An example of Ingrid, grown in Colorado. (Ry Prichard, The Cannabist)

Ingrid (marijuana review)

The Sleepytime tea of weed, Ingrid is a soporific strain that knocks me out faster than a heavy chunk of Ambien

Barreling down the open road for hours on end is one of the most cathartic exercises in life — the windows rolled all the way down, metal music blasting, wind rushing through my hair.

I’ve been fortunate enough to drive through nearly half of the 48 contiguous states. So when my friend Zach asked me to accompany him on a drive to Chicago, I excitedly obliged. I went over to his office to plan the final route details the night before we left, and he surprised me with the always-welcome gift of flower — what looked like a couple grams of Ingrid.

I wanted a good night’s sleep before the drive, so the Ingrid he gave me was just what I needed. Good Chemistry advertises the strain as 100 percent indica, and I’ve been curious about the strain’s genetics ever since I first smoked it. Good Chem bills the strain as one of their own, and the exact genetics were shrouded in mystery — until I asked the shop’s general manager Steve Spinosa about his lady friend Ingrid.

Ingrid by the numbers: $15/gram, $30/eighth at Good Chemistry, 330 E. Colfax Ave., Denver

I’d always wondered who Ingrid was, and the strain’s origin story sheds some light on the mystery woman. Ingrid, Spinosa says, is a cross of Hash Plant x Swiss Big Bud. The word Ingrid is slang for cannabis in Austria, where the strain was originally bred — not unlike Mary Jane here in the States. Without knowing the exact genetics of the parent strains, it’s impossible to verify that it is truly a pure indica. But even if it is an indica-dominant hybrid, a bowl of Ingrid’s effects certainly epitomize the “in-da-couch” mnemonic device a budtender teaches you on your first dispensary visit.

When I first opened the jar, I noticed it was packed to the brim with typically dense nugs. My nose was immediately greeted by the familiar funky fragrance. Ingrid’s odd smell may be off-putting to some — imagine what it would smell like if someone vomited after eating a cheese omelet with a side of fresh berries.

Yeah, it takes some getting used to. Nonetheless, it is a solid go-to sleepytime strain.

The nugs were round and bushy with Sharpie-green leaves covered in frosty trichomes and an abundance of light orange hairs. I gave the dense nug a slight pinch, and it expanded back to its original size almost instantaneously. I broke off a small piece of the inch-long nug to load my freshly-cleaned chillum as I was laying in bed, lazily half-watching a movie.

The first hit was extremely cheesy and pungent with hints of skunk and berry. Thankfully, the puke-y part of the smell was not apparent in the smoke’s taste. The second hit showed me the deep harshness of the Hash Plant genetics, which I could feel in my upper lungs and chest. After a few more hits the warmth and tension in my chest subsided.

About five minutes later I was wrestling to keep my eyes open, though I eventually subconsciously submitted to the weed’s power. I woke up 10 minutes later with the lights on, chillum and lighter laying on my bare stomach spilling ash on my tattoos and the movie “Hard Ball” playing on the TV. I could feel the warmth in my face and body and didn’t even question Keanu Reeves’ atrocious rendition of Notorious B.I.G.’s “Big Poppa.” I smoked another quick bowl and immediately got up to brush my teeth and turn off the lights and TV to ensure I didn’t pass out prematurely again. I walked like a zombie back to my bed. My eyelids felt like they had weights in them, and my eyes were practically closed before I even hit the sheets.

It had been a while since I smoked any Ingrid flower, and my pre-trip smoke reminded me how effective the strain is as a sedative — so of course I had to go and get some more when I returned from Chicago. When I went into the store, I couldn’t help but smirk at the Good Chem-branded “Everyone sleeps with Ingrid” T-shirt behind the counter, especially given how quickly it put me down and, of course, its sexual innuendo.

The heavy indica is a deviation from my usual purchase, but the eighth I bought will keep me well-rested for the next two months, at least. I even gave the strain my own nickname: “Ronda Rousey,” because I last as long as one of her opponents in the ring before I get KO’d.