800 kilometres across Yellowstone National Park

This earth originates from the greatest depths, yet it is newer than everything around us. In Yellowstone, we stand inside the caldera of an active volcano; the ground bubbles and steams. The heat from beneath gives the region its trademark feature: its colours. Yet in the end, that wasn’t the most fascinating part in this leg of the journey.

KM 900, 2.1 million years ago

First, however, a brief jump back in time; for Yellowstone is past and present all at once.

2.1 million years ago the Earth saw the birth and largest eruption to date of the Yellowstone volcano: the Huckleberry Ridge eruption. Two further eruptions followed. The last outbreak, which actually contributed to the caldera’s current shape, occurred just 640 000 years ago, known as the Lava Creek eruption.

We slowly drive into the park, approaching from the south directly from Grand Teton National Park. The road winds uphill. Behind us, a never-ending tailback of cars struggles up the slope. At over 2000 metres, the Land Cruiser’s engine no longer delivers much power, especially when climbing, so we push forward slowly yet steadily at 40 km/h. We quietly enjoy the landscape and keep an eye out for wildlife. The enthusiasm of the drivers behind us, who are taking the brunt of our black exhaust fumes, seems rather limited by comparison.

Lewis Falls comes into view, the river meanders through the tuff just like the road. Tuff is a rock formed from consolidated volcanic ash and pyroclasts. Reaching the ridge above, we stand at the edge of a round basin. Yet unlike so many volcanoes we have visited across the continent, we see neither a beginning nor an end at Yellowstone.

Yellowstone’s volcanic caldera measures 48 by 72 kilometres. Beneath the caldera lies a hotspot, the point where hot mantle material rises from deep within the Earth. The ridge we crest every time we drive through Yellowstone Park is the rim of the supervolcano. Below it bubbles a massive magma chamber, and its enormous forces can be felt all the way to the surface. At such hotspots, the Earth’s surface regenerates from ancient, molten rock. And this plateau rises and falls by several centimetres every year.

We have arrived in the present of our journey: where stone comes to life.

Some elements of a typical volcanic landscape are visible to the naked eye. Over 10 000 hydrothermal features shape the terrain. Geysers vent steam as if mini-factories were at work everywhere. Mud pots bubble away, and bison warm themselves on nature’s underfloor heating. Other features can only be felt: thermal springs warm the rivers to the perfect temperature for fish. And in winter, the interior of the caldera shelters a warm zone here and there where animals can escape the deepest snow.

And then there are the living organisms that only truly thrive in near-boiling water: thermophilic microorganisms. They not only withstand boiling water, but also feel right at home in extreme acidity. However, they like it hot but do not tolerate temperature shifts. In the hottest water live mainly transparent and yellow microbes, with the transparent ones glowing blue to the human eye. Along the cooler edges, orange, brown, and green groups gather. Together, they create an impressive, colourful, living spectacle.

Yellowstone National Park covers an area of nearly 9 000 square kilometres—2.5 times the size of Mallorca. Established in 1872, it is considered the first official national park in the world. However, the welcome news of nature conservation had a dark prelude—for animals and humans alike.

We drive along the Chief Joseph Scenic Byway over Dead Indian Pass towards the North East Entrance of Yellowstone National Park. The tragic name of the pass stems from the displacement of Native Americans from their ancestral lands. The Nez Perce fled from the Yellowstone mountains to the Great Plains during the Nez Perce War of 1877. In doing so, they outsmarted the US Army: they led them to believe they were taking the easier southern route. Instead, they climbed the steep pass. By the time the soldiers realised, the Nez Perce were gone. Apparently, however, a Nez Perce was ultimately killed on the pass—giving Dead Indian Pass its name.

The region around the Rocky Mountains was inhabited by various Indigenous groups. For a long time, they were tolerated in these barren and challenging areas because settlers were slow to reach them. Originally, the concept of a “national park” arose in the early 19th century as a place where Native Americans could maintain their traditional way of life. But the idea shifted: Native Americans were forced onto Indian reservations, and from the national parks emerged the dream of creating an untouched wilderness. Until then, the American wilderness was viewed merely as a vast, lawless hunting ground.

What has become of this wilderness is something we want to see with our own eyes.

The drive continues, leaving the ancient lakes behind, we follow the rivers nestled in lush green valleys. At first, the landscape is flat; then gentle hills begin to appear, the road winding its way through them. The hills grow higher, the valleys deeper. Spring has only just awoken. The first wildflowers are sprouting along the roadside, and the last of the snow is only slowly melting. Rushing rivers taper off into gentle streams before they become freshwater springs.

