Hayrides are dangerous and harrowing things that I do not like. Hayrides usually happen in the middle of winter when it's cold out, and I hate the cold.
They are too slow, or they are too fast because something spooked the horses, and I hate horses, because they sometimes show the whites of their eyes and have freakish people teeth. Horses are the stuff of horror movies.
Someone almost always thinks that hot chocolate served outside in styrofoam cups is a good idea, but it never is, because mittens rob you of enough feeling in your hands to ensure that you spill some hot chocolate on yourself and end up burning your mouth because you can't feel how hot the drink is.
Hay is not comfortable to sit on, and I have had the joy of experiencing both a hay sliver in my ass and a hay sliver under my thumbnail, both of which got infected, because I am sure that the hay was infested with particles of manure.
One time, I was told to sit with my legs hanging over the side, and the half-blind/half-deaf old man driving the horses kept veering over toward a high, iced-over ridge of snow even though we were yelling our heads off to stop doing that, but every time we yelled, he looked at us over his left shoulder, which made him steer even further over toward the ridge of ice, and the ridge eventually pinched my legs so severely that the force of it dragged me off the wagon, and I couldn't walk for an hour as a result of the severe pain from my crushed shins.
Kids often think that hayrides are their cue to smash snow in people's faces and try to push each other off the sleigh, and this makes my brain hurt, because I never figured out why it was supposed to be so fabulously fun to have snowed smashed in behind my Holly Hobbie glasses and then have to attempt retaliation.
In short, horses, hay, rambunctious children, bad menu choices, and horses - did I mention the horses? - do not a rollicking good time make. They make for ass slivers and burned tongues and possible limb loss. Hayrides are not a warm, nostalgic glance back at a simpler time. They are a reminder of a time when people died young and had to pull their own teeth with pliers in the barn after several fingers of whiskey in order to avoid the town's sadistic barber/dentist.
Thank you for the invite, though. It was a lovely thought.
UPDATE: ChurchPunkMom sent along this picture of a pair of horses that pulled the sleigh at her last hayride. You'll notice that the horse in the foreground is MISSING AN EYE.