4:The Day I Will Never Let Martha Forget.
Santa Monica Pier, California.
08th September 2019.
Day Four.
The day I will never let Martha forget.
Why on earth do I trust Martha with technology? You’d think that after all my blurry pictures with the Hollywood sign, I’d have learnt not to trust her. That — and the fact we’ve been together for six years and I know exactly what she’s like — but here I am, driving to our next campsite, my bloody hands sticking to the steering wheel of the RV… all because she can’t use a camera.
Confused? Let me backtrack a little.
At 4:20 AM that morning, Martha and I packed up and left the RV site. We drove through sunrise, which was stunning, and arrived at Santa Monica Pier parking around 7 AM. Still very much programmed to UK time.
We set off early for my own peace of mind. After crashing the RV, I was a little uncomfortable being thrown back into busy L.A. traffic. I must have checked Google Maps about 1,000 times the night before, studying the route and convincing myself I could do it. I’d be the first to admit I was slightly paranoid.
It was, however, a very pleasant journey, and we made it to the beach parking with absolutely no problems.
What wasn’t pleasant was the $60 parking. RVs take up two spaces… $60!
Martha and I had a “couples meeting” to decide whether Santa Monica was worth $60. It was only meant to be a quick morning stop-off on the way to the next RV park. We were very close to leaving, but decided that we were already there — and I needed a break from driving.
Good decision.
Like something straight out of a typical Hollywood movie, joggers started appearing for their morning routines, quickly joined by rollerbladers and cyclists. All it needed was some cheesy music — which, funnily enough, we got later on the pier.
The view from the pier was stunning, and it also turned out to be the end of Route 66. I was loving taking photos at this point. Martha probably found me incredibly irritating. No change there.
Martha then wanted to go and see some palm trees — because that’s what you do in Santa Monica. As someone who enjoys fitness, I was ridiculously excited when we accidentally stumbled across Muscle Beach.
Still being early, it was absolutely dead — which meant it was all mine.
I successfully did my first ever muscle-up. One to tell the grandkids. First muscle-up. On Muscle Beach. Get me.
Then I saw the rings…
For those who don’t know, the rings are eight metal hoops suspended from a frame by ropes. The idea is to swing, Tarzan-style, from one end to the other. There’s a technique to it — which, thankfully, I vaguely knew (cheers, YouTube).
Not expecting much, I gave it a go with my backpack on… and made it to six. In hindsight, I shouldn’t have stopped there — and I’ll tell you for why in a moment.
After my first attempt, another couple joined us, and I somehow ended up teaching the guy how to do it.
Yes — I coached someone on how to use the equipment at Muscle Beach… after having one go myself. #Pro
“You’ve got to pull on the rope behind you to build momentum,” I said, like I had any authority whatsoever.
Anyway — long story long — I went in for round two. This time, I handed Martha my camera. I wanted this bad boy in 4K.
First ring — easy. Second and third — still comfortable. By the sixth, I could feel my grip starting to go. But I had to beat my first attempt, so I was determined to finish.
Through gritted teeth, I made it to the final ring and finished with a little celebratory dance.
Traveling Rings on Muscle Beach? Completed it, mate…
That’s when I heard a small voice timidly whisper my name. It got a bit louder, but I was far too busy celebrating. Eventually, I turned around to see where it was coming from.
Martha stood there, looking very confused at my camera. Smashing buttons. Not tapping — smashing.
I could see all those years of playing Bop It had clearly prepared her for this moment… unfortunately, cameras don’t respond well to being twatted.
Unlike Bop It, there’s no high score for this — and I instantly knew what she’d done.
She didn’t even need to tell me. She had filmed the first ring… stopped recording… and then filmed the last ring.
The entire middle? Gone.
The celebratory dance? Also gone. (And I’ve got moves. The world missed out.)
I was gutted. Still haven’t let it go, if I’m honest — as you can probably tell.
Naturally, I had to try again. It doesn’t count if it’s not on camera, right?
This time, she used her phone. Fool-proof. Surely.
Sadly, on ring six, I felt a nasty sting and my grip went. When I looked at my hands, I realised some of my skin was no longer attached to my palms — but flapping about in the wind. Lovely.
It stung a bit, but I was more upset about being thousands of miles from home… and not getting that bloody video.
Martha and her palm trees
All the photos of me were out of focus, deleted or never taken.
So Martha went off to use a giant swing under the palm trees, looking like a film star, while the Californian sand soaked up my tears.
Ridiculously, all of this happened before 11 AM.
We still had a long drive ahead of us to the next campsite, passing through Malibu and Santa Barbara — both absolutely stunning. Looking back, I think we missed a trick not stopping for a dip along the way. I’m sure we would have if we hadn’t already spent four hours at the beach.
That said, I was very aware of what we had planned for the next day. I was far too excited about getting to Monterey Bay to care too much about anything in between.
When we finally arrived at the RV site, it felt like we’d pulled into a first-class, gold-star, ridiculously fancy resort. Marble floors in the toilets — the kind you could eat your dinner off — and showers that were somehow better than showers.
There were two small pools nearby, a welcome breeze, and after the long drive, it felt fully deserved.
Dinner… and asleep by 9.
