Bikes, Bros and Buzzcuts. by Drew Tetrov

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Chapter 1: Departure from Vienna
The July 1st sun hung low over Vienna as the four of us—Alexander, Christopher, Lukas, and Henry—pedaled out, our bikes heavy with gear, hearts lighter than they’d been in years. The chaos of high school was finally behind us: the masks, the lockdowns, the missed parties, and the milestones we’d had to make do with. This three-week biking trip to Lisbon was more than an adventure; it was a declaration of freedom, a last hurrah before life pulled us in different directions. Our group was as mismatched as our hairstyles. Christopher was the laid-back one, with his thick, dark curls falling past his shoulders—a look he’d cultivated since buzzing it all off during the first lockdown. Lukas, ever practical, kept his dark curls shoulder-length but constantly complained about the heat. Henry, our perfectionist, started each morning with his slicked-back look, but by noon, the sweat and sun reduced it to a haphazard middle part. And me? Alexander, the one who somehow got roped into leading this escapade, with wavy, middle-parted blond hair that seemed to mirror the chaos of the journey itself. The first day’s ride was grueling. The heat was relentless, and by the time we reached a lakeside campsite, our clothes clung to us like a second skin. We parked our bikes under the shade of a tree and flopped onto the grass, sweat-drenched and exhausted. Christopher collapsed onto a rock near the water, running his hands through his tangled hair with a groan. "I can’t do this anymore." "What? The biking?" I teased, wiping the sweat from my brow. "No, the hair," he shot back, grabbing his brush and struggling to pull it through the knots. "It’s a pain in the ass. I can’t wash it without polluting the lake, and it’s sticking to my neck all day." "Should’ve brought a razor," Lukas said with a smirk. "Problem solved." Christopher rolled his eyes, tugging at another knot. "Maybe I should just cut it off. You think there’s a barbershop nearby?" "Yeah, sure," I said, laughing. "Let’s just Google ‘barbershop in the middle of nowhere.’ I’m sure one will pop right up." Christopher grinned, his carefree personality shining through. "Alright, Mr. Sass. Do we have scissors, though? Let’s skip the barbershop and handle this right here."

Chapter 2: Christopher’s Transformation
I dug through the first aid kit and triumphantly pulled out a small pair of scissors. They were meant for cutting gauze, not hair, but they’d have to do. "You’re really doing this?" I asked, holding them up. Christopher shrugged, tying his curls into a high ponytail. "Why not? Go ahead, barber." I laughed, shaking my head. "I’ve cut hair before, but I usually have actual tools. You sure about this?" "Good enough for me," he said, sitting on the camping chair we’d dragged out by the fire. I hesitated, scissors poised. "Chris, if I cut it below the hair tie, it’s going to be uneven. Let me take the scrunchie off." "Nah," he insisted. "Just chop it off. I don’t care if it’s perfect." "That’s more than a trim, you know," I warned. "Are you sure you want it that short?" "F*ck it," he said, grinning. "I don’t want hair on my neck anymore. Let’s do this." With a shrug, I slid the hair tie down slightly and began cutting. His hair was thick, and the scissors struggled with every pass. It felt like cutting through rope, but after a few tense minutes, the ponytail came free. I held it up triumphantly. "Here you go," I said, handing it to him. "Keep it as a souvenir or toss it in the lake." Christopher turned the severed ponytail in his hands, as if deciding its fate, before tossing it into the grass. "Alright, now fix me up." I spent the next fifteen minutes carefully evening out the jagged edges, shaping the remaining hair into a clean, manageable style. When I finally stepped back, his hair barely brushed the back of his neck, neat and precise. "Damn," he said, running a hand through it. "Not bad, Alexander. You’ve got some serious skills."

Chapter 3: Lukas’s Undercut
Lukas, who’d been watching intently, stood up and stretched. "Alright," he said. "You’ve convinced me. Think you can handle my curls?" I gestured to the chair. "What are we thinking?" "Something shorter, but not too short. Maybe an undercut?" I nodded. "Let’s do a disconnected undercut. Leave the top long but clean up the sides." Lukas tied the top section of his hair into a small ponytail, and I got to work. Without clippers, it was slow going. I used scissors and a comb to carefully trim the sides, making sure everything was even. The sun began to set as I worked, and I grabbed my headlamp to finish the job. When I finally stepped back, Lukas inspected his reflection in his phone camera, turning his head to admire the sharp contrast. "This is awesome," he said. "I look like I walked out of a magazine."


