Summer 1996. No mobile phone. Fifteen miles east of Santa Rosa New Mexico on Interstate 40 heading west. My 1987 Chevy S10's transmission just stopped "going". I sat there wondering if it would spontaneously fix it self, and it didn't. I got out of the truck and put up the hood to indicate to passersby that I needed help. No one stopped, and no cops. After 30 minutes, I wrote "HELP" in duct tape across the back window of my bed shell. Still, no one stopped. I took down the "HELP" tape, wrote a note about who I am and what happened, left it under windshield wiper, and I began to walk.
I got about 100 meters down the road and a guy stopped to pick me up. He was in a live-in camper truck, and he was heading to the Grand Canyon. In the spring/summers, he did rafting tours down the Colorado river. He took me to the next town which was just one gas station, listened while the mechanic talked to me, and then he suggested that we should go to a larger town.
In Santa Rosa, we pulled up to Bozo's garage. Bozo and his guys were finishing up for the day with a cooler of beers. They offered me one, and I headed back with one of his guys to retrieve my truck. He sent me to a $15/night hotel with no phone or TV in the room that was within walking distance. His wife drove over to Albuquerque early the next morning to pick up a rebuilt transmission. Bozo loaned me a beater and told me not to turn it off (it wouldn't restart) so I could go to the local bank and get $1200 in cash.
At the end of the day, I was on my way. But something wasn't right. I pulled over and there was transmission fluid dumping all over the road. I went back to Bozo and spent another night in Santa Rosa. I was on my way the next day.
I think that Bozo put a non-overdrive transmission into my truck (that wanted overdrive). It never drove the same, but it did take me across the country three more times and lasted until I left grad school nine years later.