Joy of Bicycling

Somewhere along the way, we forget how simple joy can be.

For me, it came back on two skinny tires and a creaky old bicycle seat.

I was never what you’d call a serious cyclist. No flashy jerseys, no carbon fiber obsessions, no stopwatch clipped to my handlebars. I rode because I needed to breathe again—literally. After lung surgery back in 2007, the doctors encouraged movement, and I discovered that pedaling forward had a way of coaxing air back into places that had forgotten how to stretch. One mile turned into five. Five turned into ten. Before long, I was riding twenty-five, sometimes fifty miles at a stretch, marveling that this old body still had surprises left in it.

My longest ride to date is sixty-five miles. I remember finishing it not with a triumphant fist pump, but with a quiet smile—the kind you carry inside, the kind that doesn’t need witnesses.

Over the years, my wheels have worn familiar paths. I’ve ridden the Tennessee Riverwalk more times than I can count, gliding alongside water that seems to move at its own thoughtful pace through Chattanooga. There’s something about that trail—the way the river keeps you company, the way the city never quite interrupts your thinking—that makes miles disappear without asking permission.

And then there’s the Chief Ladiga Trail, which has a personality all its own. It carries you from Anniston, through Jacksonville and Piedmont, before quietly slipping across the state line and becoming the Silver Comet Trail. I’ve always liked that part—the idea that without fanfare or fuss, one road simply becomes another. Life does that too, if you pay attention.

I rode those trails in seasons of strength, when my legs felt willing and my lungs felt generous. I rode them when my thoughts were tangled and when they were clear. On a bicycle, problems seem to lose their sharp edges. You still carry them, but they ride in the back basket instead of sitting square on your chest.

I won’t pretend things haven’t changed. After a coronary artery bypass a few years ago, my riding slowed down—then mostly stopped. The bicycle waits patiently now, leaning where I left it, as if it understands that rest is sometimes part of the journey. Still, I feel the pull. I yearn to hit the road again, to let the trail unspool ahead of me and remind my body of its own quiet competence.

There is a particular peace that settles over me when I’m on a bicycle. It’s not excitement. It’s not adrenaline. It’s the steady agreement between breath and motion, between effort and reward. It’s the feeling that for a little while, everything is exactly where it ought to be.

I’m seventy years old now. I spend more time on the couch than I’d like to admit. But there’s still time. I can feel it. One of these mornings, I just might swing a leg back over that frame and head out toward the trail again.

My soul needs it.
And my old body—well, it wouldn’t mind the exercise either.

Late Life Learning

 Coming Home to Old Ground and New Stories

I've settled in for the evening with a cup of coffee gone lukewarm because I got to thinking again. That happens a lot these days. My mind wanders, doubles back, takes the long way around. And I reckon that’s a fine way to learn.

People like to say learning is for the young. School desks. Fresh notebooks. Sharp pencils. But what they don’t tell you is how sweet learning can be when you come to it later in life—when you’re not chasing grades or proving anything to anybody. When you’re just curious.

For me, that curiosity led me right back home to Leeds.

I’ve lived a lot of years, worn a lot of hats, and traveled a fair stretch of road—but there’s something about learning the story of your own hometown that settles you. Leeds isn’t just where I grew up; it’s a place layered with iron, rail lines, creek water, and quiet perseverance. Turns out, I’d been walking past history my whole life without stopping to listen.

I started small. Reading. Asking questions. Standing still in places I used to rush past.

Take the Leeds Depot. For years it was just there—a building you noticed without noticing. But once I learned about the trains that rolled through, the people who waited there, the lives that arrived and departed on those rails, the place changed. It wasn’t quiet anymore. It hummed.

I also found myself drawn to the darker, half-forgotten places—the old coal mines scattered through the hills, the long-gone brick yard out at Lola City, and stories of the Red Diamond mines that once burned underground, smoldering for years like the land itself was holding its breath. These weren’t places you’d find on a postcard, but they mattered. Men worked there. Families depended on them. And even now, when you stand nearby, there’s a feeling that the ground remembers.

