Thank you Uber, but I'll take the open road

George Maharis and Martin Milner in "Route 66"

It was summer in farm country. The sun threw shadows across verdant hayfields, waves of grass rippling in the breeze. Corn, approaching knee high, promised the harvest to come. Grapes, robustly leafed out, small, green fruit forming, arranged in tidy rows. Cows grazing in broad pastures, hilly with a number of fresh water ponds for drinking, wading, and cooling. Large tracts of forest interspersed and surrounded the fields, divided by country dirt roads, two-tracks that wound and stretched between fields and over the hills, connecting our farms with each other and nearby towns.

Our nearest chums were a half-mile away, with others quite farther. And the only mode of transportation available to poor farm kids was shanks’ mare – we walked. We walked to perform chores, walked to go camping in the woods, walked to go fishing, walked to visit our friends. The walking was hot, tiring, and seemingly endless.

Then one day, Dad decided that we should have bicycles.

We climbed into the family jalopy and journeyed to a small, outlying farm on a high ridge where the proprietor also ran  a small business repairing and refurbishing bicycles. Imagine “Pee Wee Herman’s Big Adventure” and his heavy, fat-tire, bike. That’s what we ended up with, although certainly with less panache and quite a bit more chipped and rusty. But functional, and worth the five bucks.

The sense of freedom was fabulous!  We struggled, standing on the pedals, up long hills but swooped and soared down the other side, and arrived at our neighbors' farms in minutes, not hours. The mechanical genius of the bicycle was not lost on us.

Tractors were another dream to young kids, big and powerful, moving through the fields and traversing the roads with ease, even in mud season or the deep snow of winter. These machines were the epitome of empowerment. And as we became older, and were permitted to drive them, enhancing our sense of self. Mastering a machine which was capable of turning the earth, hauling huge burdens of crops, or dragging thick, heavy logs from the woods did wonders for the self-esteem of a youngster.

And then our older cousins visited in their automobiles, shiny Detroit muscle machines that shook and  rumbled and promised the wonders of the open road. Freedom. Route 66. Drive-in movies. The desert, mountains, California.  How could we not be compelled by this vision?

So getting a driver’s license, borrowing the family car, and eventually buying one of our own, was the height of achievement, irrespective of the cost. Working on the farm, haying, plowing, mowing, and then in town, at the local McDonald’s, all to earn a few bucks to buy that jalopy. The siren call of the highway was irresistible.

All of that has come to a crashing halt.

Today’s youth are largely urban or suburban. They are transported by their parents, buses or subways, or Uber rides. A recent WallStreet Journal article reveals that between 2000 and 2015, the rate at which young adults (16-34 years) purchased new cars fell by nearly a third. This trend promises to continue.

They no longer dream and strive to possess their own freedom machine, that 1966 Ford Mustang or Chevy Camaro. Now, they simply finger the Uber or Lyft app on their phone and summon up a ride to the mall or party of choice. Long, dusty foot journeys through the countryside are outside of their ken.

While there is some bit of nostalgic loss, this all makes sense. It is far more efficient for shared autonomic vehicles to carry shoppers and partiers to their destinations. It is safer and more ecologically sound.

But somehow, the romance of the open road, Tod and Buz on Route 66 in their vintage Corvette, will be greatly missed.

Thank you Uber, Amazon, Apple, Google, for transforming our lives. But I will cling to my memories. They are comforting, and inspirational.

Sorry chump, your lack of skepticism has now caused a whole bunch of trouble

Skepticism is a highly underappreciated trait.

Some of us have it naturally. Others learn, usually after one or several hard experiences.

Still others of us never acquire the skill, and are repeatedly taken to the cleaners.

To be skeptical is to harbor doubts about the veracity of some proposition, be it political, commercial, or emotional.

The politician offering something for nothing. The telemarketer promising low, low, low rates. The handsome blond hunk professing his love. Seemingly reasonable and attractive propositions to many, but all viewed dispassionately, from a distance, awaiting corroboration, by the practiced skeptic.

The downside of skepticism is that we might miss out on some genuine opportunity. But the upside is that we could sidestep a scam or worse. A friendly-seeming member of an opposing tribe might really be telling us where the deer are gathered, or she could be luring us into a trap. The evolutionary imperative, survival, might well be served by a good dose of skepticism.

Which brings us to the twenty first century.

We are no longer likely to be enticed into a wooded glen there to be trapped and trounced. But it is very probable that some crook, pursuing our money, will entice us into taking an action which reveals our identity or purloins our financial information. Not as mortal, but highly disaffecting and, once realized, very disturbing. We feel as if we had been despoiled; the world is no longer safe.

All of this can be avoided with a healthy sense of skepticism.

Here is an example.  Imagine that you receive an email from a good friend, or a trusted company that you’ve done business with for years. This friend or business presents something of interest, or makes a request, but in some way tries to get you to click on a link in the email.

Your emotional shields are down. After all, this is your colleague Sally, or sister Phyllis, or banking provider Santander, and the request is so simple. Just click on that link!

Sorry, sucker. You just screwed up.

The information identifying the sender of the email can easily be hacked. It was not sent by your colleague, but by an Eastern European hacker. He got your email address by, perhaps, previously hacking a friend of yours.

The link that you clicked will download malware onto your computer. The logon information and passwords of your financial accounts are now transparent to the hacker, as well as your contact list and access to your email and social media accounts. He will now cascade his attack to all of your friends. Sorry chump, your lack of skepticism has now caused a whole bunch of trouble.

Here is a real example. Regard the email shown here. The sender (blanked out) was purportedly a well-known, trusted source. The request, simple – click this link to view “some important documents.” But something doesn’t ring true. Hi to who? There is no salutation. What important documents? Wouldn’t this sender normally have mentioned what it was all about? And the gobbledygook about security reasons? What??

So your intrepid columnist did not click this link and was saved the ignominy of infecting his and his friends computers. The link was, indeed, a phishing attack.

Avoiding this is not brilliance. It is not genius. It just a bit of skepticism.

Skepticism which you should also use when you receive a phone call, or a mail solicitation, or a knock on the door.

Skepticism. A cheap, effective defense against the scammers who surround us. Practice it early and often.

Although, one must say, it is hugely disappointing that so many are striving to take advantage. Do unto others, after all, is still the key human prescription for peaceful coexistence. Perhaps one day we will all treat each other so.

Until then, skepticism.