In Dad’s Tracks: A Winter Adventure with Country Music

Ski trips, family bonding, and the melodic magic of the open road

Bone-dry leaves have given up clinging to the trees, leaving them bare, spindly skeletons. Daylight is limited; it’s freezing cold outside, the sky always carrying the promise of snow.

And my mind is playing catchy tunes I wouldn’t normally listen to: country music.

Since my childhood, winter and country music belonged together.

Early on chilly winter mornings, my family would pack the car: Ski, ski sticks, and boots went into the rooftop box, and our backpacks filled with sweet and savory snacks into the trunk. Our destination was the mountains, for a day of good old powder fun.

Mum, Dad, and I would squeeze ourselves on the seats, clad in flashy anoraks and puffy pants — those were the late 80s / early 90s— and blast on the sleepy streets. Or rather, skitter, because most winters, the roads were frozen. Dad was a fast but safe driver though, a proud master mechanic working in a repair shop and vehicle whisperer. Listening to engine sounds, he could tell what kind of problem a car had.

Once on the road, Dad — designated driver and DJ — played the first cassette (or years of technological progress later, CDs). Antifreeze smells lingered in the air, Wild West sounds beamed us right to the Southern States. Cowboys and cowgirls sang longingly about true love and loss, country guitars cried, and the endless prairie called for brave explorers.

Dad passionately hummed country love songs and tapped on the steering wheel.

Tap, tap, along with the beat, accentuating his favorite words of the lyrics (“looove,” “freee,” “meeen”). Dad grew up behind the Iron Curtain, in a politically and ideologically divided Germany, the Eastern part under a strict communist regime. As soon as the Berlin Wall fell, he fanatically immersed himself in once forbidden music of the Imperialistic West.

Blurry landscapes rushed by, and the Bellamy Brothers optimistically declared life was good. Snow crunched under the tires, and our motorized horse carried us through a winter wonderland, adventure awaiting.

In “Let Your Love Flow” (1976), the duo marvels at the power of love and feeling connected to nature — bright sunlight, flowing mountain streams, growling thunder, or bird song. Their artistry reminds me of Romanticism, the medieval era emphasizing a bond between flora & fauna, individuals, and strong emotions.

Funnily, “Let Your Love Flow” was written by a roadie of Neil Diamond's band. Recording the song, the American country duo created their biggest hit.

As a kid, I didn’t pay much attention to the lyrics. Yet, I remember rolling my eyes sometimes: The Bellamy Brothers’ music was filling like Mac & Cheese, syrupy like a candy apple. It's very comforting, but too much could make you slightly sick.

Maybe the happy, lovey-dovey country vibes felt wrong to my little ears if Mom and Dad had argued. Adult life was stressful, I gathered that much, and parents could clash. “Pressure and friction makes diamonds,” Dad would explain.

He lived the country credo: Strong characters butt heads, some drama keeps a relationship healthy, but in the end, love always wins.

Freedom was Dad's favorite country music theme though.

While driving, he was especially keen to listen to Tom Astor or Truck Stop, both from Germany, and singing about wanderlust and life on the road. Although “German country” may sound a bit like “Chinese pizza,” the genre was and still is popular here, not only amongst truck drivers.

Even as a kid, I understood my father felt like a road captain himself. We had repaired old cars together, and after the end of the socialist regime, he enjoyed driving his first Jeep — his epitome of the USA. He used to say:

“In my old age, I’ll get a Harley Davidson and explore Road 66.”

So it was fitting to listen to Truck Stop on our road trips. The German band sang what Dad seemed to feel in his heart: the opportunities an endless highway might lead you to. In “Ich will so gern Dave Dudley hör’n” (1977), Truck Stop gives a voice to the typical trucker. He’s driving for endless hours, and early in the morning, fears falling asleep behind the steering wheel. All he wants is to listen to a good country song from his old idols (Dave Dudley, Hank Snow, and Charlie Pride) — but the radio only plays poor music since he cannot tune into AFN (American Forces Network).

Well, Dad was better prepared, with a glove department full of his favorite country music. After an hour of driving and passing sleepy villages and forest buried in snow, he would have happily navigated the family safely to our very own temporary “truck stop”: the small ski resort close to the Czech border.

Maybe that’s the only thing separating Dad from his country music idols: He loves winter, they seem to loathe it.

