would spin in front uncontrollably. I was hardly touching canvas most of the day, working muscles I rarely use leaning into the gusts as the ball was pushed thru knee high grass. At forty five mph the ball would skirt atop the grass nearly pulling me, pack and all,into the ditch. At the end of the day I had averaged the times equal to my best. Even with the strong wind in my favor the World and I can spin only so fast without damage.
Paying attention to the sounds of the gusts rolling over the fields, watching the tall fields ripple and flow toward me filled me with appreciation for the beauty of the prairies. Looking all about at times as I was pulled along I crossed the continental divide of Hudson Bay to the Gulf of Mexico. I was sailing in an ocean no one I know has ever experienced. Sailing on dry land. Tree lines surrounding farm houses would chop the waves of air and intersecting roads would spin the World like a top. Far off grain elevators even changed the directions, getting to the top of small rises always dealt a stronger gust. Oh, if only I could describe what a great time I had.