The guide’s instructions were quite straightforward: “Keep both hands on the handlebars. Don’t look around. Don’t take photos.”

Yet I simply couldn’t resist. The scenery was too stunning and I felt compelled to capture footage of the spectacular alpine vista enveloping us whilst coasting downhill from the Maroon Bells, the twin summits rising behind the twin resorts of Aspen and Snowmass, their white peaks still clinging to winter’s final traces despite it being late June.

This section of Colorado’s Rocky Mountains is renowned for its skiing and winter pursuits, though during summer it transforms into a haven for those keen to discover the terrain no longer concealed beneath snow.

I’d arrived from Denver, departing the state capital bathed in evening sunlight as we glided above the snow-streaked peaks. Lines of private aircraft filled the tarmac at tiny Aspen airport.

I’d never witnessed so many. Then again, this ranks amongst the wealthiest regions in the US, with as many as 125 billionaires owning homes.

Visitors appear to be predominantly wealthy or “aspirational”. Picture the south of France or Dubai, but with cowboys.

Our accommodation was the stylish W, situated in Aspen’s centre and near the cable car terminal. It proved as contemporary and fashionable as the other Ws I’ve experienced, albeit more compact – less ostentatious, more intimate.

After cleaning up, I met my tour party on the rooftop terrace where we enjoyed cocktails whilst the sun descended, golden beams caressing Mount Aspen. Drinks finished, we departed for dinner through Aspen’s charming, tree-lined streets, which reveal scant evidence of its rough-and-ready heritage as a silver mining settlement.

Following the collapse of the silver boom, Aspen’s prosperity plummeted and only rebounded after its transformation into a ski resort during the mid-20th century. I observed I was experiencing slight difficulty walking.

The alcohol? No, the 8,000ft elevation (the rarefied mountain air would leave me breathless for the coming days).

The atmospheric Steakhouse No. 316 featured subdued lighting with stylish Old West décor. My fillet steak arrived cooked to medium-rare perfection and accompanied by a spicy margarita.

Troublesome jetlag curtailed the evening’s entertainment, rendering me unconscious by 11pm, before jolting me awake at 3.30am. At least it guaranteed I was first to breakfast.

I sampled elk sausage and eggs – my initial encounter with the magnificent creatures that continue to inhabit the area – robust, smoky, and as delicious as they are striking. Poor elk.

The morning’s programme included e-biking up the valley via picturesque wetlands (the power-assisted pedalling a blessing) and a stop at the trendy Aspen Art Museum, featuring its six galleries of contemporary art.

We dined at the museum’s rooftop restaurant. Whilst its cuisine may have been unremarkable, the vista of Mount Aspen was as spectacular as the staircase leading there.

Every local we encountered that day proved remarkably welcoming, yielding to us with broad grins or cheerful greetings. Despite Aspen’s decidedly upmarket character, it displayed none of the pretentiousness one might anticipate in comparable British or European ski destinations.

Following lunch, we browsed gift shops. The standout was Kemo Sabe, a Western-themed establishment selling bespoke cowboy attire. It’s as pricey as it is stylish – hats typically cost $1,000. I spotted a basic leather hatband priced at $8,776.

Surely nobody’s quite that ambitious?

Maintaining the Western motif, dinner took place at Hotel Jerome, an imposing structure built during the 19th century to rival London’s Savoy. Its bars and restaurants radiated a gentler Western appeal, though the seven-course tasting menu proved disappointingly underwhelming.

Nevertheless, the cocktails were superb and the heritage tangible.

The magnificence persisted as we strolled to the nearby Wheeler Opera House for an Emmylou Harris performance. I’d never encountered her work, and the 77-year-old, 14 Grammy-winning folk artist exposed my ignorance as her captivating voice echoed throughout the handsome Victorian-era auditorium.

Following another night of jetlag-interrupted slumber, I felt grateful we ascended via cable car to Mount Aspen’s peak for an outdoor yoga session where I loosened my weary muscles whilst overlooking the mountains.

Lunch returned us to the Ajax Tavern beside the cable-car terminal. Its signature truffle fries were superb, though the signature double beef burgers proved rather mediocre.

That sunny evening we travelled onwards to Snowmass, 15 minutes down the valley, pausing at the rodeo. But this wasn’t just any rodeo, this was the Snowmass Rodeo – featuring plenty of well-Cuban-heeled cowboys and girls sporting Kemo Sabe hats and designer sunglasses.

Nevertheless, it felt down-to-earth, with cheerful families and smiles all around. Events included a mixture of children’s sheep-riding (yes, really), bullock lassoing and barrel-racing, culminating in bull-riding.

Snowmass Village itself has a different atmosphere from Aspen. Here, the resort is constructed around the skiing – and not vice versa – with a network of trails and pistes spreading up the massive Snowmass Mountain.

In summer, the forested slopes are a mountain biker’s paradise, with more than 50 miles of trails. As we rode the gondola up the Elk Camp side of the mountain, we observed as they bombed down, churning up trails.

Fun, but we got our thrills from the Breathtaker Alpine Coaster, a roller coaster in the forest where you speed downhill in toboggans, my bum squeaking as loudly as the brakes.

From the cable-car terminal, there’s a chairlift up to the summit of Elk Camp. Sadly, it was cold and rainy up there and the views of the Maroon Bells obscured by cloud.

A pit stop for pizza fuelled us for the descent into Aspen’s tree woods above the village. The afternoon sun struck their silver bark and cast long shadows.

What with the birdsong and after-the-rain aromas, it felt magical. Snowmass’s nightlife is rather more low-key than Aspen’s.

We ate at Aurum, an upmarket Mediterranean/American fusion establishment – more excellent steak and cocktails – and also at Kenichi, a Japanese venue with not only the finest food of the trip, but the best Japanese cuisine I’ve ever experienced.

Zane’s and The Tavern are well-liked pubs – the former a relaxed sports bar, the latter heaving with boisterous young partygoers drowning out the raspy old country performer.

Our final morning started with that bike ride down from Maroon Bells. The vista of the twin peaks soaring above the immaculate Maroon Lake was a truly spectacular sight.

And, thankfully, the ride back to Aspen was downhill all the way.

After such a breathtaking trip, in both senses, it was a fitting finale.