For many years Ariel had knocked out four stroke machines, the strangest and best known being the post war 1000cc square four and most ghastly a small single called the Colt, a machine noted neither for speed nor reliability. It was thus quite revolutionary for them to start churning out a brand new, two stroke, design by Val Page.
The first model was known as the Leader, featured a frame constructed from two steel pressings welded together, forming a spine type frame with the unit engine hung underneath and incorporating the swinging arm pivots at the back of the gearbox. The whole machine was fully enclosed with detachable sidepanels, legshields, windscreen and faired in headlamp.
The Arrow employed the same basic construction but dumped the acres of plastic in favour of a more conventional, stripped down look, although, like the Leader, it still had the kind of appearance that people either loved or loathed.
The first fault to develop with my Arrow was clutch slip, which upon dismantling revealed the cork plates as chronically worn - the friendly dealer provided a new set of friction plates. The 250cc twin engine was of square bore and stroke (54 x 54mm), each barrel and head were separate castings, and primary drive was chain to a Burman gearbox. The engine knocked out 17hp at 7000rpm, not very much by today’s standards, but back then enough to impress Bantam, James or Fanny-B owners.
Next problem was a terminal breaking off the rectifier, something I only noticed when the bike stopped with a flat battery. Again, a visit to the dealer (still friendly) produced a new ‘un. But the next time I went back, after the primary chain came apart, there was a distinct chill in our relations, but he came up with the offending item. When the battery failed and the twistgrip broke in half, I was told in no uncertain terms that they thought I was building up another bike using their spares. However, I was given the parts and not long after that the warranty ended.
This was a little worrying as the 6V Lucas electrical system, though generally quite reliable (honest!), was fed by a crank mounted alternator that was known to shed its windings under the influence of the twin cylinder vibration. Back then, a popular pursuit of motorcycle magazines was writing DIY tuning articles - the Arrow was featured in several of these. Thus encouraged, and aided by working as an apprentice at an engineering works, a month’s work transformed the Arrow into a really fierce 250, well able to leave larger machines wobbling in its wake and to dominate the 250 bikes with relative ease.
If the bike didn’t look like it should go either rapidly or handle well, it was able to defy its appearance equally well in either of these fields. The 16" wheels gave a low centre of gravity to a bike that was already quite small when fitted with a decent pair of tyres it was well nigh impossible to fall off. The fun was only slightly disturbed by the way the centrestand ground away on fast corners left to itself it would quickly wear away until one day the bike would collapse when flung on its stand. I used to remove mine every few months and weld on a plate to avoid this minor disaster.
Light mass and low centre of gravity vied with trailing link forks and won to make the bike relatively easy to chuck through the bends. That it was still possible to change direction when leaned over was just as well because the effectiveness of the drum brakes, even in perfect conditions, was strictly in line with the period - i.e. frighteningly slow retardation in modern traffic conditions. In the wet they were about as efficient and amusing as early seventies Jap discs.
Despite the chain primary drive, the dubious reputation of Burman and the rather fierce acceleration once I’d tuned the engine, the gearbox never missed a change, although the actual action was both long and slow. Such acceleration, even on the stock bike, knocked down the 90mpg that Ariel claimed for their machine - it’s unsure whether or not they envisaged the way these 250s would be raced all over the countryside.
As the petrol tank, hidden away inside the pressed steel frame, held only 2.3 gals (although there was an optional 3 gallon tank), and it was quite possible to reduce consumption down to 50mpg, range was rather limited to 100 miles. Perhaps, to be fair to Ariel, if the bike had been used as a commuter, the range would have become acceptable.
The external tank was, like the Gold Wing, a. dummy, which had a lockable top that revealed enough space for carrying tools or other small objects. If you removed this compartment it was possible to access the twin coils inside the frame.
At that time, the only real rival to the Ariel was the James Sports Superswift, which went as well but looked like a real racer. The C15 could go far or fast, but mixing the two was a recipe for instant mechanical malaise. The Royal Oilfield Crusader was fine as long as you could take the ratio of six days maintenance to one days riding - you’d have thought that giving it 2 pints less oil than any other bike they’d have found some means of keeping it inside the engine.
After tuning the engine, it ran for two years, day in, day out, with no trouble whatsoever save for the alternator windings. Eventually, the engine began to tire and I bought an Ariel 500 twin just for the hell of it, the Arrow gradually relegated to emergency use, until I kicked the engine over and the kickstart jammed. The mainshaft bearing housing had fractured, allowing the shaft to move out of alignment. I had the casting welded at work, but was never able to put much faith in it, so regretfully sold it off.
Such were my happy memories of the Arrow that I’ve recently bought a Leader. This is a rather different game, with the extra weight and plastic denting the performance of the bike, but the same good handling is there, whilst the same smooth power delivery takes me back to my Arrow days.
Of course, the appearance of the Leader is even more unnerving than the Arrow, but such is the elevation of old British machinery that no-one dares laugh at the bike. I paid £100, including spares, which I considered reasonable, but I just can’t imagine that anyone would pay the £1000 I see advertised, even for a mint example. You could actually assemble one from spares for half of that. Is the Arrow or Leader really a classic? Well, it was certainly different and certainly lots of fun, but all its unique points were results of some clever engineering that were supposed to make them cheap and profitable to manufacture on a fairly large scale.
An interesting piece of British engineering that I’m happy to own and ride for the money I paid. If you ride a Jap bike I hope you get happy soon (no, seriously, a lot of Japanese machines are very good indeed) and if you're a classic bike rip-off artist please go forth and multiply back into the Antique scene or Estate Agency from whence you came.
Len Seeley