- Baynard Woods
Like most good medicine, Diesel Dough, taken in the right dose, is simultaneously imperceptible and mood-altering, adding a sort of ambrosial quality to a day. But it can also, as Sly Stone says, take you higher. This offspring of Sour Diesel and Do-Si-Do is well-calibrated and predictable. It’s easy to know what you want to get out of the thick and dense, pungent buds.
When folks talk about microdosing psychedelics to enhance performance, they use the language of “sub-perceptual doses” and the sub-perceptual effect is a perfect way to describe a single hit of this high-THC (fucking 35 percent!) Sativa. You feel better but not at all whacked, like a good cup of coffee. With the second hit, that coffee becomes slightly more like Adderall, ramping you up a little more, but still sub-perceptually. Only now, the sub-perception might be a flaw, as you find yourself babbling on to a friend about whatever and not even thinking of it.
When I was a kid, I was interested in that guy Neal Cassady. First, in 11th grade I think, I read On the Road and was jazzed by the book’s hero, this free-busting, fast-talking, high-octane line-crosser based on Cassady. The next year, I read Tom Wolfe’s Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test, where the same dude, Cassady, was driving the first hippies — the Merry Pranksters — across the country in a DayGlo bus on acid. I realize now that his stream-of-consciousness talking, his hammer-flipping hamming it up, was so appealing to Wolfe and Kerouac because it came across as sub-perceptual — it just happened.
As an adult, especially an adult white male, you realize, or I realized, that I’d always been talking sub-perceptually. That is, I was never aware of how what I was saying affected my audience — and I didn’t care. It was about the flow. And after I realized that, I saw what a horrible bore Cassady must have been to everyone but writers.
And that’s where the third hit of Diesel Dough comes in. On the third hit, the perceptual nature of your high is no longer so sub. You are flat-out stoned, but in a self-conscious way, a way that makes you recognize the inanity of so much of your flow. This is the part of strong Sativa that most people hate, the part that makes you turn inward and feel self-conscious and scared to speak. But for a fellow like me, that is the part of this strain that is useful, because it’s not enough pressure to make me crack — whatever the situation, I won’t end up drooling on the floor because of a bowl — but I might be a little less apt to talk over someone or think that I really, really need to tell that story, twice.
Another two tokes, and I might be babbling again, or ferociously typing out a review with almost hydraulic, Thelonious-like hands pounding the keys with an imagined precision, ignoring the typos for later.
Nose: Fumes and blooms
Existential dread: 4
Freaking out when a crazy person approaches you: 6
Drink pairing: Truck-stop coffee
Music pairing: “East Bound and Down” by Jerry Reed