...and no, you probably aren't paranoid.
Paul gave me a lift to the motorcycle shop out in Columbia City to pick up my bike after some routine, albeit belated, service. (I should have gotten the valves adjusted about 8,000 miles ago...) On the way home, he got a few pictures in the rear-view mirror.
Paul's not the first person to recognize me in the rear view; a number of years ago, with Strawberry (our beloved, but terribly underpowered Honda CB250) I was out riding while Deborah was attending a function in Ft. Wayne. I paused at a corner café just as a very distinctive set up taillights pulled up to the stop sign. I fell in behind, and followed her for miles until she recognized that it was me behind her. She had been lost for the last hour, and was terribly relieved to finally have a guide home.