Hayrides seem to be out of style

It’s hayride season.
Or does anyone do that anymore?
Maybe our litigious society has scuttled hayrides out of fear of lawsuits.
But they used to be a staple.
Three stand out in memory.
One was back in high school and sticks in memory for two reasons. One is that it traveled down a county road across a bridge that no longer exists; the road’s a dead-end now. The other is that I have vivid memories of trying to position myself so that I might actually put my arm around the girl beside me.
(A friend of mine was sitting on the other side of her attempting to do the same thing. It’s a wonder he and I didn’t end up holding hands by mistake.)
A second was back in the late 1980s when a group of Graphic employees had a picnic out at Quentin and Libby Imel’s place just south of Bryant. The Imels both worked for the company, Quentin in commercial printing and Libby in composing.
They were also antique dealers and had built a charming house/shop with a small pond out back. That was the site of the party.
There was a cookout, there was a bonfire, and when the time was right there was a hayride.
Now, a perfect hayride takes you over winding roads in the dark and takes you over at least one covered bridge.
This one qualified as adequate rather than perfect. Its route took us along the old Penn Central right of way from one county road to another and back. So much for the scenic route.
The third hayride that comes to mind was in Brown County.
The Indiana Associated Press Managing Editors, a very loose-knit group that I’d been the president of several years before, gathered in Schooner Valley, a charming spot along Indiana 46.
The group had spent the day in a working session with speakers and seminars, but the evening was meant for festivities.
For some reason, we were taken out to the middle of a horse pasture, a pasture complete with several horses. There we found a bonfire with bales of hay encircling it along with a number of coolers of adult beverages.
The hay wagon showed up later, after most of the editors and their spouses had refreshed themselves more than once. The plan was to climb on board and take a ride around the pasture in the dark before returning to the bonfire.
And that’s what most of us did.
But there was one editor, a guy who had indulged in a bit too much liquid refreshment, who had other ideas.
He was a horse lover, and he kept trying to lure over some of the random, loose horses that were wandering around in the pasture as the sun disappeared.
Finally, he gained the trust of one of them.
And before we knew it, he pulled himself up on the horse, bareback, gave a hoot and disappeared into the darkness. One second he was there, astride his mighty steed. The next moment he had vanished.
They found him later, of course, tossed off from his bareback perch and complaining about his back.
As far as I know, no lawsuit was filed. His foolishness would have provided a perfect defense.
But, just the same, maybe it’s his fault hayrides are now awfully few and far between.