By Dan Skye
It was going on 40 hours since I'd slept. That lovely sensation of surrender was beginning to envelop me - the feeling of dropping the reins, when one's thoughts scurry and skitter along, untethered by our normal obsession with categorizing and compartmentalizing the stimuli of the outside world.
I arrived in Amsterdam early in the morning after an overnight flight, too early to check into my hotel. Immediately, I hit Barney's coffeeshop (which opens, thankfully, at 7 a.m.) for breakfast and buds and dropped in on several more throughout the day. It's called decompression; shaking off the effects of a long, smokeless flight. But decompression for me had morphed into stoned exhaustion.
Late in the day, I had lost the desire - actually, the ability - to communicate effectively. I'd wandered over to the location where strains were being registered, but I was just a listless, pleasantly ripped witness to the parade of coffeeshop and seed-company owners who were entering their strains of marijuana in the 2006 Cannabis Cup competition.
Time had lost meaning for me, and I was dimly aware of blank moments when consciousness was becoming less certain. So I'm still not completely sure how I wound up speeding through the night on a bicycle.
I recall that Aaron and Don of DNA Genetics offered me a joint of Martian Mean Green, which transformed me from a wad of Silly Putty into a dynamo seeking new adventures. I love speedy pot!