The Clampetts Go To Canada

In 1962, the CBS network debuted a TV show called The Beverly Hillbillies. The show’s premise was that Jed Clampett, a poor backwoodsman from the Ozark region in Missouri, struck oil on his land and became rich overnight. On the advice of his kinfolk, he moved his mother-in-law, daughter, and cousin’s son to Beverly Hills, California.

The Clampetts buy a big mansion in the wealthy suburb, but can’t seem to shake their poor hillbilly lifestyle as they learn about “city folk” and adapt to an existence far from what they are used to. Using “them newfangled washing machines” or indoor facilities seemed quite an adjustment.

It was this family that a friend and I emulated on a road trip to Canada in early 2018.

If you’d like to know how we ended up on the road trip in the first place, please feel free to check out the video story leading up to this epic adventure. If not, I’ll give you a quick rundown.

I’d been living on a ranch in Texas and needed to head back to Australia to take care of a few things before returning to the state to go to college. My friend, who was retired and had nothing better to do, volunteered to take me on a road trip to visit a few places I was eager to see before I flew back.

The Redneck Travelling Kit

The road trip started with a collection of items I aptly named the redneck travelling kit, and included a small American flag, water, ‘wake up pills’, coffee, and a phone app that told us where the police were. While the American flag and coffee were my contributions to the mixed bag, the ‘wake up pills’, named such by my friend, were methamphetamines, legally prescribed to my travelling companion through the VA (Veteran’s Affairs).

She had an entire pharmacy of other drugs, kindly provided by Uncle Sam, that came along with us in a locked box. There were pills to wake you up, pills to put you to sleep in a near coma, pills to take away the pain from your childhood, and pills to cure just about any organ in your body which, ironically, destroyed them instead.

She was a regular travelling drugstore!

A radar detector topped off the bizarre collection of items as it went everywhere with her and was perfectly legal in the good old US of A.

We spent a couple of days in Baton Rouge and New Orleans in Louisiana before heading to my holy land, Nashville, Tennessee. From there we travelled up through Ohio and into Pennsylvania before crossing the border into Canada at Niagara Falls in New York State.

It is here that the Clampetts came out to play.

I should also mention that we had been travelling in a massive truck, a red Ford F-350 with a dually, four rear wheels as opposed to two, making the back side of the monstrosity even wider than your average vehicle. The Red Menace’s very long bed took up more space than Toronto’s city roads could accommodate.

Crossing the border had been a feat in and of itself. I chose to walk across the Rainbow International Bridge to enter Canada as opposed to heading over in the truck with my travelling companion.

Growing up in South Africa and then spending a combined time of fourteen years in Australia and New Zealand, walking into another country was either deadly or could result in being eaten by a shark. The idea of wandering across a border on foot appealed to me so I took the opportunity. I also wanted to see the majesty of the falls from as many angles as I could.

As I made my way across the bridge, I snapped pictures of my journey and the spectacular waterfalls as they pounded into the river beneath them. All the while, I kept an eye on the Red Menace as my friend slowly made her way through the international checkpoint.

My decision ended up being a fortuitous one.

My friend was ex-military and looked the part. She was trained in how to respond to interrogation and felt very calm in such situations. I, however, do not. She also had a concealed carry permit on her driver’s license and a gun safe in her truck.

It doesn’t take the mind of Sherlock Holmes to understand why they immediately pulled her over.

I, on the other hand, am a pacifist. Growing up in a country where guns and violence were all too commonplace, I had long since detached from thoughts of owning or carrying firearms. I would also make a terrible spy. The slightest bit of pressure and I’ll tell you where my mother hides her money.

They searched the truck thoroughly and asked my friend repeatedly whether she was carrying any firearms in her vehicle. It took thirty minutes and multiple denials before they finally allowed her through the border. I was beside myself by the time she rolled up to me at our agreed-upon rendezvous point, very happy to be heading to the hotel.

The Clampetts had made it into Canada.

After a good night’s sleep, we headed into the city for a little sightseeing. I was only flying out a couple of days later so we had time to be tourists. Heading into the city meant finding a parking space that could accommodate the Red Menace, and this is where we truly embodied the Clampett Clan.

Not wanting to drive too far into the centre of the city with the narrow streets, my friend found an underground parking garage close to the waterfront.

Unfortunately, getting in proved far easier than getting out!

We noticed the long-hanging metal height bar as we carefully slid down the ramp and glided slowly around the twists and turns of the concrete bunker. Despite the tight squeeze, my friend backed into the parking space with precision, the nose of the beast jutting out a little further than the other vehicles tucked neatly in their spaces on either side.

The journey back into the light.

After a lot of walking and a light lunch, we dragged our tired butts out of the Uber that had chauffeured us back across town and wandered down into the parking garage, eager to get back to the hotel and rest.

As we began our ascent into the daylight, my friend who was both fiercely protective of and in love with her truck, started to get nervous about how close the series of hazard lights on the roof were getting to the low-hanging height bars.

“Hang on,” I said, making her stop the vehicle. “Let me see what’s going on.” I rolled down the window and scooted my butt out onto the sill, placing my feet on the seat.

“It’s close,” I said nervously, knowing that the sojourn into the city had been solely for my benefit. I also knew that no matter how much she loved me, she may never forgive me if something happened to her truck.

“I’ll hold down the aerial and talk you through it,” I said sticking my head back through the window.

“Okay,” she said, death rays shooting from her eyes, clearly not amused.

Sitting on the window sill, feet on the seat, and holding down the bee-sting aerial, I guided her out of the garage as she inched forward slowly. Thankfully, no one entered or exited the garage during our “country folk come to the big city” extravaganza.

As we moved past the last potential hazard and began the steep ascent toward freedom, I breathed a sigh of relief, fully aware that there had been a few millimetres between success and a very angry cowgirl.

I slid back into my seat with a loud belly laugh as we emerged into the daylight, but one look over at my travel companion and I hushed up pretty quickly. While I am an adventurer at heart, getting pummelled in the cab of a Ford F-350 in Toronto, Canada, is not my idea of a fun vacation.

Suffice it to say that the drive back to the hotel was mostly silent.

Decked out in cowboy boots and western shirts while grooving to country tunes in a big redneck truck, the Lonestar Clampetts managed to survive their time in Canada. The following day I left a very sad cowgirl behind as I boarded my flight to the land down under, all mishaps forgotten.

In the words of the Clampett Clan, “Y’all come back now, y’hear?”

Please feel free to buy me a coffee if you like what you read.