I mean, check this winter country playlist: the cold season is associated with mourning (“Winter In My Heart” by the Avett Brothers), trying to keep warm (“Telluride” by Tim McGraw), or the worldly struggles of celebrating Christmas (“If We Make It Through December” by Merle Haggard).

By contrast, Dad adored the winter. Turning three years old, he taught me how to ski, and in snowy seasons, we would try to get to the nearby mountains as often as we could afford. He was our “ski guide” and infamous for tackling the most difficult downhill ski routes, his Joker fleece hat bobbing up and down. Dad collected lost ski and ski sticks others had accidentally dropped from the chair lift into rough terrain and was a powder devil, stylishly zooming down moguls and steep slopes.

The harsher the weather, the more alive Dad became: it was when he felt himself most, he said. John Denver, singer-songwriter and country musician known for “Country Roads,” seemed to be the only one to get my father. In the video for “Dancing With The Mountains,” Dad would have fit right in. Watch yourself: the short music flick is is poor quality, but iconic retro 80s gold!

John Denver and Dad, they danced with the mountains, rock’n roll-ed with the snow. I’m glad he taught me to enjoy sports in nature from a young age, to fall and to stand up again. Skiing is a small battle: with your equipment, the snow, and yourself. And a catchy tune in mind makes everything easier.

After every ski trip, my parents and I, red-cheeked and snow crystals still melting on our faces, would meet again at the car. Getting out of our clunky boots and warm jackets, our skin was smoking in the cold winter air. The comfy car seats were inviting and warming my hands with a hot tea was the best feeling in the world. Defogging the windshield, Dad started the motor, and the next country legend would entertain us on the way home.

Dad had a weakness for the strong women of country music.

At one point, Dolly Parton’s voice would tinkle through the speakers. I had always admired the busty blonde bombshell on his records and CD covers, and understood that she was somehow a queen. Grande Dame of country, Dolly liked a good metaphor, had life experience and great advice.

In “Bargain Store” (1975), Dolly compares herself as well as her life with a thrift shop. All the goods have a story and are not brand-new anymore, but still might be exactly what you (or another dear person) are looking for. A once broken heart can heal and love again, and painful memories can be a start to build a more fulfilling future.

Make the best out of what you’ve got — my Dad lived according to Dolly’s motto, too. He could “MacGyver” almost anything.

In fact, our family house was a converted barn, with new walls erected from repurposed bricks and concrete being made from limestone. On our old farm, adventurous vehicles came out of my father’s workshop, like the “elephant trike” — a motorbike mutation with tractor wheels, used to plow the fields. And in winter, the beloved season, I enjoyed riding funny sleighs like a roof my father had sawn off an old car. Fun times!

When it came to country queens, Dad was polyamorous, though.

Next to Dolly, he worshipped the modern ladies of country. Sheryl Crow and him agreed that All I Wanna Do, Is Have Some Fun — his biggest crush though was the Canadian Shania Twain. I think he liked liked her spunk and music style, blending country music and pop so easily. In “Any Man of Mine” (1995), Shania confidently declares that her man better accepts her looks and her headstrong nature. Even if she’s changing her mind frequently, her guy better appreciates her and her efforts — and shows it, too.

Dad was lucky Mom didn’t listen too closely to his country gals — otherwise, she maybe would have scolded him to take Shania’s words by heart.

In fact, Shania Twain was Dad’s gateway drug to other contemporary country artists like Faith Hill, Jewel, or Carrie Underwood. Browsing music, first in stores and later online, I used to discover new artists and fix him up with gifted CDs.

Naturally, every winter roadtrip ended where we started a couple of hours ago: home.

The car was parked, ski equipment unpacked, winter clothing neatly hung up in the mud room to dry. Happy to be back, we schlepped our bodies, tired from a day of outdoor sports, to the cozy living quarters. Settling with a nice cup of spiced mulled wine (or alcohol-free punch for the kids, of course), we would enjoy a fairy tale movie together.

Or, if it were up to Dad, we would turn on some more country music: At those moments, it felt exactly right. Because we felt content, satiated, and re-connected to nature as well as our inner core. And no other music genre describes our raison d’être so well:

Life and country music are about coming, and going, and all those sweet road trips in between.

Thank you for reading — and for listening.

© 2023 by Mad Midori