That Time I Got High and... Ate Shit in a Pennsylvania Quarry theStonerReview.com – Launching the Series, May 2026
That Time I Got High and... Ate Shit in a Pennsylvania Quarry theStonerReview.com – Launching the Series, May 2026
We’re kicking off a new series here at theStonerReview: “That Time I Got High and...” Real stories. No filter. The kind of days that start with “this weed is fire” and end with you questioning every life choice while bugs throw a buffet on your open wounds. First installment? Straight out the Pennsylvania hills with a local legend named Dano.
Picture this: It’s one of those perfect Northeast spring days—sun cutting through the trees, dirt still damp from last night’s rain, and a fat sack of some absolute gas in the backpack. Dano, a certified PA legend in the circles that matter (we’ll save his full rap sheet for another time), hits me up for a quick rip on the quarry trails. I’m riding my Trek, feeling invincible after we parked the truck and torched a couple fat ones. That heady, creative lift mixed with body relaxation? Chef’s kiss. Thoughts flowing, legs feeling strong. I’m standing up pedaling hard on a climb, chest out, king of the singletrack.
Then reality hit harder than a bad edible.
One unassuming rock—probably laughing at me the whole way—caught my front wheel at the worst possible angle. Bike stops dead. Physics does the rest. I go full Superman over the handlebars, launching down the steep side of this quarry road like a sack of potatoes in a rockslide. Trillions of shattered fragments—jagged shale and broken stone that felt like nature’s cheese grater—ripped across my arms, legs, and whatever dignity I had left.
Blackout? Not quite. More like a hazy “what the fuck just happened” moment. Next thing I know I’m back at the top of the hill, bike somehow nearby, dust still settling. The crew rolls up, concerned but trying not to laugh too hard.
“You good, man?” one of them asks.
“I think so,” I mumble, still half in the clouds, brushing dirt off like it’s no big deal.
Dano, cool as a cucumber with that signature deadpan delivery only legends possess, looks me up and down and says casually:
“Yeah... you got a lot of bugs crawling in your cuts.”
I look down. And there they are. A full-on insect rave. Flies, gnats, and who knows what else treating my fresh road rash like an all-you-can-eat blood buffet. Little bastards were swarming the open gashes, having the time of their damn lives while I’m still piecing together how I teleported uphill.
I started laughing. Couldn’t help it. That classic stoner delayed reaction—pain, shock, and absurdity all hitting at once. Dano’s just standing there smirking like he’s seen this movie a hundred times. Probably has.
We eventually got me patched up with whatever was in the truck (mostly paper towels and sheer willpower), finished the ride slower and wiser, and spent the rest of the day telling the story like war veterans. The high made everything funnier in hindsight—the slow-motion tumble, the casual bug report, the fact that my Trek survived better than my forearms.
Lesson from the trail: Even the best weed doesn’t grant superpowers against Pennsylvania shale. But it does make the bugs dancing in your blood a little more tolerable. Respect the rock. Hydrate. And always ride with someone like Dano who’ll tell you the truth while you’re bleeding.
This is what the culture’s about—raw moments, real friends, and stories you tell for years. The kind that make you hit the link for new merch that reps the scars and the laughs.
What’s your wildest “That Time I Got High and...” story? Drop it in the comments. We’re turning this site into the spot where heads get lost in the lore. New series drops coming, fresh gear loading up with that gritty, dripping energy.
Stay lifted. Stay scarred. Stay honest. 🌿🔥
theStonerReview.com – Where the smoke meets the stories. Merch that lives the lifestyle dropping soon.
