Clouds and wind obscure my view of the base from the top of the blue trail as we close in on the last run of the day at Winter Park. It’s a little colder day in early January 1979, and our traditional challenge to each other was to be the last one to make the final lift before it closed at 4.

Back then, I always thought it would be great to listen to music while we schussed our way through the moguls as gravity did its thing to get the rush going. There weren’t portable music players at that time, other than AM-FM radio headsets, which, in the mountains, were almost useless. It didn’t keep me from thinking of songs in my head, usually from an album we may have been fixated on during the drive to the Rockies from the plains of Nebraska. As well, our evenings were also always filled with music and good times on these trips.

Over 50 years, I’ve listened to music in many formats- 45’s, regular 12″ vinyl LP’s, 8-track tapes, cassettes (the choice of those trips back then), CD’s, and now, mostly digital files. Portability has increased dramatically, even now as I can listen to a favorite while writing this blog in a coffee house.

On the mountain standing in the snow and the wind, the song and I were as one, and now in this moment, it’s a singularity, the point at which it is infinite in emotional attachments, feelings, and memories. It’s not a format. It’s the song and I.