A good, but bewildered, samaritan

What would you do if you saw an object the size of a frisbee in the road ahead of you? I was driving on a country road in New River when I was startled to see a brown desert tortoise parked in the middle of my lane. As big as a dinner plate, this monster turtle was as still as a statue, head facing south, as he contemplated the roadway ahead. I pulled off to the side and jumped out of my Jeep so I could get a closer look. He was beautiful.   

What compelled this tortoise to journey across a paved road, when there wasn’t even a tree or a shrub waiting to shelter him on the other side? I instinctively grabbed the beast, when I saw a car zipping around the corner. Great, now I was holding him (he had a long tail, so I think it was a male) on each side of his big shell, his legs suddenly moving and his head turning to one side–I think so he could give me a dirty look. Hey, little did I know that trying to help would become so complicated. On which side of the road should I put him down?

I was suddenly catapulted into some kind of moral dilemma. Do I place him on the south side of the road, his apparent destination, or carry him back to the north side, where he might have belonged? The north side of the road had lots of vegetation and looked more “tortoise friendly.” I did the only sensible thing I could do–I ran over to the south side (with my turtle) to see if perhaps family or friends might be waiting for him. No prospective relatives there, I dashed over to the north side of the road to look for a fellow hard‑back. No luck.

With a heavy tortoise in tow, I must have made three trips back and forth, trying to decide where to leave him. And it was darn hot lugging the beast around!  If I put him on the north side and he really was determined to head south, I wouldn’t have helped him at all. If he had no particular business on the south side and was only out for a dangerous stroll, then his journey back to the north side could kill him. This was one morning that I wished I’d quaffed at least two cups of coffee instead of one. Big decisions are best made with caffeine.

Then it occurred to me that I couldn’t possibly figure out the movements of a tortoise and where he was supposed to be. Tired of carrying him around and with no idea what to do, I placed him down on the north side of the road, about 20 feet away, under the shade of a few old paloverde trees. He seemed relieved to have his feet touch the ground and glared at me for a moment before he walked indignantly away, heading into a dense thicket of shrubs.

Did you know that desert tortoises can live to be 100 years old? What a story that tortoise could tell–about houses built in his turf, roads paved across his stomping grounds, natural terrain altered and food sources diminished. Maybe he was just looking for a new adventure when he headed across the road. Hey, that sounds pretty good to me. Sometimes we all need a change of scenery.

Then it hit me: How many crossroads do we have in our lifetime? Who knows exactly which turn to make? I’m just hoping that this big tortoise hadn’t been gazing across that road for the past 50 years, mustering up enough nerve to finally make his move, only to be foiled by a well‑meaning human and returned to the one place he didn’t want to be.   

Please, be especially cautious when coming across brown, moving dinner plates. If you happen to see one crossing Circle Mountain Road, you might want to stop, flag down traffic, and let him make his way to wherever his destiny is taking him. Happy Trails!