Yurtle gets up and goes while I sat on my butt making excuses for not commuting by bike yesterday. I had what seemed like good reasons, but as coworkers asked why I didn't ride in, the reasons sounded like so much regurgitated tortoise chow coming out of my mouth. Driving my metal box home, I thought, all it takes for the tortoise to move is to stick him in a sunny spot in the yard. Before you know it, he's exploring, dragging his shell around, extending his neck, sniffing the clover, browsing, grazing, moving. The neighbor cat comes over for a sniff and a paw, and Yurtle pulls into his shell for a minute, until the cat becomes bored and wanders off. Sunshine and open space, perhaps hunger for fresh greens, compel him to move. Get up. Go ride.