And those old rail tunnels—cut straight through Coosa Mountain and Oak Mountain—well, those got under my skin. Dark, cool, and patient. Dug by hand, by grit, by men whose names don’t always make it into books. You walk near those tunnels and you can feel the weight of time pressing in from all sides. They don’t ask for attention. They wait for it.

 Learning about those places reminded me that history isn’t always neat or pretty—but it’s honest, and it’s ours.

The funny thing is, the more I learned, the more my imagination got restless.

Facts turned into questions.
Questions turned into what ifs.
And before I knew it, history had tipped me right over into storytelling.

I didn’t set out to write fiction. Not really. But late-life learning has a way of unlocking doors you didn’t even know were there. I found myself scribbling scenes instead of notes, characters instead of dates. Places like Leeds—its rails, its quarries, its quiet back roads—started asking to be remembered in a different way.

That curiosity turned into five published books. Five stories rooted in place, memory, and the unseen threads that connect people to land and to one another. And now, believe it or not, there’s a sixth one on the way. Still feels strange to say that out loud.

What I’ve learned from all this is simple:
Late-life learning isn’t about reinventing yourself. It’s about re-encountering yourself.

It’s about standing in a familiar place long enough to finally hear what it’s been trying to tell you all along.

So if you’re feeling that little nudge—toward local history, old photographs, forgotten buildings, or stories you’ve never tried to tell—lean into it. Take the slow road. Ask the questions. Sit with the answers.

You never know what might come walking out of the past to meet you.

Ashville Rising is Live on Amazon!

I’m sitting here with a cup of coffee and a heart that’s beating a little faster than usual—because today is the day.

Ashville Rising is officially available on Amazon, both in paperback and as a Kindle eBook!

This story has lived in my head and on scraps of paper for longer than I care to admit. It started with a simple “what if” while driving down Highway 411: what if the land beneath these quiet Alabama towns remembers more than we do? What if there are secrets buried under courthouses and old stage roads, and it takes a handful of regular kids—grease under their nails, doubts in their hearts—to keep everything from shifting too far?

That “what if” grew into Makaley, JD, Dezi, Sean, and the lantern-lit world of the Handyman’s Guild. It’s Southern Gothic with a touch of urban fantasy, set right here in the ridges and valleys we call home—Ashville, Leeds, the Cahaba, and places that feel like neighbors even if they’re just down the road.

I’m proud of this one. It’s about listening—to the ground, to history, to the people who held the line before us. And it’s about what happens when new hands finally take their turn.

If any of that sounds like your kind of story, I’d be honored if you’d grab a copy.

📖 Paperback and Kindle now live on Amazon: Ashville Rising by Ronald Howard

Reviews mean the world to a new author, so if you read it and it resonates, please consider leaving a quick note on Amazon. And of course, feel free to drop a comment here or message me—I’d love to hear what you think.

Thank you for coming along on this ride with me. Writing this book has been its own quiet adventure, and seeing it out in the world feels like the ridge finally exhaling.

Until the next story,

Ron Simple Contemplations

Re-Inventing Myself?

 

The Strange Notion That I Still Need Reinventing

Lately, I’ve been carrying around an odd and slightly illogical feeling—that at seventy years old, I still need to reinvent myself.

That sentence alone feels strange to write.

After all, by most measures, I’ve already done more “reinventing” than anyone ought to be required to do at this stage of life. I’m retired. I’ve started four YouTube channels. I’ve published five paperback books. Somewhere along the way, Facebook and Instagram decided I qualify as a content creator, which still makes me laugh a little every time I see it.

In reality, I don’t feel like a creator of content at all.

I feel like a simple old man with a camera in his hand, a head full of stories, and a quiet hope that something he leaves behind might matter to someone someday—even if only a little.

That’s the part that doesn’t always make sense. By all reasonable standards, I should be content. I have a loving wife who still puts up with me. Two wonderful children. Four amazing grandchildren. And now three great-grandchildren who are already teaching me that time doesn’t slow down just because you want it to.

I am rich in the ways that actually count.

And yet, here I am—writing blog posts, filming videos, editing photos, telling stories—still chasing the feeling that there’s something more I’m supposed to do.

Maybe it isn’t reinvention at all. Maybe it’s just leaving breadcrumbs.

