When our family moved to Western Pennsylvania from Ohio 20 years ago, we got to know this area through long Sunday afternoon drives, taken without any specific destination in mind.

Bundling our two small children into the back seat of a compass-equipped '59 Rambler Classic, my husband's car of choice at the time, our family meandered along the winding back roads of Butler, Beaver, Allegheny and Westmoreland counties, traversing terrain so unlike the flat farmland from which we came.

On these trips we discovered "Pig Alley," a narrow, Belgian-block road that runs from the Allegheny River to the Troy Hill section of Pittsburgh, where German farmers once drove their livestock to the waiting barges below, giving the steep passageway its name.

We also found the once stately homes of the Hill District, boarded up and run down, and the steepest, curviest street in Western Pennsylvania in Pittsburgh's South Hills.

But the place I remember most from our Sunday afternoon drives was a tiny town located somewhere along the Allegheny River's south shore, known to the locals as Barking.

Once a thriving industrial community, Barking had been reduced to a handful of run-down houses butted against a high rocky cliff and a row of abandoned buildings hugging the water's edge. The town was a crumbling reminder of Pittsburgh's great industrial past, which I had heard so much about.

But as life got busier and the kids grew older, the road trips also became a thing of the past. And the long-forgotten burg along the Allegheny River retreated to the recesses of my brain.

In recent years, though, my commute to work sometimes takes me along the south shore of the Allegheny River, reminding me of the little community that made such an impression two decades ago.

Last Saturday, my husband and I set out again to find Barking, this time in a '67 Austin Mini Cooper, my husband's current car of choice, with no kids in tow.

Crossing the Hulton Street Bridge near Oakmont, we followed the river north along Route 909. Just before entering Westmoreland County, we found the long, narrow lane that led to Barking.

Nearly dark when we arrived, the river's rolling mist created an eerie effect on the abandoned buildings, their cracked foundations pierced by overgrown shrubbery.

There again was the graffiti-decorated, cement-block building near the center of town, likely a restaurant or grocery store where locals gathered, and the row of look-alike homes, their long front porches still offering their occupants a sweeping view of the river.

Lights twinkled in the handful of homes, the only sign of life in this desolate community that time forgot. An elderly man stood in an open doorway, watching us as we passed on a road that lead nowhere.

I don't imagine many visitors ever travel this dead-end street, and when we circled back, the old man was still there, watching.

Returning to the highway that runs above this little burg, we soon joined the other travelers zooming past Barking, most unaware of the once enterprising community nestled below on the banks of the Allegheny River.

Linda K. Schmitmeyer is a freelance writer living in Middlesex Township. Her e-mail address is lks260@zoominternet.net.