OK, it’s time to get brutally honest here. I find myself no longer able to muster up enthusiasm for professional cycling. After 45 years of riding Campagnolo equipt, tubular shod, Italian road racing bicycles, I find myself at the proverbial crossroad. Today’s pro riders are all fueled on performance enhancing drugs... Today’s pro bikes are all rolling on Asian fishing tackle parts... I’m afraid bike racing has lost all of its vitality and personal inspiration for me.

The modern business model of financial domination in bike racing has stripped away all the human elements with which I found so embracing over the years. The whole colorful cast of Italian frame building artisans, or the “Modern Leonardo” himself, Tullio Campagnolo, are gone, replaced by corporate marketing honchos, hyping products made in giant factories on the other side of the planet.

The time has come to let my literary alter ego go as well. Euro Freddie shall henceforth be released from any further monthly contractual obligations, and immediately enrolled into a rehab program for fallen blogging artifices. For, as my fictional creation, we have shared many laughs - and as my literary bon vivant, he has had a good run... But even imaginary friends sometimes require an act of tough love intervention.

Do you have any last words you would like to share with your Eagle readers before you go Euro Freddie?

“Well, as William De Vaughn once sang 40 years ago: You may not ride... Campy parts at all... Just remember, brothers and sisters, you can still give your bike shop a call... Just be thankful... For what they’ve got... Record derailleurs in the rack, Super Record’s on top, diggin’ EPS bling, gonna hock your weddin’ ring... Oo, hoooo... Record derailleurs in the rack, Super Record’s on top, diggin’ EPS bling, gonna hock your weddin’ ring... Oo, hoooo...” -Kurt