I still love photography. I still love the quiet moment when the light is just right and the camera feels like an extension of my hand. I still enjoy filming videos, even if I fumble through the words or ramble longer than I intended. I still enjoy writing, not because I think it will change the world, but because it helps me make sense of my own small corner of it.

Perhaps what I’m really trying to do isn’t to become someone new—but to be a little more visible before I’m gone. To leave behind a few stories, a few images, a few recordings that say, “I was here. I noticed things. I cared.”

That may not be reinvention. It may simply be reflection.

At seventy, I’m not chasing fame or relevance. I’m chasing meaning—however modest it turns out to be. And maybe that’s enough. Maybe it always was.

I don’t really know what more there is to say.

But for now, I’ll keep writing. I’ll keep taking pictures. I’ll keep pressing the record button. And I’ll be grateful for the life I’ve already lived, even as I quietly try to leave one more small mark on the world—before the light fades and someone else picks up the camera.

If any of this sounds familiar to you, you’re welcome to share your thoughts. I enjoy hearing from fellow travelers, especially those a few miles further down the road.

—Ron Howard
Simple Musings

Ashville Rising is almost here!

It's been a quiet few weeks here on the blog—life has a way of pulling us into its rhythms, doesn't it? Between work, family, and those little moments of reflection that sneak up on you while sipping coffee on the porch, I've been pouring my heart into something special.

Today, I'm thrilled (and a little nervous!) to announce that my fourth novel, **Ashville Rising**, is available on Amazon as a Kindle Book! Release of the paperback is imminent.

This story is the next chapter of The Apprentices, part of my Handyman's Guild adventures, which are inspired by the rolling ridges and hidden histories right here in our corner of Alabama. It's a young adult urban fantasy set in the small towns we know so well—Ashville, Leeds, and the Cahaba Valley—where everyday kids discover an ancient secret society called the Guild. They guard mysterious "lines" of underground pressure tied to the land's old scars: faults, ridges, buried relics from stagecoach days and even further back.

Meet Makaley Broward, a grease-monkey teen from Springville with a knack for fixing engines... and apparently, the earth itself. Along with her friends JD, Sean, and Dezi, she uncovers a humming relic beneath the Ashville courthouse that's been waiting centuries to wake. There's mystery, a touch of the supernatural, old Alabama lore (think paleokarst voids and forgotten stage roads), and that quiet sense of wonder when the land feels alive beneath your feet.

It's about listening—to the ground, to history, to the people who came before us. And holding on when things start to shift.

If you've ever felt that pull from these Alabama hills, or wondered what secrets our courthouses and old houses might hold, I think you'll connect with this one.

**Ashville Rising**  available soon on Amazon in paperback and Kindle. I'd love for you to grab a copy and let me know what you think—drop a comment here or shoot me an email.

Here's the link: Ashville Rising

Thank you for being part of this little corner of contemplation. Writing this book has been a journey of its own, full of late nights and "aha" moments. Can't wait to hear if it resonates with you.

Until next time—stay curious,

Ron  

P.S. If you're local, keep an eye out—I'm hoping to do a signing or reading soon!

The Quarry Keeper

 

 **📚 New Book Release! — *The Quarry Keeper***

*A Handyman’s Guild Companion Story*

The Quarry Keeper a companion to The Handyman's Guild is now available as a Kindle eBook or an Amazon paperback. 

 Set in the quiet ridges and abandoned quarries of Leeds, Alabama, this story introduces readers to Herbert Nash—a mysterious, soft-spoken man known around town only as the eccentric who lived near Atlas Quarry. But Herbert wasn’t just a loner with an old lantern… he was a Keeper, entrusted with listening to the land itself and calming the forces that stir beneath it.

Everything changes the night a dangerous tremor threatens to crack the quarry wide open. Just when disaster seems inevitable, Herbert encounters a young boy named Randall Broward—a child with an unusual sense for danger and an ear tuned to the pulse of the valley. Their meeting sets in motion a legacy that will echo through generations and eventually forge the Guild we came to know in The Handyman’s Guild.

