Author: MB

Window open.

I was laying on the office couch doing the iPad thing, not listening to anything in particular. Just quiet. The kind of quiet you notice because it isn’t trying to be anything.

Then I heard it.

A soft buzzing drifting past the window. Not urgent. Not fast. Just steady.

Sounded like a drone cruising through the neighborhood like it owned the place. It moved off to the right and the sound disappeared as quickly as it arrived.

For a second I wondered if it was a drone… or extraterrestrials doing a casual flyby.

Seventy degrees in March.  

Window open.  

Silence… and something buzzing through it.

If it was aliens, they didn’t stay long.

Probably headed back by the Castle Rock in town.

Brain Injury, Stroke, Traffic, and Why I Stay safe

I’ve lived with a TBI near about 27 years and a ischemic stroke within the last two years. Another challenge.

That changes how the world feels.

A lot of people assume that if someone doesn’t go outside much, they’re just avoiding things. Lazy. Antisocial. Overthinking.

Traffic Feels Different After a stroke

One thing people don’t talk about much is how a damaged nervous system reacts to noise and unpredictability.

Traffic is a perfect storm of both.

Engines revving.

Trucks accelerating hard.

Sudden bursts of noise and motion.

For most people it’s background sound. They filter it out.

For me, my brain flags every one of those signals as important.

Not necessarily dangerous — just loud, fast, and unpredictable.

That kind of input piles up quickly.

Living Somewhere You Don’t Like

I live in Castle Rock.

To be honest, I don’t like it here.

It’s loud. There are a lot of big trucks. A lot of aggressive driving. The kind of place where engines seem to announce themselves constantly.

If moving were easy, I probably would.

But moving costs money, and sometimes reality is simply that you stay where you are because that’s what you can afford.

So the situation is what it is.

Staying Inside Isn’t Giving Up

Because of all that, I spend a lot of time inside.

And I’m actually okay with that.

Inside, things are predictable.

The environment is controlled. The noise level is manageable. My nervous system can settle down instead of reacting to whatever just roared past on the road.

That doesn’t mean I stop living.

I exercise at home.

I work on physical therapy at home.

I write at home.

I organize my thoughts at home.

It’s not retreating from life. It’s building a version of life that works with the brain I have now.

Small Victories Still Count

Recovery and adaptation aren’t dramatic.

They’re small decisions.

Getting on the exercise machine.

Doing the stretches my physical therapist just gave me.

Taking care of my body even on days when it feels like work.

That’s the real version of resilience.

Not pretending everything is normal.

But figuring out how to move forward inside the reality you’re living in.

Meanwhile, elsewhere in Colorado…

A Colorado Springs dispensary recently advertised:

    •    $25 ounces

    •    $35 ounces

    •    $45 ounces

    •    $99 top shelf ounces

    •    4 grams of rosin for $40

    •    4 vape carts for $45

At the same time, in many recreational markets north of the Springs, consumers routinely see:

    •    $150–$220 ounces

    •    Heavily taxed mid-tier flower

    •    Premium-priced concentrates

Same state. Very different realities.

⸻

Medical vs. Recreational: Why the Gap Exists

Colorado Springs remains primarily a medical cannabis market, and that distinction matters.

Medical markets typically:

    •    Operate under lower tax structures

    •    Compete aggressively on bulk pricing

    •    Move high volume

    •    Focus on consistent, returning patients

Recreational markets typically:

    •    Carry higher state and local taxes

    •    Price for convenience and tourism

    •    Emphasize branding and “premium” positioning

    •    Accept higher margins

The result? Dramatic price separation within the same state.

⸻

The Volume Model

What’s happening in Colorado Springs is a volume-driven strategy:

    •    Thin margins

    •    Heavy competition

    •    Rapid product turnover

    •    Loyalty through affordability

It isn’t flashy. It isn’t boutique. It’s functional.

Cannabis in this model is treated less like a lifestyle product and more like a staple.

⸻

Access vs. Experience

The price gap highlights a larger question:

Is cannabis a premium experience product?

