June 4, 2004: I pulled in to the parking lot of the old school around 8 in the morning, and saw that I was the only fool in the lot.

I was intrigued by the old building's decaying hulk, and I circled the building several times, trying to envision the generations of children coursing through the halls and grounds. Eventually, other riders pulled in to the lot, pulling me out of my Whitmanesque trance and reminding me that, sure enough, scores of brightly clad cyclists would soon make their way on to the roads of West Deer Township for the second race of the "Tour of West Deer" series.

It was June 23rd, 2002, and I was in the 6th month of my attempted "comeback." I had no illusions about placing well: I was 2 dozen pounds heavier than I was in my climbing waif days, and the courses' reputedly short, steep climbs favored shear power. Fred Mark I would have suffered on this course.

Nevertheless, I planned on riding the 6 circuits with the lofty goal of not getting lapped, and I am happy to report that I achieved that goal, placing 23rd out of the 30 riders who started the "C" race.

Two Thousand Three saw my return to the parking lot by that strangely charming ruin. This time, I planned on riding all 4 races in the series in an effort to prepare for the savage Murrysville Cycling Classic.

The first race went quite well. I was able to stay with the pack for much of the race, and the race's long, gradual climbs were fairly well suited to my riding style. For the first time in a local race, I rode with a chase group—a pleasant change from the solo monotony I faced at the Mingo Creek races in April. I finished far behind the winners, but I was perceptively faster.

It was also my only decent performance in the series.

There was an ominous sign early that very morning: I rolled out of bed with a telltale soreness and swelling at the back of my mouth, but I paid no attention to the symptoms of the impending cold and rode my heart out.

The following Monday, the cold hit me full force. By Wednesday, my sinuses were clear, but the wretched cold plunged into my lungs, where it would stay for several weeks.

The second race was a disappointment. I rode most of the first circuit, but I felt a sharp pain in my lungs, and when I started tasting blood, I decided to pull off the course and keep my wife (who was graciously marshalling the course) company.

What I observed that day didn't bode well for the longevity of the West Deer Series.

The series resumed after a two week hiatus, and I returned with clear lungs but weaker legs. I wasn't aware of it at the time, but I also rode race 3 with a damaged rear hub. A flange had cracked, which resulted in a loose spoke and a rim that was horribly out of true. To this day, I believe that this happened when I caught a pothole at 35 mph on a long, rutted descent in the first West Deer race. Initially, the only sign of the damaged wheel was a telltale shimmy when I reached 40 miles an hour. As I seldom approach that speed, I remained blissfully ignorant of any potentially catastrophic mechanical failure, and struggled up the wretchedly steep climb before this finish line at West deer 3.

I noticed that the brake pads were rubbing when I walked the bike tot he car, but I this was not uncommon. The cheap stock wheels often needed some tweaking every time I snapped them into place, and it was only the day after the third race of the West Deer Series that I saw the damage to the hub.

Although I had ordered a pair of wheels before I saw the extent of the damage, It seemed that I wouldn't be able to ride the 4th race of the series, unless I brought my trusty, 18 year old Panasonic out of semi-retirement.

The old machine had borne me up many a steep hill in the 80s, but other than the addition of clipless pedals and Ultegra dual-pivot brakes, the bike was essentially the same machine that greeted us on the Paddlers showroom floor in 1985. It had provided me with yeoman service over the years, and, mounted on my Cycle-ops trainer, it continued to serve as my winter trainer.

But there is only so much that one can do with 18 year old aluminum rims. Despite repeated truing, the rear wheel refused to behave. There was little chance of collapse, and the rim wasn't rubbing the brake pads, but I had no doubt that someone riding behind me might fall victim to the hypnotic effect of watching the rim moving back and forth . . .

Seeing that I knew nobody would be behind me, I dismissed this possibility, and considered a far more series problem: West Deer 4 had a wretched course, with a particularly nasty hill in the opening mile. My Raleigh sported a 12-25 tooth gear cluster, with 53-39 chainrings. Since I was determined to ride the race, but I didn't wish to die from mechanical failure, this left me with the Panasonic's 1980's gearing: a 13-24, 6 speed freewheel, and 53-42 chainrings on the old 600EX cranks.

The one modern piece of technology was a Specialized wireless cylometer, complete with altimeter. This one luxury quickly turned into a curse, as I foolishly selected the gradient function on the first climb, and practically ground to a halt when I saw a 19% pitch. I made two laps, accompanied by Bruce Winterholter. Bruce graciously waited for me, and the two of us rode as best as we could over the tortuous (and torturous) course (as an aside, at least one local claims to have seen a rider vomiting by the side of the road at the top of that awful first climb).

As we approached the strat/finish line for the start of the third circuit, Bruce suggested that we pack it in and head for the parking lot, where we could collect cold beverages and make our way to the shade of the tree-lined finish area. I didn't argue with him.

There were quite a few "new" spectators waiting for the hardy souls who chose to finish the race.

These memories certainly don't invoke the nostalgia I feel for the old citizens races of the Finger Lakes. However, I was disappointed to learn that the series had been cancelled this season. There were a number of reasons cited for this unfortunate development, with some carrying more validity than others. Safety was a primary concern, as was rider behavior. I can vouch for the importance of both: I have a vivid recollection of an "A" or "B" pack paceline lying past my chase group during the first race of the 2003 West Deer Series. This image remains indelible for one reason alone: the pack was plunging down the road at high speed in the wrong lane! Pogo coined a cliché regarding this matter . . .

While Marshalls and organizers did their best, the arrogance frequently displayed by local motorists was astounding: and frightening. Perhaps I chose a bad day to sit out a race and watch the proceedings, but far too many motorists show an unnatural contempt for any non-automotive means of transportation. Cyclists who ignore even the basic rules of road racing only serve to exacerbate the rage some of these types feel toward us, but its unlikely that sterling behavior on our part would still do little to prevent some drivers from ignoring stop signs and marshalls.

This is not to say that all, or even most locals seemed bent on committing mass acts of vehicular homicide However, when the sheer number of cars on the road increase dramatically over the years, the threat grows proportionately. West Deer Township has seen a substantial amount of growth (sprawl) over the past decade, and roads that were virtually clear of traffic 10, or even 5 years ago now bear far more vehicles.

To put it quite simply, sprawl and bicycle races don't mix. The Genesee Valley Cycling Association experienced similar problems recently, and their really isn't any simple solution (I could suggest a few, but they wouldn't be very popular). The West Deer Series fell victim to rampant "growth."

Sadly, I might soon find myself adding a second "Forgotten Classics" page: this time, commemorating defunct races of Western Pennsylvania.