Reminds me of the bit in Cryptonomicon where Lawrence Waterhouse takes an intelligence test for the navy:
"They gave him an intelligence test. The first question on the math part had to do with boats on a river: Port Smith is 100 miles upstream of Port Jones. The river flows at 5 miles per hour. The boat goes through water at 10 miles per hour. How long does it take to go from Port Smith to Port Jones? How long to come back?
Lawrence immediately saw that it was a trick question. You would have to be some kind of idiot to make the facile assumption that the current would add or subtract 5 miles per hour to or from the speed of the boat. Clearly, 5 miles per hour was nothing more than the average speed. The current would be faster in the middle of the river and slower at the banks. More complicated variations could be expected at bends in the river. Basically it was a question of hydrodynamics, which could be tackled using certain well-known systems of differential equations. Lawrence dove into the problem, rapidly (or so he thought) covering both sides of ten sheets of paper with calculations. Along the way, he realized that one of his assumptions, in combination with the simplified Navier-Stokes equations, had led him into an exploration of a particularly interesting family of partial differential equations. Before he knew it, he had proved a new theorem. If that didn't prove his intelligence, what would?
Then the time bell rang and the papers were collected. Lawrence managed to hang onto his scratch paper. He took it back to his dorm, typed it up, and mailed it to one of the more approachable math professors at Princeton, who promptly arranged for it to be published in a Parisian mathematics journal.
Lawrence received two free, freshly printed copies of the journal a few months later, in San Diego, California, during mail call on board a large ship called the U.S.S. Nevada. The ship had a band, and the Navy had given Lawrence the job of playing the glockenspiel in it, because their testing procedures had proven that he was not intelligent enough to do anything else."
'Then there is the famous fly puzzle. Two bicyclists start twenty miles apart and head toward each other, each going at a steady rate of 10 m.p.h. At the same time a fly that travels at a steady 15 m.p.h. starts from the front wheel of the southbound bicycle and flies to the front wheel of the northbound one, then turns around and flies to the front wheel of the southbound one again, and continues in this manner till he is crushed between the two front wheels. Question: what total distance did the fly cover ? The slow way to find the answer is to calculate what distance the fly covers on the first, northbound, leg of the trip, then on the second, southbound, leg, then on the third, etc., etc., and, finally, to sum the infinite series so obtained. The quick way is to observe that the bicycles meet exactly one hour after their start, so that the fly had just an hour for his travels; the answer must therefore be 15 miles. When the question was put to von Neumann, he solved it in an instant, and thereby disappointed the questioner: "Oh, you must have heard the trick before!" "What trick?" asked von Neumann; "all I did was sum the infinite series." '
This is meant to sound very difficult (and might be, if you majored in journalism), but summing infinite geometric series is easy enough to do in your head if you're facile with fractions: (first_term) / (1 - step_multiplier).
Observe that, of the combined velocity of the fly and the bike approaching him, the fly always makes up 60%. That makes math easier since it eliminates division and time from the problem entirely.
On the first trip, the fly travels 12 miles and the bike approaching him travels 8 miles. There are now 4 (20 - 2 * 8) miles between the bikes.
On the second trip, the fly travels .6 * 4 = 2.4 miles and the bike approaching him travels 1.4 * 4 = 1.6 miles. There are now 0.8 miles between the bikes.
The part where people who are really good with math distinguish themselves from people who are not is realizing quickly that the problem they are looking at, with flies and bikes, quickly decomposes into "sum the series that starts 12, 2.4, etc".
12 / (1 - 0.2) = 12 * 5 / 4 = 15 miles total fly travel.
You can do it a little more formally if you want to verify the intuition that each step takes 1/5th the time (covers 1/5th the distance) of the previous step. (My intuition says "In the time that it takes the fly to go 5 units, the two bikes will chew up 4 units of that distance, so he is only left with 1 unit to travel the next time.")
I don't think it's about difficulty per se but the number of computations required. If 25 miles were covered by the fly and a bicycle, the fly covers 15 making it 60% (first calculation). Thus for 20 miles, the fly covers 12, bicycle 8 (second calculation). 20-16 or 4 miles are remaining of which the fly covers 2.4 (third computation). 2.4 is one-fifth of 12 (fifth computation). 12 / 0.8 => 12 * 5/4 = 15 (sixth computation). This route will always be slower because it requires more computations.
There is another "trick" solution : Let's denote a point when the fly turns around to be a step. Then just notice, from any one step the next, the fly travels exactly 1.5x the distance of any of the bicycles, since it goes 15mph versus the bicyclye's 10mph. This holds at each step, so is true of the total distance traveled as well. But alltogether, one bicycle will travel exactly half of the 20miles, so 10miles. So the fly will travel 15miles.
It's rather arguable that Waterhouse's inability to recognize that the question scenario was a deliberate simplification justifies his naval assignment. Because while he's clearly a brilliant mathematician in the story, he's really too damn dim about everything else to trust with much practical responsibility...
unfortunately, there is some practical truth in this Navy evaluation - Lawrence would definitely failed (ie. wouldn't complete them on-time and according to SOP) most of the assignments in the Navy or military in general.
That would simply be an indication that he was not suited for applying to the Navy. I find that many people who suck and fail at something may truly suck at whatever it is, but they're actually quite awesome at something else. The sad thing is that most people don't know how to find their path and even fewer people know how to set people on the right path where they can achieve their potential.
"They gave him an intelligence test. The first question on the math part had to do with boats on a river: Port Smith is 100 miles upstream of Port Jones. The river flows at 5 miles per hour. The boat goes through water at 10 miles per hour. How long does it take to go from Port Smith to Port Jones? How long to come back?
Lawrence immediately saw that it was a trick question. You would have to be some kind of idiot to make the facile assumption that the current would add or subtract 5 miles per hour to or from the speed of the boat. Clearly, 5 miles per hour was nothing more than the average speed. The current would be faster in the middle of the river and slower at the banks. More complicated variations could be expected at bends in the river. Basically it was a question of hydrodynamics, which could be tackled using certain well-known systems of differential equations. Lawrence dove into the problem, rapidly (or so he thought) covering both sides of ten sheets of paper with calculations. Along the way, he realized that one of his assumptions, in combination with the simplified Navier-Stokes equations, had led him into an exploration of a particularly interesting family of partial differential equations. Before he knew it, he had proved a new theorem. If that didn't prove his intelligence, what would?
Then the time bell rang and the papers were collected. Lawrence managed to hang onto his scratch paper. He took it back to his dorm, typed it up, and mailed it to one of the more approachable math professors at Princeton, who promptly arranged for it to be published in a Parisian mathematics journal.
Lawrence received two free, freshly printed copies of the journal a few months later, in San Diego, California, during mail call on board a large ship called the U.S.S. Nevada. The ship had a band, and the Navy had given Lawrence the job of playing the glockenspiel in it, because their testing procedures had proven that he was not intelligent enough to do anything else."