I don't know why is it crab walking

Morning descent from the railing completed without incident. As I rolled back across the deck tiles, a heavy cotton bedsheet hanging from the low drying rack suddenly flared outward, channeling a high-velocity wind tunnel underneath. I accelerated straight into the draft corridor. The hem of the damp fabric billowed like a low supercell wall cloud, trapping dried leaf fragments in a tight circulating vortex right above my roofline. I deployed forward, pressing my wheels into a seam between two tiles while the wind snapped the hem just millimeters above my corrugated hull. Trajectory held steady; miniature cyclonic draft successfully intercepted.