Then, sudden calm: a vast plain opens up before us, the Snake River flows leisurely southwards, and behind it—there—towering mountain peaks rise abruptly into the sky. The rock glints grey in the last rays of sunlight against a pitch-black sky: a thunderstorm is brewing. It is the calm before the storm in the Grand Tetons.

KM 810, 10 million years ago

We stroll through the town centre and window-shop at the luxury boutiques: cowboy hats, furs, and boots. What was once an important hunting ground for the indigenous population has transformed into a jet-set destination for both summer and winter. Here, the Rocky Mountains are accessible to everyone. And as soon as you drive out of Jackson Hole, the Tetons show off their absolute best side.

The Rocky Mountains were formed by tectonic shifts around 80 to 50 million years ago. However, as we know, the Earth kept moving—and continues to do so—and it wasn’t until barely 10 million years ago that the Teton Range began to take shape.

Along the roughly 60-kilometre-long Teton Fault, the mountain range lifts up bit by bit with every earthquake, whilst the basin of Jackson Hole sinks on the eastern side. Geologically speaking, because the Teton Range is extremely young, it has almost no foothills. What’s more, erosion simply hasn’t had enough time to round off its jagged, dramatic peaks.

Today, we hike right over the moraines left behind by the ice. Our first hike in Grand Teton National Park is enchanting: taking a longer route around Emma Matilda Lake, we find ourselves scrambling over rocks, stones, and fallen tree trunks. The less-trodden paths receive very little maintenance here. There are bear tracks everywhere, though we only spot the creature itself once we are safely back in the car. A black bear pops up for a brief second, standing on its hind legs to get its bearings. But before we can even process it, he’s vanished back into the brush.

The other hike around Jenny Lake is much busier. People pass us constantly, and apart from birds, we hardly see any wildlife. Yet the shimmering blue of the lake practically begs for a swim on our first warm, sunny day in the US. We certainly aren’t going to pass that up.

We really enjoy the more secluded corners of the Grand Tetons; the rest of the park suffers from the usual hustle and bustle typical of US national parks. During our first few days, we notice that even in the middle of severe thunderstorms and pouring rain, people still ignore the danger and walk out onto the viewing platforms.

On the way to Yellowstone

The storm quickly passed after another few days in Grand Teton. It’s time for us to move on, leaving the peace and quiet of the more remote areas behind. The road slowly climbs steeper up the mountainside. We head further north along the eastern flank of the Rocky Mountains.

A bustling modern highlight awaits us. What exploded into existence 2.1 million years ago is today even called the Serengeti of North America. We are entering the active volcano of Yellowstone National Park, where not only wild animals await, but also crowds of visitors on the hunt for the perfect experience.

Our time travel through the layers of the Earth begins in the depths of the high-altitude desert. The high plateau in the US Midwest was once a tropical sea lined with ferns instead of palm trees. Today, only knee-high, dry scrub remains. The warmth that this area once radiated is almost unimaginable for a snowstorm is blowing past, forcing us into another cold night at the lowest point of the valley.

Yet, today’s barren desert landscape provides the perfect preservation for the remnants of the ancient dinosaur world. The exhibition at the Dinosaur National Monument is merely the most spectacular example, but there are numerous other treasures hidden in the stone throughout the entire surrounding area.

KM 0, 150 million years ago

The wall of bones

You would almost think that the dinosaur bones are simply lying out in the open everywhere, and that you could trip over them at any moment. While the truth is a little more complicated, the idea is not entirely far-fetched.

The area known as the Morrison Formation was criss-crossed by a large river. During droughts, the animals came closer to the water, and when they died, they were covered with sand and mud as the water level rose. Starting about 65 million years ago, tectonic shifts pushed the entire slab upwards; since then, the wall has stood at an angle of 67 degrees. The bones that lay on the upper edge thus gradually came to light through erosion—and became discoverable in the first place.

The quarries in the midwestern states of the USA are steeped in history. Because the region had shallow seas and plenty of shale, limestone, and sandstone, the fossils were well preserved over centuries. Added to this, as the North American continent was forming, plates collided and pushed the Rocky Mountains upwards. This tilted all the layers up and brought them closer to the surface.

