CHEYENNE - There aren’t many jobs where eight seconds of holding on for dear life to a bucking bronco can win you half a year’s salary or leave you in a hospital bed, gored or trampled by a 1,500-pound bull. But then again, competing in Wyoming’s Cheyenne Frontier Days, the world’s largest outdoor rodeo, aptly named “The Daddy of ‘Em All,” is not for the faint of heart.

In a world of constant change, USA TODAY visited the renowned arena to explore how these long-standing institutions - the century-old rodeo and the conservative state of Wyoming - are adjusting to the challenges of the 21st century, such as increased living costs and shifting demographics.

‘Rodeo is no more than entertainment’

Dalton Ward is seated in a red camping chair under the eaves of a horse barn on the arena grounds, with a purple bruise blooming across his shin and mud and sweat flecks dotting his white snap-button shirt.

At Frontier Days, Ward spends his afternoons riding his horse in loops around the dusty, sunbaked rodeo arena, rescuing cowboys from bucking horses and capturing runaway steers. These fast-paced tasks are some of the duties of a rodeo pickup man, a job that runs in Ward's family. Ward grew up on a rural Wyoming ranch and still lives on one.

But the local ranching lifestyle that built rodeo is more challenging than ever, says Ward. Fuel and equipment costs are climbing, and out-of-state buyers are paying top dollar to gobble up the land surrounding his ranch.

“I’ve had old timers tell me back in 1967 I could take a check from 10 steer calves and walk down the street and buy a brand-new Ford pickup,” Ward says. “It’s a lot harder today because land prices are so astronomical now.”

Ward’s modest farm struggles financially, but his commitment to the ranching lifestyle helps support his family.

“You come out here, and you get a taste of what this country used to be in the 1800s. And that’s what people want to come and see,” Ward says. “Rodeo is no more than entertainment. We always say we’re just a bunch of circus people without elephants.”

With small farms suffering financially around the country, Ward casts his ballot for who he believes will keep food on the table.

“I’m not a fan of Donald Trump because he’s a loudmouth prick, in my opinion. That being said, I believe this country needs his business expertise right now,” Ward says.

“We’re heading for a recession that is going to hit, and I don’t know when it’s going to hit, but it’s going to hit hard, and the first people that it’s going to hit is your farmers and ranchers.”

When all is said and done at the rodeo, Ward will go back to working sun-up till sundown on the ranch; rodeos around the country will contract him out as a pickup man, and he’ll work as a cattle-branding inspector. It’s a “hard life,” but Ward will not quit.

“God made us for this time,” Ward says. “Maybe I wasn’t born too late. Maybe I was born to keep the old times alive.”

'We never bring politics into rodeo'

Lisa Eisner glitters in the corner of your eye as she darts around the rodeo with a telephoto lens. She is adorned with elaborate turquoise and black jade jewelry of her own design and sports a carefully curated rotation of snap-button shirts. Born in the Big Horn Basin of northern Wyoming, she currently lives in Los Angeles and makes sure to visit her home state during rodeo season.

Eisner’s journey into the world of jewelry and high fashion began with the flamboyant and gaudy outfits worn by the rodeo queens of Wyoming. In the late ’90s, Eisner published a photography book called “Rodeo Girl,” which documented the lives of rodeo queens across the American West. Eisner was amazed by the limited choices available to women who wanted to be part of rodeo culture, at that time.

“If you were a cowgirl, and you loved rodeo, there’s only so many things you could do. You could barrel race, or you could be a queen,” Eisner says.

Eisner grew up in a politically active Republican household, with a former state legislator for a grandfather, a father who served in the state government under Governor Stanley Hathaway (1967-1975), and a Nixon Agnew poster hung above her bed.

But homecoming is a complicated experience for Eisner today, who doesn’t recognize the Wyoming she returns to.

“The Republican Party was a very different party when I was growing up than it is now, because now it’s the party of Trump,” Eisner says. “‘I’ve had, you know, squabbles with some family members that were just out of control.”

For Eisner, rodeo is a way to connect to her roots in a less complicated, painful way. She views the sport as theater, its cowboys as artistic subjects, and leaves politics at the door.

“We all love rodeos. We never bring politics into rodeos, and we never talk about it,” Eisner says.

'A nostalgia for the way things used to be'

Michael Kassel, Associate Director and Curator of Collections at the Cheyenne Frontier Days Old West Museum, explained that the story of the 127-year-running rodeo is inseparable from the allure and mythology of the American West.

“When the founders of Cheyenne Frontier Days got this whole thing started, they were looking more towards a nostalgia for the way things used to be when it was the big cattle industry,” Kassel says.

While born in nostalgia, Cheyenne Frontier Days and other rodeos have become deeply enmeshed in their communities’ cultural and political lives. In deeply rural Wyoming, rodeos offer politicians a “chance to get to know a lot of people in a big hurry.” Kassel views rodeo as an avenue for unity in light of current political divisions.

“I think it’s an important role for celebrations like this to play in preserving more of what makes us have things in common, our passions and our love, loves and our ambitions, than what pulls us apart,” Kassel says.

'It can't be scripted. It can't be bought'

Erin Rees has a no-nonsense Wyoming handshake that’ll crack your knuckles, a penchant for turquoise jewelry, and a love for all things rodeo. A student at the University of Wyoming, apprentice leatherworker, and production intern at Cheyenne Frontier Days, Rees has her sights set on a career in rodeo journalism.

“Football is a sport, but it’s not a lifestyle. Rodeo is a lifestyle; it’s so much more personal. You know it can’t be scripted. It can’t be bought. It’s 100% real,” Rees says. People “identify with people that are broke, that are driving down the road, that are eating gas station food, that are getting the shit knocked out of them, but they get back every time.”

Rees’ role at Cheyenne Frontier Days puts her at the collision of rodeo’s ties to tradition and its lucrative status, a sort of balancing act in curated authenticity.

“How can we make it more interesting for the fans? How do we get the sponsors in here?” Rees says. “It does take away a bit from the roots, and it does make it a little bit more theatrical than I know a lot of these guys would like it to be. But without the fans, without the sponsors, you’re not gonna have the money.”

Rees’ feelings about rodeo overlap with those regarding her home state. In rodeo, Rees recognizes the fruits of hard work and the “realness” of rodeo as an opportunity for spectators and competitors alike to reach out and “touch life.”

“I think that the values that come with rodeo, the grittiness, the hard work, are things that have traditionally been labeled as conservative values, which, I mean, they don’t necessarily have to be, but that’s sort of how society looks at it,” Rees says.

Cy Neff reports on Wyoming politics for USA TODAY. You can reach him at [email protected] or on X, formerly known as Twitter, @CyNeffNews