I think hayrides (for fun at least) are a bit ridiculous. The concept isn’t completely ridiculous, though, just the complete lack of resemblance they bear to their real-life counterparts. A comparison:
Fun hayrides: Comfortable.
Real hayrides: Sweaty, dirty, and itchy with dry hay all in your clothes, as you’ve usually just got done bucking a field full of bales.
Fun hayrides: Whenever you like, evening/morning/afternoon, spring/summer/fall.
Real hayrides: Usually in the hottest portion of the afternoon, during the hottest parts of the year, while wearing long sleeves, long pants and a hat, to protect yourself from being scratched by the bales and to protect yourself from the sun.
Fun hayrides: Plenty of room for everybody, maybe on a wagon, or a trailer. Just enough bales of hay to act as seats.
Real hayrides: Five sweaty guys crammed into the cab of a truck that should only seat three, and four more riding illegally atop a precariously stacked pile of thirty or forty hay bales, much to their own peril.
Fun hayrides: Good conversation and happy, smiling faces.
Real hayrides: Potentially cranky people, tired from work, conversation in grunts and single-syllable words.
Fun hayrides: Maybe a guitar or banjo player, and a sing-along.
Real hayrides: A crappy AM radio, that’s stuck half-way on the all-weather-all-the-time station.
Fun hayrides: When you’re done, you can go enjoy yourself.
Real hayrides: When you’re done, you get to put all of the hay on the truck into a stack, and if you’re lucky, go back for more bale-bucking.