Classic Bike Profile — Ariel Arrow

3 Май 2015 | Author: | Комментарии к записи Classic Bike Profile — Ariel Arrow отключены

Ariel’s Arrow was certainly an and it is most definitely an old British But is it a genuine classic motorcycle? Friday doesn’t really because his Arrow was certainly the bike he’s ever

It wasn’t all the bike’s fault. I was the owner from Hell.

I was and free of common sense and I a bike. A mate at college had a example of solid British in his shed, that he could let me for more than I could but less than I feared. It was an Arrow — a full 250 twin of throbbing power and speed. I went and saw the huge in his dad’s garage, and a deal was

He hadn’t finished building the yet, but to my innocent ears it ideal. He was putting it together the best bits of three and one frame. He would let me have all the bits as spares. It stood in his shed, a vision in pale Hammerite.

I was in love.

My parents, thought my intended was unsuitable. I and whined, and eventually got parental (or at least surrender) and the cash.

I was a

Of course, I had no insurance, no crash and no MoT. No matter, I pushed it the few home. I went back with my Dad in his car and filled three sacks with spares and There was a complete workshop in the pile, and lots of bits in greasy paper. I was so happy.

I a can with petrol at the garage and it a couple of shots of oil from the dispenser. With my father I went through the starting from the manual and kicked it

It fired immediately and snapped the

Anyone that has ever an Arrow apart will that the crank was made in two joined with a taper and with a Woodruff key. My hadn’t tightened the bolt the middle, so the taper slipped and the key.

This should warned me what to expect, but I was seventeen (if you know what I

For some strange reason my dad had half the money until the was working, so my mate soon over and gave me my first in stripping the Arrow engine. I admit to being impressed the design — taking the out was a quick and easy job, and be done with the engine in the frame. We had no spare Woodruff key and my Dad’s selection of hammers and screwdrivers to use as tools, so we bunged in one of the crankshaft halves from my sacks and slapped it all back

With the engine running, I up the Ј30 for third party insurance and hit the Very nearly forever. It was my lesson in looking over my before changing lanes.

I a mirror with the world’s stem and burbled around in my anorak and yellow open-face

I rode the bike to college day. It was only a couple of from home, so I usually got I was so proud when I parked it in the big with the other bikes.

It sat at the end of a row of Triumphs and Hondas, like malformed offspring of a scooter. never been shown how to a bike, so I developed my own method of the throttle open as I kicked it As a result it never started time.

Or tenth. In fact, I can’t it ever starting until I was in sweat. Being young, it occurred to me that it may not have my anorak or my complexion that the girls away.

Even so, I the use of my legs and rode everywhere. And I went, I left a trail of parts and fasteners. For something as as a stroker twin, an awful lot of seemed to vibrate off the Arial. The cover went first.

The made a few cruel remarks the way the points were sparking in the when I took my test, so I a yoghurt pot over them and it black.

Then the air filter me. I saw this as a Stage 1 tune, and the rubber trunking from the as well. Being a roadwise Dude, I knew I needed so I used an old pair of my sister’s and a few turns of insulating tape to a gauze filter.

The petrol a big hole in the mesh and left the tape, which got soggy and off.

Then the engine making a strange grinding and lost power. After everything else, I removed the cover. The rotor fell out on my The rotor bolt seals the end of the right-hand crankshaft half on the so the right pot had been making no compression.

This was big time but luckily my Dad found a tap of the right to reform the thread, and I put the bolt in with a long spanner and a lot of

The rest of the threadlock I put in the toolkit which sits in the top of the dummy It leaked, and glued all my tools and spark plugs together.

the coils fell off. didn’t matter, as they inside the hollow box frame. them back into spring clips requires a slim hand with two so I just left them to about.

Being young in the of the world, I used to take the apart just to see why it was running so But I was afraid of stripping threads. As a I never tightened anything I’d had the front wheel out for reason, and the handling afterwards was odd.

The bike was all over the unless I used the front in which case it steered again. After a week of doing my own laundry, I discovered the wheel spindle was loose and the was flopping between the fork

The twistgrip had a sharp edge on the so it used to fray the nipple off the end of the cable. Each time it I tidied up the end and re-soldered it. The cable so short that I couldn’t left without accelerating.

One of my morning rituals of running up and the road to start the bike, it caught. I leapt aboard and hard to turn it round. I left. The engine screamed and the neighbor’s garden with I let go of the clutch and reached for the key.

I did my and only doughnut right on the end of our drive — the grumpy who always complained to my Dad about the I made. He wasn’t too impressed the tyre marks, either. Or the

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I’d put in some long in the garage trying to make the wiring loom work. I got so fed up I replaced one of the main runs a length of three core cable. It ran along the top of the frame, the tank and seat.

To a young lad no money, this was a top bodge I’d replaced three of nasty old wire with a length of (free) three-core

I was about ten miles from when the edge of the sheet dummy tank cut far enough the cable to start an electrical just under my crotch. I up the burned length (of cable) and the edge of the tank with a bit of and all was well again in my world.

this time, I finally down a girl into out with me. Her brother had several so her parents were happy to let her go out on the of mine. Except I could afford more than a gallon of petrol at a time. I to get my half gallon and a shot of oil at the of the week, and take her out on Saturdays. We to go to a pub out in the sticks, and I’d be stopping mile and tipping the bike to get the dregs into the carb.

We got home, but I have no idea At least she had a sense of humour.

I that I did just once the tank, when I took a (a different one) on the back to This was nearly twenty away, so the investment seemed We got halfway there and the bike power. This time it was a spark plug thread. We to nurse it on one pot to an engineering shop, who did me a on the spot.

Probably to be rid of me.

It was after this that I left the bike for a few days. Come Saturday, I on and thrashed it into town the bypass. I noticed that the overtaking me had their lights on, was strange. It was only when I got to the end of the straight and checked the mirror I realised I couldn’t see the road me. The oil in the tank had settled out, and the had been running on neat with a dash of petrol.

The blue fog covered both of the bypass. I shot up a side parked the bike and vanished for a

There was only one time in my that the Arrow really its stuff. There were a of us with bikes, and one of the lads had a 200 twin. He took a lot of stick for having a Jap. The fact his bike always worked, fast and carried him more in a single journey than we between rebuilds didn’t So, we were off down the pub for lunch, and got the job of ferrying the bikeless one.

He had my full of books, plus his We pulled out onto the main and the lad with the Suzy gassed it and a run for the traffic lights.

I clouted the into first, grabbed throttle and dropped the clutch. A of feet rose past my and over my head. I threw out the and stopped in the road, in time to see my land on the back of his head and into a forward roll. the smoke cleared, he was clutching the of my bike in an amorous crouch. we finally got to the pub, he had ripped my as well as his jeans and jacket.

Still, it must have character forming, because he a BSA Starfire.

Finally sanity, and the to spend more time the girlfriend than the bike, to intrude. I started looking for a A friend at college had a Raleigh moped for sale at Ј15, sounded more practical my wreck. On the way to see it, the Arrow lost the end off its silencers and got a flat rear

Perhaps it knew. I made two new end from cut-down aerosol and sold this rare of solid British pluck to innocent for what it had cost me (or what it had cost my dad).

And if you in a classic bike magazine there are people selling for up to Ј2000. Just make you don’t buy mine.

So what’s the classic bike you’ve owned (or ridden)?

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