Or is it a practical tool?

In one part of Colorado, it’s marketed like craft wine.

In another, it’s priced like a commodity.

Both models exist. Both are legal. But they serve very different consumer realities.

⸻

Final Thoughts

Colorado’s cannabis market is no longer a single story. It’s multiple economic ecosystems operating side by side.

The numbers don’t just reflect pricing — they reflect priorities, regulation, and access.

And depending on where you live, you’re paying for a completely different version of the same plant.

Working in Colorado’s Cannabis Gray Zone

I didn’t jump into cannabis the moment Colorado legalized it. I gave it two years.

Two years to let the noise die down. Two years for the regulations to harden into something real. Two years to see whether this was a flash of rebellion or the beginning of an actual industry.

When I finally applied for a job, I got hired. That’s when the real education began.

⸻

Paid in Cash, Living in Contradiction

Getting paid in cash every week was almost surreal. Too cool, honestly. Stacks of $100 bills handed over like it was the most normal thing in the world.

And still illegal federally.

It wasn’t about the money itself — it was about what it represented. We were legal in Colorado. Fully operational. Taxed. Regulated.

That contradiction hung in the air every day.

Everything felt alive. Improvised. Slightly unfinished. The industry was young and trying to grow up fast. Policies shifted. Compliance tightened. The wild edges got trimmed. But in those early years, you could still feel that you were standing in a moment that wouldn’t last.

⸻

Paperwork and Patience

Working in a space that was legal at the state level and illegal federally meant extra layers of paperwork and scrutiny. Income had to be reported properly. Every dollar had to line up.

It wasn’t dramatic most days — just persistent. A quiet reminder that the larger legal picture hadn’t caught up yet.

There was a stretch when things felt especially tight. Payments were delayed. Systems moved slowly. I went nine months without a check I had been counting on.

Nine months.

No safety net. No quick answers. Just waiting, working, and staying steady.

⸻

Choosing Stability

What grounded me was action.

I picked up a part-time job in the powder coating industry. I reported my income the way I was supposed to. No shortcuts. No gray interpretations. Just straight compliance and patience.

Eventually, things settled.

No grand resolution. Just stability returning in its own time.

⸻

Living in the Seam

Looking back, that period wasn’t just about cannabis or cash. It was about navigating adulthood inside a system that hadn’t fully aligned with itself. It was about standing upright when the rules didn’t quite agree. It was about doing things clean, even when the framework felt inconsistent.

Colorado was willing to move forward.

Federal law was slower to change.

And I lived in the space between the two.

That time was thrilling in moments, exhausting most days, and undeniably real. It taught me patience. It taught me discipline. It taught me that sometimes the strongest move isn’t rebellion — it’s steadiness.

Three days short of my quarterly weed run… and bone dry. That’s called poor inventory management, folks.

So this morning I did a thing.

Loaded up the 2015 Mini Cooper Countryman and rolled out solo to make the pilgrimage to basically Hampton & Monaco — back through the fortress door at Green Cross of Cherry Creek.

Bud boss at the door. Weed certs presented. Clearance granted. Crossed to the other side to conduct official business.

These guys used to handle my medical plants, so there’s history there. Trust matters. Two visits ago they introduced me to this grow — Kushmas — born and bred down in Pueblo West, Arkansas River Valley water. A little terroir change from the Platte River drainage up here in Denver. Call it a flavor vacation.

Walked out with:

$15 eighth of Kushmas flower 2 grams of packaged oil at $4 a gram

That’s not boutique pricing. That’s “we stand behind this” pricing.

On the way out, the guy ahead of me held the door. Then held the next one. There’s a step down at the second door — he even offered his arm for support. I thanked him, but I was good.

And that’s the part that sticks.

Yeah, I bought weed.

Yeah, I was out and needed to restock.

But I drove myself. Handled my business. Walked it out steady.

Quarterly purchase complete.

Inventory restored.

Independence intact.

Happy days are here again

Published on: February 17, 2026

MileHiDad

Let’s just get this out of the way:

Gravity is undefeated.

