The first thing one does when one blows a tire on a well traveled state road is to toss out the empties into nearby field. Then, if nobody stops right away? Crush the cans and hide them under harvested cornstalks.
Nobody stopped for what seemed quite awhile. 'Fat bitch in a Mercedes - eff her!' was maybe what most folks thought. the only local friend I had on my cell phone didn't answer. Finally! someone with Oregon tags pulled over to help, and the help involved three short trips into town. One to air up the spare, two to get lug wrench, and three to get a lug wrench in metric.
I had two dogs with me, and so didn't really want to leave the vehicle, but I still wanted to be settled, you know, in case the local Barney Fife arrived.
All safe. All fine.