Ride 'em cowboy

A breathless Chris Granet finds mountain biking and rodeo thrills in Aspen

The guide gave us strict instructions. “Keep both hands on the handlebars. Don't look around. Don't take photos.” But I had to defy orders. I couldn't help it. It was all too beautiful. I cycled first with only one hand, then none, as I shot videos of the magnificent alpine landscape surrounding us.

We were freewheeling down from the Maroon Bells, the twin peaks behind the twin towns of Aspen and Snowmass, their snowy caps still clinging to the last vestiges of winter despite it being late June.

This part of the Rocky Mountains of Colorado is better known for its skiing and winter activities, yet in summer becomes a playground for those who like to explore the land no longer hidden by white stuff.

I'd flown in from Denver, leaving the state capital basking in the evening sunshine as we drifted over the snow-stained mountains.

Flocks of private jets lined the runway of little Aspen airport. I'd never seen so many. Then again, I was in one of the most affluent areas in the US, with up to 125 billionaires owning property. Visitors seem to be mostly rich or “aspirational”. Think South of France or Dubai, but with cowboys.

Our hotel was the cool W, at the centre of Aspen and close to the cable car station. It was as modern and trendy as the other Ws I've visited, yet smaller in scale - less flash, more cosy.

After freshening up, I joined my tour group on the rooftop bar where we quaffed cocktails as the sun set with golden rays kissing Mount Aspen.

Drinks drained, we set off for dinner through the quaint, leafy streets of Aspen, which show few traces of its gritty past as a silver mining town.

After the silver boom was over, Aspen's fortunes sank and only recovered after being developed into a ski resort in the mid-20th century.

I noticed I was having a little difficulty walking. The alcohol? No, the 8,000ft altitude (the thin mountain air would render me short of breath for the next few days).