If you’ve got beef with that statement, take it up with Isaac Newton. He turned a falling apple into a universal law, and now the rest of us are stuck living under it.

Gravity doesn’t negotiate.

It doesn’t care how motivated you are.

It doesn’t care how hard you trained.

It just waits.

Patiently. Like a bouncer with a physics degree.

It’s Not “Just a Fall”

People love to say, “He fell.”

No. Gravity collected.

There’s something brutally honest about realizing your biggest opponent isn’t fear, doubt, or effort. It’s a constant downward pull that’s been here since Earth clocked in.

Every wobble.

Every misstep.

Every time your knee clears its throat and says, “Remember me?”

That’s gravity sending a reminder notice.

It doesn’t need ice.

It doesn’t need drama.

It doesn’t need a bad decision.

It just needs opportunity.

The Hidden Tax

Gravity taxes momentum.

It taxes confidence.

It taxes recovery.

You can feel unstoppable one second — balanced, centered, locked in — and the next second you’re having a very personal meeting with the ground.

And once you’ve truly been introduced to the ground, you gain a deep respect for:

Stairs Slopes Sidewalks Grocery store tile Anything slightly uneven

Gravity is consistent. Relentless. Professional.

The Twist Nobody Talks About

Here’s the part they don’t put in the physics textbooks:

If gravity is always pulling down, then every time you stand up, you’re resisting the universe.

Standing isn’t neutral.

Walking isn’t casual.

Balance isn’t automatic.

It’s defiance.

Every step is a quiet middle finger to physics.

Final Word

Gravity sucks. It always has.

But here’s what it can’t calculate:

Stubbornness.

Newton wrote the equation.

He didn’t solve for grit.

And sometimes, grit beats gravity — at least for today.

That whole “10 mg hit” thing was never regulated or scientific. It likely came from the old standard bong bowl back in the early legalization days.

Back then, one bowl ≈ weaker flower ≈ “good enough” shorthand.

Over time, people just carried that number over to one-hitters and hits — even though potency and efficiency changed.

So yeah:

A one-hitter controls how much you take, not how many milligrams you get.

The number stuck because it was convenient, not because it was accurate.

Watching women’s curling at the Olympic Games, it’s hard not to notice the precision, discipline, and relentless sweeping that defines the sport.

Which raises an obvious question: why isn’t Swiffer involved?

Curling is about preparation, surface control, and doing the unseen work that makes excellence possible. That’s not a joke—that’s the job. A sponsor that actually reflects what the athletes are doing wouldn’t distract from the competition. It would honor it.

Sometimes the smartest ideas are the simplest ones.

Not water source mystique. Not strain hype. Not “mountain vibes.”

It’s:

Consistent root-zone pH Controlled EC / salt load Dry-back timing Light intensity Finish discipline (this is where most people fumble)

Using Pueblo water and still growing fire

You can absolutely do it if you treat river water like ag water, not spa water.

Non-negotiables:

Test EC/PPM every time. If it’s already hot, you feed lighter. pH it every single run. Alkaline water will wreck uptake quietly. Periodic flushes so salts don’t stack and mute terps. Don’t over-love nitrogen late flower. Green ≠ strong.

Where “ripped” actually comes from

Slight stress, not comfort. Strong light, not endless feed. Letting plants finish hungry, not fat. Proper dry and cure — you can grow a monster and ruin it in 10 days.

Most “meh” weed wasn’t grown wrong.

It was finished wrong.

Straight talk

Plenty of absolute gas has been grown on:

ditch water well water water that tastes like pennies

And plenty of trash has been grown on pristine RO.

Water is the input. Decisions are the multiplier.

If you want, tell me:

soil / coco / hydro indoor or outdoor flower window you like (early chop vs full amber)

I’ll tell you exactly where to push and where to starve it so it smacks instead of tickles.

Back in the day, Big Air meant amplitude, not algebra.

A clean 360, maybe a double daffy if you were feeling spicy—and if you stomped it? You were that guy. Crowd goes nuts. Judges nod. Beer tastes better.