Chapter 4: The Buzz Cut Pact
The next day, as we took a lunch break under the shade of a tree, Christopher sighed dramatically. "This haircut is better, but it’s still a pain. It’s too short for a ponytail but too long to stay out of my face. I think I need to go even shorter." I raised an eyebrow. "Need my help again? Or are you looking for a professional?" "You’re the professional at this point," he said, grinning. Lukas joined in. "Honestly, my top’s getting annoying too. Maybe I’ll go shorter as well." I laughed, shaking my head. "This is turning into a full-on hairdressing journey." Turning to Henry, I teased him. "Maybe it’s time for you to join the fun?" He shook his head firmly. "No thanks. I won’t look like an idiot just because it’s summer." That evening, as we sat around the fire, Christopher made his decision. "Alright," he said. "I want it short. Like, really short. No more hair in my eyes." I smirked. "What about a buzz cut? At this rate, you’re going to get there anyway." To my surprise, Christopher nodded. "Sure. But only if someone else joins me." Lukas grinned. "F*ck it. Let’s do it. Buzz cuts all around." Both of them turned to me and Henry, their eyes filled with mischief. "C’mon, boys. It’s the last summer of high school. By the end of summer, it’ll grow back." I hesitated. "I’ll think about it. But we need clippers for this." Henry, as usual, declined with a polite but firm, "I’m good, thanks."

