So there I am doing my pre-trip, walking around the rig like I've done a thousand times before, when I spot it, another trailer tire that's decided to call it quits.
No blowout, no dramatic explosion, just flat as a pancake like it got tired of rolling and decided to take a nap right here in Sudan, Texas.
I call breakdown, because that's what you do when your equipment decides to unionize against forward progress.
"Where ya at?" the dispatcher says.
"Sudan, Texas."
Long pause. "Where?"
"Sudan."
Longer pause. "Where's that?"
"About 71 miles northwest of Lubbock."
I can hear him typing, probably pulling up Google Maps like the rest of America trying to figure out where the hell Sudan, Texas, is and why anyone would build a town there.
"Oh. What truck stop you at?"
I look around at the seven parking spaces that constitute this place's entire truck accommodation. "The only one."
"Is that a real truck stop? No Flying J or TA?"
"Nope. Doubles as a Valero, too."
Another pause while he processes that I'm stranded at a gas station with delusions of grandeur. "Might be awhile," he says.
Of course it will be. Because when you're hauling freight through the forgotten corners of America, "awhile" means someone's gotta drive from Amarillo or Lubbock to find Sudan, Texas, apparently not on most people's mental map of places that actually exist.
"I'll call the receiver," I tell him, already knowing this conversation's gonna be fun.
That's trucking for you. One minute you're making good time across Texas, the next you're explaining that, yes, Sudan is a real place. No, it's not in Africa. And yes, you really are stuck in Sudan until someone with a tire and a service truck can navigate their way to the middle of nowhere.
The Valero clerk looks at me like I'm the most exciting thing to happen here since they got satellite TV. "Tire trouble?"
"Tire gave up."
"Happens. You want some coffee? Made it this morning."
Here in Sudan, that passes for customer service. Honestly, after explaining my location to three different people who've never heard of this place, coffee that was made sometime today sounds pretty good.
I drink it. It tastes like it was made this morning in Sudan, Texas. Which means it's not bad. Out here, not bad is pretty good.
"How far to the next real truck stop?" I ask.
He thinks about it. "Depends what you call real."
And that is Sudan, Texas, for you.
[Related: CB-radio glory in Houston traffic: Hey 'Bad Apple,' keep on singing]
