Wedged between rows of industrial warehouses and the Barbary Coast strip club on Mission Street at Ninth. sits a small, dingy garage that many San Francisco cyclists hold in very high regard. After a temporary shut down in June, the Bike Kitchen settled into its new location this past August. Known around the Bay as a cooperative, do-it-yourself bike repair shop, it offers unlimited access to all the toys anyone with two wheels beneath them could want, plus a place to tinker with them for just $5 a day or $30 a year membership. As many former gas junkies have discovered, this low-key bike mecca is an easy come down from the automobile high.

Tony Tran walks his 54cm, all black, fixed gear Pake brand bike up the ramp to the Kitchen’s toolhouse, with a grin on his face and quickly tips it upside down and gingerly places it on one of the empty worktables. Closely behind him is his good friend and riding partner, Paul Reese, who is carrying his 55cm silver Mercier over his left shoulder. They are just visiting from Diamond Bar in Southern California, but made time on their short trip to San Francisco to pay homage to their favorite bike shop.

Instead of going the usual route- learning to navigate through cities on a bike with brakes and then switching to a fixed gear once a certain confidence level is reached-Tran went straight to the dangerous track bike. “ I figured it’s better to learn without brakes because it forces you to take risks. I’ve only fallen bad twice,” he says, showing the scars on his palms, “but I would never go back to riding with brakes.” Tran often visits San Francisco, driving up, but ditching his car for his fixed gear once in the city. “What’s the point of a car up here? You save so much money not paying for gas. And riding is a bit more entertaining, anyway,” he says.

Unfortunately, the Kitchen is only open currently two days a week, Tuesday and Thursday from 6-9 pm, and you can take your chances on Saturdays from 11-4, depending on how many volunteers there are, sometimes it closes a little earlier. For Reese and Tran, the limited hours of the Kitchen can be a problem. Tonight they were headed to a bar but had to make a pit stop since there aren’t places in their hometown offering the same services. “The beers can wait!” Reese says cheerfully. The two tinker with their bikes for about an hour, though nothing seems to be wrong with either of them. After returning cranks and wrenches, the pair is off, as happy as two kindergarteners riding tricycles around the playground and making “Vrooommmm” noises with their mouths.

Though it’s possible to stumble upon a wide assortment of customers and mechanics, from 10-year-old girls learning how to adjust their brakes, to professionally trained, permanently bruised bike messengers, tonight seems to be men’s night in the Kitchen. Max “the Maxster” Wiley, 56, has brought in one of his 15 or so bikes to do some mild repairs, and mostly just to hang out with his buddies. Wiley has been volunteering to help other cyclists tune up their economically friendly transportation for two years now. By volunteering time as a mechanic over the years, Wiley has earned himself bike frames, free membership and parts for his trusty, old beach cruiser. To be a volunteer mechanic, just start coming by, speak with a bike mechanic who has been volunteering at the Kitchen for a while, and he/she will assign you various tasks. Once you have completed the tasks and certain amount of hours, the overseeing mechanic will sign you off and allow you access to all your earned toys. Other fun stuff the Kitchen offers are tune-up classes in the Fall for beginners to learn the basics of bike repair.

Aside from the obvious camaraderie shared by frequents to the Kitchen, even a one time visit offers a glance at how simple transportation can be without pumping fumes into our breathing space. Expression of frustration with cars is seen on many of the bumper, or fender, stickers that say things like, “Cars Kill,” or “Fume Free That’s Me.” No one is saying to quit the car vice cold turkey, just slowly ease off of it, and let the Bike Kitchen be your new crutch.