That's generally how it goes: Rural areas are the worst to get around in, but anytime I've needed help, someone always chipped in -- whether it was from me knocking on a farmhouse door, or someone just happening to drive past at the right time.
And not always in a car ...
One time I was called to a nudist colony. The office building had a board in place of a door. On the other side of a hill were a couple dozen campers and mobile homes. No people. Several more trailers had their doors kicked in. One was on its side, and another had been on fire at some point. It looked like the apocalypse hit this place. If anyone was left, I didn't want to meet him or her. "Hey, could you tell me which trailer belongs to this almost certainly dead person? Oh, no, I can't tell you why I'm looking for them. Hey, could you put down that chainsaw?"
When I checked the web later, Yelp was inconclusive about whether the place was open or closed, but it did specify that it was a "boys' nudist camp," which just added to the creep factor.