There is something quiet and restorative about early morning in Los Gatos before the town fully stirs. The air bites, the blue sky stretches uninterrupted and the green ridgelines of the Santa Cruz Mountains stand in the distance.
On Sept. 26, that scenic backdrop framed the 48th annual Great Race. Stationed along the course where the water mirrored the daylight, I joined fellow Rotarian Clayton Smith and numerous other Rotary Club of Los Gatos volunteers for a morning of running race duty. Our official post was straightforward: gently guiding non-race pedestrians, ambitious weekend cyclists and casual dog walkers away from the registered runners navigating the trail.
Holding that line gave Clayton and me ample opportunity to talk, swap stories and share in the camaraderie that makes civic volunteerism so rewarding. Directing traffic along a bustling corridor requires a balance of firm signaling and good neighborliness and sharing the task with a fellow Rotarian made the morning fly by.
From an organizer’s standpoint, the event was a roaring success. By the time tallies were compiled on the eve of the run, roughly 425 participants had signed up to lace up their shoes. That impressive turnout did not happen by chance. It was the direct result of dedicated Rotary members spending weeks papering shop windows, hanging banners and spreading the word across every corner of town. Seeing that sea of numbered bibs surge past our post made every hour of advanced legwork worthwhile.
Yet the day held an unexpected gift. As the final waves passed and Clayton and I made our way back toward the starting and finishing pavilion, someone stopped and pointed up into the tree canopy near the shoreline.
There, perched regally against the morning light, sat a bald eagle.
Ducks squawked and paddled in the water below, indifferent to the eagle, but the runners and volunteers who noticed stood in awe. It is one thing to appreciate local geography on paper; it is quite another to look up and see an American bald eagle calmly observing our small-town road race. The moment felt like an exclamation mark on everything that makes living here distinct: nature and civic life sharing the exact same ground.
a group of young, remarkably fit runners darted past me, bounding downhill over exposed tree roots, loose gravel and abrupt switchbacks at rapid speed
The scene also got me thinking about physical effort, aging, and the quiet passage of time. Just a few days prior to the race, I had driven up Alma Bridge Road to put in some trail miles, hiking the steep grades that wrap around the hills. From one crest, I paused to look down at the dense line of weekend traffic crawling along Highway 17 toward Santa Cruz, grateful to be walking rather than sitting in bumper-to-bumper gridlock.
My gratitude, however, was quickly tested by the terrain. As I huffed and puffed my way up one incline after another, an unexpected figure appeared at the crest: a man descending briskly on a single wheel. A unicyclist, navigating through loose dirt. He offered a cheerful wave as he rolled past, leaving me convinced he was either exceptionally brave or completely unhinged.
A moment later, a group of young, remarkably fit runners darted past me, bounding downhill over exposed tree roots, loose gravel and abrupt switchbacks at rapid speed. I watched their ankles flex, and their strides lengthen without a hint of hesitation. Did I ever move down a trail with that kind of reckless, effortless confidence back in my own running days? If so, the memory has faded into the pleasant mist of another era.
At our stage of life, pace inevitably changes. The unicycles and downhill sprints belong to others now, and there is no shame in taking the hills one very slow and measured step at a time. What matters is staying on the trail, whether that means climbing the ridge above the reservoir on a quiet afternoon or standing at a course split on a Saturday morning, waving a helping hand, while standing alongside a friend to cheer on our neighbors.
Between the camaraderie of 425 or more runners, the good humor of volunteer duty, the unicyclist defying gravity and that majestic bald eagle perched quietly above the water, the week served as a fine reminder. Los Gatos may grow and shift with the years, but its natural beauty and community spirit remain as steady as the surrounding hills.
