"There's no way that was Michelle Obama." I had to twist around so my boyfriend biking behind me could better hear the argument. The presidential vacation was the furthest thing from our minds when Tim Ashe and I left Cape Cod last Friday for a day trip to Martha's Vineyard. We planned to cycle from Oak Bluffs to Gay Head, on the opposite end of the island — about 25 miles.

Halfway there, on a stretch of bike path surrounded on all sides by forest, we noticed an SUV coming toward us on the narrow ribbon of pavement. Lights on, New Hampshire plates. "Total idiots," was our shared assessment. We had to navigate around the vehicle — carefully avoiding the side mirrors — to get past the rig. 

About five minutes later, we passed the first bikers we'd seen in a while: an African American family… normal looking, except for the single white guy trailing behind them. "Whee," the mother exclaimed as they contemplated the steep downhill we were climbing. 

Once past them, I said to Tim, "God, everyone around here looks like Michelle Obama." Tim quickly concluded that we had just seen the First Lady, Sasha and two bodyguards. 

I was so busy disagreeing with him that I didn't even notice the oncoming entourage. Then I heard Tim intone, "Hi, Mr. President."