 **What You’ll Discover Inside** 

* The origins of the Guild’s presence in Leeds, long before lanterns chose their bearers

* The first spark of Randall Broward’s destiny and why the ground seemed to know his name

* A Southern blend of folklore, quiet magic, and small-town mystery.

* A story about responsibility, unseen guardians, and the everyday people who quietly keep the world safe

Whether you've read The Handyman’s Guild or are discovering this universe for the first time, The Quarry Keeper stands on its own as a rich, atmospheric tale rooted in place, memory, and purpose. If you enjoy magical realism tucked into ordinary life—and stories where heroes fix what others never notice—this book is for you.

**🛒 Available Now on Amazon**

Available on Kindle and Amazon paperback

Pick up a copy today and return to the valley where everything began.

The stone still remembers.

Some lanterns never go out.

 

New Book Announcement

 Hello dear readers, old friends, and new visitors — I’m excited to share some big news: I’ve just released two new books on Amazon — and this time I’m diving into story-telling in a different direction.

📚 Two new titles to explore

The first book is The Handyman’s Guild, a novel rooted in the idea of small acts of courage, ordinary people doing extraordinary things, and the hidden architecture of care that protects our lives when we’re not even looking. As one brief description puts it: “Heartfelt, mysterious, and deeply human… about legacy, small acts of courage, and the invisible ways we protect.” 

The second is The Apprentices – A Handyman’s Guild Adventure, which builds on the world of the first, introducing fresh faces, new challenges, and deeper mysteries of the Guild’s work. (Think of it as the next chapter, the next set of apprentices learning the ropes — and uncovering the ledger.)

Why these books, and why now

You’ve probably noticed I have a foot in memoir, photography, local history, and community storytelling. With these two books I wanted to stretch into the realm of fiction — but fiction that still carries the weight of memory, purpose, and service.

• In The Handyman’s Guild, the story revolves around those “quiet heroes” in overalls, the ones we don’t notice until the shelf is fixed, the lightbulb quietly replaced, the problem quietly averted.

• In The Apprentices, the narrative expands: what happens when the next generation steps in, when the ledger is found, when the secret brotherhood is revealed to new eyes? There are children to protect, unseen dangers to face — and in true Guild fashion, the tools are as much trust, relationship and hidden knowledge as hammers and screwdrivers.

A few things that I hope you’ll love

• A sense of otherworldly fantasy without horror — I’ve kept the tone gentle, imaginative, and redemptive (as I tend to prefer).

• A nostalgic, home-spun feel — rural Alabama, old houses, community gatherings, recollections of lost time and found meaning.

• Characters you’ll care about — imperfect, hopeful, sometimes weary, but always trying.

• The twist of secret brotherhood + everyday work — the idea that the real magic happens in the mundane, in the supporting role, in the hands that fix, protect, restore.

How to grab your copy

Both books are now available on Amazon and Kindle.

• The Handyman’s Guild is out in paperback and eBook. 

• The Apprentices – A Handyman’s Guild Adventure is also ready for your reading list in paperback and eBook format.

If you enjoy them, I’d be deeply grateful if you’d consider leaving a review on Amazon — reviews help other readers find the work, and every one means the world to me.

What’s next?

In the coming months I’ll be:

• Hosting a giveaway (signed copies + memorabilia) for blog subscribers

• Sharing behind-the-scenes posts (photos of my writing desk in Leeds, Alabama; sketches of characters; the “ledger” mock-up)

• Possibly audio/YouTube shorts featuring me reading some scene excerpts (suiting my YouTube channels ‘It’s Nanny & Pop’,  ‘Ron Howard Photography’, and Hometown Life").

• And continuing the blog with more “simple contemplations” — the little moments, the big reflections, the stories that connect heart to hammer, memory to masonry.

A word of thanks

If you’ve followed me for a while — through the blog, the photography, my hometown Leeds walking tours, the memoir pieces — thank you. These two books are a new creative branch, rooted in the same soil: memory, community, craft, transformation. I hope they reach you in good time, in good spirit, and that you’ll invite others into the world of the Guild.

Here’s to your next reading adventure — and to all the hidden handymen and women among us who quietly keep things running.

Warmly,
Ron