When I lived in Ohio, I rode with a couple of guys, Ron and Eric, pretty often. Ron was the husband of one of Valerie's work friends, and Eric was a work friend of mine.
I had bought a book called "Life In The Slow Lane", which was a guide to back-roads bike rides in Central Ohio. These rides took you to interesting historical sites, or over cool bridges, or through odd little towns. The book gave you not only the route, but also the background of what you were seeing.
Ron rode a steel TREK and Eric rode an aluminum TREK, which was painted in an eye-searing fluorescent yellow. This was in the late 80s, you know...
Anyway, we were riding, one day, when I started kidding Eric about the color of his bike. I was cracking wise about going blind as if I was looking at the sun, being safe if it got dark because his bike would light the way, etc.
Ron, though, was being uncharacteristically quiet, his eyes hidden by the sunglasses he always wore on the bike. Finally, as we had a snack at a rest stop, Ron asked me what I was going on about.
"Well, look at that thing," I said, pointing at Eric's bike.
:So?" he said, "It's a white bike. What's the big deal?"
"Man, are you color blind?" Eric asked. "My bike is far from white!"
"What are you talking about? I'm looking right at it!" Ron was getting a bit steamed. I think that he thought Eric and I were scamming him, for some reason.
"Ron," I interrupted. "Are your glasses polarized?"
"Take 'em off and look at Eric's bike."
The look on his face when he saw the color on that frame was priceless. Apparently, Ron had never seen Eric's bike when he wasn't wearing his sunglasses.
Eric and I took turns looking at his bike through Ron's lenses. The bike did look bone white through the polarizing lenses.