After the snowstorm that hits Colorado in mid-May, we emerge from the valley of the dinosaurs and set out on a search of our own. Not for dinosaur bones—as that isn’t allowed to keep—but plants can turn to stone too, after all.

With that, we leave the Jurassic period behind and dive—or rather dig our way—into the Eocene.

Once all the dust has been brushed off our clothes and the shower has washed the rest from our bodies, we head off to the Fossil Butte National Monument. To the place where crocodiles swam in Fossil Lake 50 million years ago.

The surrounding area is famous for flawlessly preserved fossils of plants, insects, fish, and reptiles. Every now and then, even a mammal.

Fossil Lake was a meromictic lake; so the water layers never mixed. The bottom was extremely salty, which prevented organic decay. The freshwater animals living in the lake were therefore unable to eat the dead animals lying in the salt layer. Additionally, the bottom was low in oxygen and a thick microbiotic algal mat grew. Thanks to the cyanobacteria, the dead animals were quickly enclosed by the mats and shielded from the light. Thus, the perfect conditions for fossils were created.

Furthermore, limestone settled on top of it like a heavy blanket—layer by layer—and preserved the fossils exactly as they had died.

Today, brittle, smooth clay slabs with remarkable remains can be found throughout the area. In the Fossil Butte National Monument, the finds are protected and can be admired in the small visitor centre. Next door, there are private quarries that lease their land for searching. This means you pay a fee and can then search for a couple of hours and keep everything you find—unless the value is immensely high.

We save ourselves this expensive bit of fun. After all, we still have all that petrified wood, where firstly, we do not know what to do with it, and secondly, we do not know where to store it yet either.

As a side note: according to alternative medicine, petrified wood gives strength and helps with weight loss. Unfortunately, we have not noticed the effect yet; the car weighs more and more, and it seems to need more fuel rather than less. However, we are not giving up hope.

“You can’t miss Utah” – you hear it from all sides. Every traveller we meet recommends that we absolutely must go there. The red rocks that define the national parks are said to be the highlight of the USA. The clear night sky is supposedly one of the most beautiful in the world. The off-road tracks running through the state are considered some of the most exciting and varied anywhere.

Full of expectations, we too set off on our journey to the USA, looking forward to Utah above all else. In the end, however, the red state did not overwhelm us; if anything, it was rather disappointing.

The desert state of Utah is home to five of the most beautiful and famous national parks in the USA. Consequently, it is one of the main travel destinations for both domestic and international tourists. Everyone wants to be photographed under one of the massive stone arches in Utah at least once, especially since a trip to the USA remains a once-in-a-lifetime experience for many.

Where does the red come from? The geology of Utah’s rocks

Don’t get us wrong. The nature in Utah is enchanting. The red colour of the earth is caused by oxidation. When the earth erodes, the iron comes into contact with oxygen and oxidises into a red colour: hematite is formed. Hematite is a powerful pigment which then, through further erosion, settles on the sand and rocks. Everything appears red.

Utah was once a vast desert near an ocean. Due to the oxygen-rich surface water, the hematite oxidised more easily, and over time, red sandstone was created. Depending on whether other minerals are present in the mix, the oxidation colour deviates from the typical red: there is yellow, orange, or brownish earth. Added to this is bleached white: since sandstone is highly permeable, the hematite can be washed out further over millions of years until no pigments are left in the rock (you can find more details on the geology at Wilderness Commonsense).

We wanted to see this wonder up close. Our first destination: Zion National Park. The disillusionment at the entrance: people everywhere, no parking spaces, and traffic jams at the toll booths. Hiking? Unthinkable; we couldn’t even pull the car over for a moment to use the toilet. Of course, it was the weekend, which intensified the tourist crowds even further.

It is only when we get to Utah that we encounter another mass phenomenon. Many hiking trails—both inside and outside the parks—require a permit. This allows the crowds to be managed and the resulting environmental damage to be minimised. In principle, it’s a good thing.The catch is that simply to get hold of this permit, you have to enter a lottery. To participate, you pay a small fee of around 10 USD. If you happen to be one of the few lucky winners of a ticket, you then have to pay all over again just to actually step onto the trail.

The boom in outdoor experiences has meant that access to nature must be treated restrictively, especially on spectacular routes. The masses of tourists, whether international or national holidaymakers or hikers, must be managed if we want to preserve these attractions for future generations.

However, the lottery website Recreation.gov is also facing criticism because it is run by a private contractor that pockets these non-refundable fees. The majority of the fees do not even seem to reach the parks where they are actually needed.