Chapter 5: The Brotherhood Buzz
The next day, we stopped in a quaint little town just off the main road. The cobblestone streets were flanked by colorful, weathered houses, their window boxes spilling over with bright flowers. It was one of those places that seemed frozen in time, quiet and serene. But our mission wasn’t sightseeing—it was to buy the tool that would finalize our collective transformation: a set of rechargeable clippers. We found an electronics store near the town square, its small window display cluttered with outdated gadgets. Inside, the shopkeeper gave us an amused look as we debated which clippers to buy. Lukas held up a sleek Philips model. "This one has guards from 3mm to 12mm. Perfect." Christopher nodded approvingly. "Looks good. Let’s grab it." We pooled our cash, made the purchase, and headed back to the bikes. "Alright," I said, inspecting the box, "these need to charge for a couple of hours. We’ll plug them in when we set up camp." That evening, we arrived at a campsite near a gas station, which conveniently had outdoor outlets. While the clippers charged, we cooked dinner over a portable stove and swam in the nearby lake, laughing as we splashed around like kids. The evening air was cooler now, carrying the faint scent of pine and fresh water. The anticipation for what was to come hung in the air. When the clippers were fully charged, I returned to the campsite to find the others waiting. The camping stool had been placed in the center, ready to serve as our makeshift barber chair. Christopher was already shirtless, sitting on the stool with a confident grin. "How short are we talking?" I asked, holding up the clippers. "I trust you," he replied, leaning back with exaggerated ease. "Do what you think looks good." I unpacked the guards and all the components, selecting the 9mm guard. "This should be short enough, but not too short. Let’s try it out." Christopher smirked. "Go for it. I’m done caring." I snapped the guard onto the clippers, which buzzed to life in my hand. The sound filled the quiet campsite, making the moment feel both surreal and electric. I placed the clippers at Christopher’s hairline and paused, giving him one last chance to back out. But instead of a subtle nod, Christopher leaned forward, pushing the clippers into his hairline himself. "Let’s go!" he said, laughing. The first pass down the center of his head sent thick curls tumbling to the ground, revealing a pale strip of scalp. We all erupted in laughter, the absurdity of the transformation hitting us at once. I continued, stripe by stripe, slowly carving away the rest of his thick hair. The 9mm guard left just enough stubble to feel soft but short enough to reveal the stark contrast of his scalp, untouched by the sun for years. As the last curls fell, Christopher rubbed his head with both hands, grinning. "This feels amazing. I feel… aerodynamic." Henry, watching from the sidelines, smirked. "You look naked. Like a fuzzy egg." Christopher shot back, "Better a fuzzy egg than a sweaty mess." "Alright, Lukas," I said, brushing the fallen hair off the stool. "You’re up." Lukas rolled his eyes but sat down, his top knot perched like a crown. "Same treatment. No favoritism." I buzzed the clippers back to life and started on the sides and back. The long curls fell easily, the clippers humming steadily as they worked through the hair that had taken me so long to trim just days ago. The process was methodical and smooth, and soon the back and sides were even and clean. When it came time to remove the top knot, I handed the clippers to Lukas. "Your turn. First pass is all yours." He took the clippers with a mischievous grin and bent forward, making the first incision down the center. The hair fell in uneven chunks, and with each pass, the long strands piled in his lap. Then, with a loud click, the yellow guard popped off, unnoticed at first. "Lukas, stop!" I yelled, but it was too late. He looked up, confused, as I picked up the fallen guard. The realization hit him, and for a moment, he looked panicked. Then he burst out laughing, rubbing the bald stripe he’d shaved into his crown. "Guess I’m committed now." I joined in the laughter. "Lucky for you, we’ve got three weeks for it to grow back. But for now, we’re going full zero guard." He handed me the clippers, shaking his head. "Lesson learned. Next time, leave it to the professional." I finished the job, carefully evening out the patchy spots until his head was as smooth as Christopher’s. Lukas rubbed his scalp, a look of mock despair on his face. "Well, I feel like a newborn." "Alright, my turn," I said, running a hand through my wavy, dark blond hair. "Who’s the barber?" Both Christopher and Lukas volunteered, but I turned to Henry. "Come on, Henry. At least this way, you’ll have a hand in the madness." He hesitated, then took the clippers. "Alright. But if I mess it up, it’s on you." I sat down, shirt off, heart racing. As the clippers buzzed to life, I braced myself for the inevitable. Henry started at the back, and as the hair fell, I reached back to touch the stubble. It felt incredible—soft, fresh, liberating. "Sam, don’t drag it out," Lukas called. "Just shave the top already." I laughed and nodded. "Go for it." Henry placed the clippers on my forehead and made the first pass, long strands falling into my lap. Each pass felt like shedding a layer, a transformation I hadn’t expected to enjoy so much.
It felt like being undressed—the hair that had once covered my forehead, the sides of my face, and even reached past my eyes was suddenly gone. And even if I wanted to cover up, there was nothing left to hide behind. Although the cut wasn’t finished yet, I couldn’t resist reaching up to touch my buzzed head. "Oh my god, this is great—I love the feeling, boys!" I exclaimed with excitement.
By the time he finished, I couldn’t stop rubbing my head. "This feels amazing," I said, grinning. "Henry, you’ve got to try it." I grabbed his hand and placed it on my buzzed scalp. He hesitated for a moment, then smirked. "Alright, fine. Let’s do it." Henry sat down, slicking back his brown hair one last time. "Alright, make it quick," he said. I took the clippers and, with no hesitation, made the first pass. The hair fell easily, and Henry sat motionless, watching as his carefully styled locks disappeared. By the time I finished, he reached up to feel his head and laughed. "Okay, I get it now. This is awesome." We stood together, rubbing our freshly buzzed heads and laughing like maniacs. The pile of hair on the ground looked like it belonged to a dozen people, not just four. That night, we washed off the loose strands in the lake, the cool water a perfect contrast to the warm stubble on our heads. Epilogue: A Smooth Ride The buzz cuts made everything easier—biking, washing up, even sleeping in the heat. By the end of the trip, our hair had started to grow back, but the transformation was still visible. The photos we’d posted along the way told the story for us, so no one was surprised when we returned looking like a military battalion. The hair would grow back, but the bond we’d forged that night, under the stars with clippers in hand, was something permanent. I finally understood why the military made it a tradition—not just for practicality, but for the camaraderie it created. For a few hours that night, we weren’t just friends on a trip—we were brothers.

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