Some retirees socialize on the driving range or the pickleball court, while others find meaning at animal shelters or soup kitchens. For the dozen or so men who call themselves the “Bike Boys,” it’s a bicycle-filled warehouse in the Rosemary District that calls to them.

“It’s rewarding, and I don’t like golf,” says Tom Ott, the 72-year-old de facto leader of the group, which spends a few hours a week repairing donated bikes for the Salvation Army and other local nonprofits. Ott joined the nascent bike-repair meetup in 2012 as a way, he jokes, to avoid learning how to swing a club. “I thought, ‘I can fix a bike!’” he says. “Little did I know, I couldn’t.”

Twelve years later, Ott’s skills have grown, as has the group. In total, they’ve restored and re-donated at least 3,800 bikes—693 last year alone—and approximately 70 percent of their fixed-up bikes go to the Salvation Army, which redistributes them to graduates of its Life Recovery program and other clients recommended by caseworkers. The Salvation Army also provides an air-conditioned space for the Bike Boys, plus additional storage space.

The first rule of Bike Boys is, “We never turn a bike down.” Of the 250 or so bikes they receive a month, many come from local shops. Members also collect bikes from around their neighborhoods or purchase them from thrift stores. The group even does pickups on request throughout Sarasota County.

Bikes that are beyond repair are broken down for spare parts and then scrapped for a few extra bucks. (As member Dan Knotts explains it, “Sometimes we have to euthanize them.”) Scrap money goes back toward expenses like chains, cables, tires, brake pads and kickstands—parts that are hard to salvage from used bikes. Every December, the Bike Boys also assemble and fine-tune brand-new bikes that have been donated to the Salvation Army’s Angel Tree—around 350 last Christmas.

The work starts around 11 a.m. every Friday year-round and on Mondays from October to May. Volunteers select a bike to work on and run through their own personal repair process. They oil chains and bearings, check and adjust brake lines and even cap cables, grease seat posts, test shifters and derailers, and replace handlebar grips. Some weeks, they do nothing but patch old inner tubes for three hours straight.

And they talk. Rising over classical music from WSMR—“It’s the only [station] we could agree on!”—the banter rivals anything you’d hear on a golf course or at the corner bar. It’s hard to get a straight answer here. The men’s given reasons for joining the group tend toward “My wife wanted me out of the house” or “My wife wanted all those old bicycles out of the garage.”

“Plus, I know I can count on being the best-looking guy here,” says group member Mike Miller, triggering guffaws and taunts from the others.

But the group’s levity masks the seriousness of their work. These bikes will become a lifeline for people who are trying to put their lives back together, especially those who can’t afford cars or can’t get a driver’s license because of criminal backgrounds or addiction issues. Even the cheapest adult bikes cost at least $100 new, a prohibitive price tag for people who can’t secure an income without reliable transportation.

“A lot of the folks who come through the door are at rock bottom, completely broken and hopeless,” says the Salvation Army’s Ryan Ayers, who often walks graduates of the organization’s programs across Central Avenue to the warehouse to choose a bike. “To see them grab hold of a bike for the first time—it’s like a kid’s eyes at Christmas.”

Ayers describes one recent grad who now uses his bike to travel to an overnight job near Sarasota Bradenton International Airport. He rides back to the downtown shelter in the morning, drenched in sweat, and thanks volunteers for the bicycle every time. “Every once in a while I’ll see a bike out in the wild and think, ‘Hey, look at that. He’s still got it,’” says Ott.

Twist their arms, and the Bike Boys will admit that they like doing something positive for the community. They appreciate that they’re taking unwanted objects and pouring care into them for people who need it the most. But for as valuable as their work is, their earnestness is short-lived. The repair sessions always default to gibes and laughter. “We really have fun with one another,” says Ott. After the work is done, the Bike Boys usually gather at Wicked Cantina for what they sometimes call their “safety meeting,” overseen by the “beverage committee.”

“Some of us get a salad, some of us get a couple of tacos,” says Ott with a grin. “And we hang out there and tell more lies.”

Interested in donating a bike or volunteering? Call Tom Ott at (502) 608-3108.