Utahs national parks require either a lot of patience or precise planning

We had heard about it, but experiencing it on the ground was more jarring than expected. The crowds, the permits that are far from easy to secure, and the need to plan months in advance changed the way we travel. Most of these permits are released in the winter. If you aren’t sitting directly at your computer to book them, the entire season sells out instantly.

There are 4×4 routes in Canyonlands National Park where we had heard from others that they were allowed to drive spontaneously—whereas we, at the start of high season, wouldn’t have found a single free slot until more than two weeks later.

Doing anything spontaneously is no longer really possible in the USA—certainly not if it is anywhere near a hotspot. There are still beautiful hikes that are accessible without any trouble, or other stunning landscapes, but you have to invest a lot more time to find them.

The conditions we encountered on the ground dampened our mood a bit as we travelled through Utah. Yes, the rock formations are impressive, especially in the right light when the sun is just rising. But photographing the stone arches in Arches National Park in the dead of night without any people requires split-second timing—and during twilight, it is near impossible.

In Bryce Canyon National Park, you have to be careful not to fall victim to an overly enthusiastic photographer who wants to get right to the edge and pushes through with full physical effort—after all, not the entire cliff edge is fenced off.

Yet just driving into a park spontaneously and deciding on a whim where to hike was out of the question. Although Easter had just passed, several park rangers confirmed that it was now this crowded all year round.

We adapted our route. We looked for alternative tracks, including backcountry roads, and steered clear of several major highlights. We skipped the Grand Canyon, just across the state border in Arizona, partly because the North Rim was still closed for the winter and completely inaccessible. A pity, as this more remote section would surely have been a highlight too.

Utah is and remains beautiful, but it is well worth travelling entirely out of season—especially in autumn before it snows. Because as soon as the snow lands, everything is closed for the winter until late spring.

The newly retired man with two cars

An old man was sleeping in the red, two-seater Corvette. We had already suspected as much, but it wasn’t until our new neighbour arrived that we could confirm it.

This new 66-year-old neighbour – let’s call him Dave – is privileged compared to the man in the Corvette. You see, Dave is parked here with two cars, effectively just waiting for his house to sell. To tie him over, he bought a white van two months ago for 5 000 US dollars. The black Kia saloon parked next to it is what he uses to get around town.

Dave spends his first night in the parking space next to us, and introduces himself the following evening: “I’ve been on my own for six years, let me buy you a beer.” He worked in construction his whole life. With his earnings, he bought a house built in the 1970s, and now he’s selling it to move to a cheaper state. While he waits for a buyer, he lives out of his car, showering at the gym thanks to a 10-dollar monthly membership, and hoping a buyer comes along soon. Once the house sells, he says he might give his new-old white van to a homeless person. Why he can’t just keep living in the house in the meantime is something he can’t quite explain to us.

The beer is finished. By now, more vehicles have gathered in the gym’s large car park.

A green bus painted with yellow sunflowers is parked more crookedly than straight on the level tarmac. A cat stares out at us from a crammed white delivery van. A modern Sprinter parks around the corner, and a woman gets out of the vehicle with a cat in her rucksack. An old caravan, which looks completely abandoned and unroadworthy, is gone by the next morning.

Several SUVs and saloons are parked in front of the gym. People come and go all night long. Some drive home, but many simply climb into the back seat. Sunblinds hold makeshift curtains made of scrap fabric in place to cover the windows. What keeps the sun and the heat out during the day hides the dimmed light inside the vehicles at night.

Between the library and fast food: our own daily routine

We feel uncomfortable opening the roof tent in the middle of the city; besides, everyone here is trying to fly under the radar. An open roof tent would be far too obvious – and there are fewer and fewer places where people are allowed to park overnight. So, it’s better to remain inconspicuous.

The circumstances aren’t exactly cosy, but we learn a lot: about our car park neighbours, about Salt Lake City, about the gym bros, and where to get cheap food. Over time, you also learn how to spot the cars people are living in.

There are no exact figures for the number of people actually living in their cars. It is incredibly difficult to quantify. Some have genuinely become homeless and can no longer afford rent, but at least still have a roof over their heads thanks to their vehicle. Many others choose this lifestyle entirely by choice.

Do overlanders in their state-of-the-art Mercedes Sprinters fall into this category? Not really – there is a vast difference between still having a shower and a kitchen waiting for you at home, even if it is a car, and having to retreat to the cheapest gym every evening for running water while living off supermarket takeaways.

