I've reached the point in my journey where I have cycled through the Yukon and Northwest Territories, British Columbia, and Alberta and I'm now well into my third province - Saskatchewan. As you may know, Saskatchewan is a rather flat province. Two days ago I climbed a small rise and noticed a sign marked "Meadow Lake Geopost #5" which described the geology of the area dating back to the ice ages. I was apparently on something called the Golden Ridge which forms the watershed between two major river systems (the Beaver River and the Waterhen River). At first I found the information a little hard to believe but as I surveyed my surroundings I saw that I was indeed on a highland ridge separating two river basins. I must have been at least twelve feet higher than the valleys to the north and south, and had no trouble spotting the Beaver River 40 kilometres away.

In addition to being very flat, Saskatchewan is also very windy. There are no trees or buildings to block the movement of air which seems to be in a constant rush to leave the province. This behaviour is often copied by the local residents who search for greener pastures in places like Toronto and Vancouver only to find concrete jungles.

The wind can be of great assistance when blowing at your back. Indeed, it would not be necessary to pedal at all since the sidebags act like sails to propel the bicycle along. Of course, due to Murphy's Law I actually encountered headwinds and thus the sidebags acted like air brakes.

The wind was almost deafening - like the roar of a jumbo jet. The occasional gust of crosswind would whistle in one ear and out the other, which is certainly an interesting way to clear your head. I also got a lot of dust in my eyes. I tried using Visine but the drops kept blowing away before they hit my eyeballs. They did help clear the vision of several half-blind cows in the next county.

Saskatchewan has been suffering from a severe drought this year. You can read about it on the CBC website: http://cbc.ca/cgi-bin/templates/view.cgi?/news/2001/07/10/drought_010710 Yesterday I entered into a particularly arid section of the province known as the Great Saskatchewan Dust Bowl. Since the Depression of the 1930s, this area has been so parched that the crops all withered away and the soil turned to dust.

I passed a rickety old farmhouse and noticed a rickety old man settin' on the porch. Settin' is a redneck term for the act of sitting in one spot for a long time and not doing anything. It is permissible to rock back and forth if you are settin' in a rockin' chair or to perform acts such as whittlin' a stick or chewin' a blade of straw, but nothing that requires any undue motion. It is not advisable for city folk to attempt settin' as it is a skill which takes a lifetime to develop and you would likely suffer from blood clots in the legs after a few hours.

Having had previous experience with rednecks in places like Oklahoma, I decided to go over to this old farmer for a chat. Two things I know about American rednecks are that they are very friendly and they suffer from an inferiority complex. This inferiority complex is manifested through such cultural practices as giving a child two first names. For example, a boy might be called Jim Bob, or Joe Bob, or John Bob. A girl might be named Sue Ann, or Becky Sue, or perhaps Betty Lou. There are exceptions to this rule. For example, if a baby is particularly large and rotund it can be given a single name (usually either Junior or Bubba).

Canadian rednecks are equally friendly but apparently have an even greater inferiority complex. The old farmer said "howdy" and introduced himself as Jim John Bob Johnson. (Yes, three first names!!!) He then flashed me a smile and I had about three seconds to count his missing teeth before the wind blew so much dust into his mouth that it stuck to his gums and filled in the gaps. He didn't seem to mind. He'd been a dirt farmer all his life, just like his pappy and grandpappy before him.

I "set down for a spell" (this is an abbreviated form of settin' which usually lasts less than an hour) and talked to Jim John Bob for a while. He mostly just asked me questions and then kept saying "pardon" as he was a bit deaf and couldn't hear my answers over the wind. He asked me what route I was taking through the province and then gave me painstakingly detailed directions about how to get there and what landmarks I would pass along the way. This was not really necessary since there is only one road through that particular area and you are either going one way or the other.

Jim John Bob told me there was only one major hill to contend with between there and Dry Lake. I asked him where it was and he pointed a crooked leathery finger towards a spot about ten kilometres down the road. Outwardly, I nodded my head and tried to appear gravely concerned at such a formidable obstacle. Inwardly, I was laughing. This so called hill was little more than an oversized speed bump - possibly caused by accidentally paving over a cow when building the road.

I bid a friendly farewell to Jim John Bob and continued on my way. When I reached the "major hill" three hours later (it was a particularly strong headwind that day), I glanced back and noticed Jim John Bob was still settin' on his porch and watching me. I dutifully shifted down a couple of gears, stood up on the pedals, and gritted my teeth to the wind while I climbed it - more out of respect to the old man than any physical hardship on my part.

Shortly thereafter, I reached a junction in the road and scanned the horizon for Prince Albert. I was still 80 km away and because of the curvature of the earth, Prince Albert (or P.A. as they call it here) was just below the horizon. I had to stand up tall on the pedals in order to see it so I would know which road to take. This is the primary method of navigation in Saskatchewan, although some people try to use the sun or a compass. There used to be road signs but the wind blew most of them into Manitoba and North Dakota.

While scanning the horizon, I noticed that a campfire had been left burning in a park a few miles away. This can create a wildfire hazard in such hot and dry conditions. With the aid of the wind, I quickly extinguished the blaze without ever leaving the highway or my bike. (Please refer to earlier messages for more details about my skills in cyclo-urination). The effort was actually in vain because Mother Nature soon discovered that I had slipped across the border from Alberta into Saskatchewan and sent a few storm clouds my way.

The area hadn't seen a deluge of rain like that in decades. Jim John Bob started dancing in his field but then he slipped in the muck. The downpour was such a momentous occasion that the Great Saskatchewan Dust Bowl is temporarily going to be renamed The Darragh Egan Mud Bowl. The dedication ceremony will be tomorrow at noon, rain or shine. Everyone in Flying Dust County is going to be there. That's fourteen people in total, although Becky Sue Ann Johnson is expecting her ninth child any day now. I think she's Jim John Bob's daughter, or possibly his niece. Maybe both.

I would be a whole lot happier about the dedication ceremony if it weren't for the fact that my bicycle sank into the mud and disappeared. I was going to launch a rescue mission, but then I glanced over my trip journal and came to a startling revelation. It has been raining on me for thirty nine consecutive days! Forget the bicycle. It's time to build an ark. Hmmm! According to the instruction manual, the ark should be 40 cubits long and thirty cubits high. What the heck is a cubit? Wait!!! I think I see a break in the clouds...