There was no “cork” in the vocabulary. Corks were for wine bottles and bad knees. A “Cork 360” would’ve gotten you laughed out of the lift line—or worse, labeled a gymnast.

Then vs. Now

Then:

Height mattered Grabs were intentional Tricks were readable Landing bolts counted for something

Now:

Spin to win If I can’t tell what you did in real time, it must be good Judges need slo-mo and a PhD

Progression is real. Respect where it’s due.

But yeah—Big Air used to be about going big, not solving for X mid-flight.

Gravity still sucks.

It just sucks faster now.

There’s a lot of talk about “good sleep” vs. “bad sleep.”

I don’t really buy that framing anymore.

For me:

Light sleep counts Dozing counts Fragmented sleep counts Half-awake, half-dreaming counts

If my body gets any downtime, it uses it.

Maybe not efficiently.

Maybe not optimally.

But effectively.

And effectiveness beats perfection every time.

Restorative State vs. Restorative Enough

The commercials want you chasing an ideal state—something flawless and uninterrupted.

What I’ve learned is simpler:

Restorative enough is enough.

If I wake up not worse than yesterday, that’s a win.

If I’m a little more flexible by afternoon, that’s a win.

If my mornings are laid-back and my system isn’t on full alert, that’s a win.

No medal ceremony required.

Final Thought

Olympic commercials sell peak performance sleep.

I’m living maintenance sleep.

And for me, right now, that works.

All sleep is restorative.

At least it is for me.

And that’s not settling—that’s knowing your own data.

Out of the Loop, Still Watching the Orbit

I’ll admit it up front: I’m no longer slopeside. I’m watching from the cheap seats now, coffee in hand, knees filing grievances in the background. Which leads to the obvious question:

Are people really throwing triple-back-scratch-ollie-hooter-quad type aerials now?

Short answer: Yes. Absolutely. Without apology.

Longer answer: Men’s snowboard has quietly (and then very loudly) evolved into something that looks less like action sports and more like experimental physics.

So… Are the Tricks Actually That Insane?

Yes. And worse.

In modern men’s snowboard—especially at events like the Winter X Games and across the FIS Snowboard World Cup—the baseline has shifted dramatically:

Triple corks are now standard issue Quad corks exist and are being deployed when medals are on the line Spins in the 1800–2340 range are happening while riders are inverted, off-axis, and still managing a stylish grab

The airtime is cartoonish.

The speed is reckless by design.

And the ride-away? Casual. Like they just stepped off a curb.

There was a time when a double cork was a moment. Now it’s a qualifier.

Why It Looks Fake (But Isn’t)

If you stepped away from the sport for a few years—or decades—this is why your brain is struggling:

Jumps are bigger than ever Riders are stronger, lighter, and absurdly technical Coaching, slow-motion analysis, and air awareness are next-level

What used to be progression is now expectation.

It doesn’t look real because it wasn’t supposed to be possible.

Who Gets to Name These Ridiculous Tricks?

This part hasn’t changed—and that’s refreshing.

Naming rights go to the rider who lands the trick first in legitimate competition.

No committee. No branding deal. No influencer vote.

Land it clean. Ride it away. Don’t die.

Congratulations—you just named a trick.

That’s how we got classics like:

The McTwist The Haakon Flip

Eventually, some tricks lose their names and become technical descriptors (Cab Double Cork 1440—the IRS-approved version). Others stay legendary forever.

The rule is simple: first one to stomp it owns it.

Why the Sport Feels Unrecognizable Now

Back then:

Style mattered Speed mattered Consequences mattered

Now:

Technical difficulty dominates Spin math is king Judges bring spreadsheets and frame-by-frame replays

It’s still incredible.

It’s just a different religion.

Final Thought from the Cheap Seats

I didn’t fall behind.

The ceiling got raised, the floor disappeared, and gravity lost the argument.

Men’s snowboard didn’t evolve.

It mutated.

And I’m perfectly fine watching it happen—because my knees already paid their dues.