The scale of “vehicular homelessness” – as the phenomenon is known in the US – varies between 400 000 and over a million people, depending on the source. It largely comes down to the definition. Some include voluntary life in a car, while others only count the homeless who, despite losing their flat, can still afford a vehicle and its insurance.

According to the Department of Housing and Urban Development (HUD) , 771 000 people were homeless in the US in 2024. Of those, roughly half are said to live in their vehicles. A car is essential in a country where everything is built around driving. As a result, there are many who have jobs but simply cannot afford the price of housing, and so choose to sacrifice a home rather than their vehicle.

The abrupt end of the red Corvette

When you live in these car parks, it suddenly becomes entirely obvious which cars are inhabited. Some examples stand out straight away, like those barely roadworthy bangers that belong in a scrapyard. But then there is the blue saloon, the brand-new red Jeep Cherokee, or the beautifully converted old Ford truck. Or indeed, the red Corvette that parked by the kerb under the tree every single night.

The sports car’s tinted windows only let you guess who is sitting inside. No one is ever seen getting in or out. In the morning, the two-seater is gone. The car seems far too cramped to live in. But when you have no other choice, you find enough space even in there. But what do you do when, one morning, a lorry rams your car and the police have it towed away? Where will the old man sleep tonight? We never found out. Dave could only confirm that our suspicion was correct: someone was sleeping in the Corvette too.

We mention this to some local acquaintances. The librarian in Salt Lake says she had heard of it but had never actually noticed it. It’s hard to believe when you think about just how many there are. Sadly, even people with good jobs are affected by homelessness.

Just sorting out the daily logistics is complicated: food, toilets, showers. On top of that comes the bureaucracy, because they don’t have a fixed address.

We have a genuine luxury setup by comparison, and we chose this lifestyle. Being forced to spend every evening alone, never knowing if the police will knock on the window or if the car park will be closed off, wondering where and what you can eat, is definitely nothing to aspire to.

The problem is far bigger than many people think. It’s barely noticeable at first, until you train your eyes to see it.

Then, suddenly, you see inhabited cars everywhere.

No welcome sign hangs along the wall, nor is there much else to indicate the next country – just tiny Mexican shops trying to sell the last authentic tacos to anyone passing by. The border guards make you feel that warmth and hospitality are no longer free of charge here.

The land of endless opportunities definitely does not welcome us with open arms – at least not at the Mexico–US land border – yet they let us in at least. And so, we drive down the highway straight into the future, into the Golden State of California.

A look back, a look ahead

They certainly know how to do museums, the US-Americans; that is the realization of the day. The USS Midway impressively demonstrates the sheer military might this country already possessed at the end of the Second World War. Veterans who actually served on the ship when the average age of the soldiers on board was barely 19 recount how the days in the brightly lit yet gloomy lower deck felt never-ending. Only the privileged aviators ever saw the sun, right when the aircraft were catapulted into the air. Things probably aren’t much different for young soldiers at sea today.

In the evening, a never-ending shooting star illuminates the sky over San Diego. But the largest vapour trail we have ever seen is not of natural origin. It is a Falcon 9 rocket. SpaceX is sending the next batch of Starlink satellites into orbit; just like every week, two 20-year-old night walkers explain to us. The very first day makes us realize: the tracks of the future are being laid here – whether we like it or not.

The journey back then turns into a genuine ghost train ride. Cora’s school friend, who grew up in LA, has organized everything: a quick hello via the app, the doors unlock, and we climb in. A silent intercom seems to whisper to us: “Make yourselves comfortable on the velvety soft leather seats of the Jaguar. Don’t forget to fasten your seatbelts.” The modern ghost, guided by sensors, radars, lidars, and cameras, accelerates and smoothly merges into the traffic.

The Waymo taxis are an absurd highlight. The creepy part isn’t how they drive – they drive shockingly correctly, defensively, and pleasantly. The truly spooky part is looking at the empty driver’s seat and seeing the steering wheel turn as if by magic. And yet, you get used to it far too quickly.

This sci-fi feeling fits perfectly with the colourful bustle around the Hollywood stars. On the Walk of Fame, we don’t stumble over any real celebrities due to the security presence, but it is a proper obstacle course dodging delivery robots rolling along the pavement like Wall-E.

Escaping to the General

In the evening, we are glad to be chauffeured home by a friend. Waiting for us there is the Chinese-Vietnamese mum with spring rolls – the best dinner we will have in the entire USA.

We are buzzing with new impressions of everything modernity has to offer. But after this high-tech world, we feel drawn right back to nature. We flee to where, for easily 2000 years, General Sherman has been watching over things to ensure everything is as it should be: to the giant sequoias in Sequoia National Park. It turns out we haven’t quite mutated into city people after all.

The story of the cowboy

It is somewhat surprising to be standing in front of the Muvaca, the Museo del Vaquero de las Californias. What could this arid place possibly have to do with the art of herding as depicted in American films? Much more, as it turns out, than we had ever imagined before stepping inside. After wandering through corridors lined with historic saddles and leather garments, we discover the fascinating story of vaqueros whose legacy travelled much further than they could ever have dreamed.

North America and cowboys seem inseparable, forming the very soul of the Wild West. However, the iconic silhouette of the rider with a hat and spurs did not originate on the plains of Texas, but in viceregal New-Spain, what nowadays is Mexico. Before they were cowboys, they were vaqueros.

Upon their arrival in the Mexica land, the Spaniards encountered dogs and turkeys. The indigenous peoples were unfamiliar with nomadic pastoralism and dedicated themselves to hunting local wildlife and agriculture and they transported goods by sole human force. In South America, meanwhile, they had domesticated alpacas and llamas and bred guinea pigs.

Caiman steak, maize, tomatoes, a brown drink called cacao, and who knows what other delicacies were put in front of the first conquistadors. I picture them looking utterly lost before a table brimming with exotic foods. Unsurprisingly, it did not take them long to bring their own things over.

On subsequent voyages, Columbus brought his livestock with him. Pigs, cows, sheep, goats, and poultry disembarked, making it seem as if a European Noah’s Ark had arrived in the Americas. One might wonder whether this was a biblical rescue or a descent into hell for the indigenous peoples of the Americas. However, without a doubt, it was the dawn of the cowboy era.

‘To the right of the Indies there is an island called California’

Inspired by these myths, the Baja California peninsula was ‘discovered’ by Europeans thanks to expeditions funded by Hernán Cortés. Nevertheless, Cortés did not set foot in what is now the Bay of La Paz until 3 May 1535, on his third attempt. The first expedition failed, and on the second, the crew mutinied under the command of Fortún Jiménez, sealing the tragic fate of the journey. They believed they had reached an island rich in pearls and gold, inhabited solely by black indigenous women. Following the arrival of the Europeans, which spelled catastrophe for the Pericú women inhabiting the southern part of the peninsula at the time, the locals fought back and killed the mutineer.

European settlement of the Baja California peninsula was slow to develop. The extreme aridity, rugged terrain, and lack of supplies discouraged colonists from settling there. Thus, they had to innovate — and who was better suited to the task than the Jesuits?

In 1683, the first Jesuit mission was established in Baja California, bringing with it the first cattle ranches. In these vast, arid expanses, the missionaries realised that they could not herd cattle in the traditional way. Fortunately, however, they were not entirely out of their depth, as the hacienda system was already in place in the Iberian Peninsula, where large herds needed to traverse vast lands to find sufficient forage. So, rather than driving the livestock on foot, they did so on horseback.

The Mexican-American War of 1848 ended with the cession of vast territories to the United States, including California, which became the 31st state in 1850. Ranch culture and the vaquero lifestyle were already deeply entrenched in the region, and having adapted to modern life they endure to this day. Vaqueros in California and the Great Basin region still call themselves ‘buckaroos’ — an English adaptation of the word ‘vaquero’.

Meanwhile, in Spanish Texas, expert horsemen drove Longhorn cattle — a breed highly resistant to drought with immense horns spanning up to 2.4 metres. From 1860 onwards, cattle were driven along long trails northwards to meat commercialisation hubs. A single journey from Texas to Montana could last up to six months.

It was at this time that the role of the cowboy became even more significant in safeguarding the interests of the ranchers. They drove between 2000 and 5000 head of cattle from various owners, each bearing its own brand. It was like a massive jigsaw puzzle, and the cowboys emerged with stories rather than money. It was by no means a well-paid job.

Ultimately, vaquero culture became so deeply integrated into American culture that the cowboy and the buckaroo blended seamlessly in, to the point where cinema and myth erased their Latin roots entirely.

However, here in southern Baja California, a museum tries to set the record straight on this small piece of history.