ARIEL VH 500
Somehow, Ariel suggested that their bikes were more ‘high class’ than others, but were they? Frank Westworth considers a Red Hunter…
Somehow, Ariel suggested that their bikes were more ‘high class’ than others, but were they? Frank Westworth considers a Red Hunter…
My relationship with Ariels has been long, and it has been contradictory and occasionally strained. I’ve ridden loads of them down the years, and enjoyed riding every single one – apart from an Arrow which had even less brakes than they usually do. Mind you, it ran so badly that it would only need brakes if pointing down a steep hill. The first – a ride I’ll never forget – was on a Huntmaster, which was the most awesome, terrifyingly fast and raucous machine I could imagine. The only other bikes I’d ridden at that point were a 2-stroke Panther, a C15 and a Vespa scooter. Times change.
For quite a while, back in the pre-classic days of the 1970s, I gradually – only twenty years too late – began to understand that Ariel had sold their bikes around some notion of upper-crustiness. Their ads, even in the grimly monochrome 1950s, depicted cheps in tweed and gels in floral dresses, while they often finished the machines in a shade of red only someone with a vanity issue could describe as ‘claret’. Sadly, by the time of my insolent youth, my more knowledgeable biker buddies reckoned that Ariels were like Velocettes; no country for young men.
The breakers had a lot of them piled up awaiting the ravagers, a remarkable lot, given that Ariel’s sales couldn’t have been anywhere near those of BSA and Triumph, their Midlands stablemates. But they did, and they were cheap as a result, which meant that my impecunious pals built them into specials, rather than using BSA frames. Think TriBSA, but with rectangular-section swinging arms. Think of the days when young guys could build pretty much anything out of anything, provided it was cheap, which Ariels were. Triumph engines were relatively expensive, so we used others sometimes. What do you call an Enfield 500 twin engine in an Ariel swinging arm frame? Peculiar, is what. We couldn’t believe that an engine so huge could be‘only’ a 500. But it was. Heavy and slow too.
Times moved on. I rode lots of Ariels, but actually owning one proved problematic. I always enjoyed riding them; solid, well made, excellent engine characteristics to match the docile steering and accurate handing. None of them was rapid – it is not easy to be rapid when you ring the changes through a Burman gearbox, where uphill progress could be seriously stunted by the gaps between the gears. But … I enjoyed pretty much all of them. Every time I borrowed an Ariel – be it a single, a twin or a four, I wanted to own one of my own, usually thinking they might add a touch of claret class to my more porridgy preferences, AJS twins. Oh … and Matchless, if you must. Buy them I did. It was very easy to buy old Brits back then, not least because most of them were cheap and Ariels were cheaper than many others – on a par with the AMC machines of my preference. A Huntmaster. I have a passion for the slightly odd 650 twins. My first had no engine, but that was not a worry, because I knew where the original engine was … snag was that the owner refused to sell it to me. I have no idea why. A personal dislike, perhaps. It happens. Which is how I bought a VH 500 single engine from a very nice man (he was; as is the way of things we met up relatively recently, and he announced himself as Mr Crowther from Ipstones, and I instantly knew who he was, despite having met only once in maybe 1978). I never built the bike – swapped it for a BSA A7 in bits, which I did build. It was horrible. There were several other Ariels. Singles, twins and fours – the Square Four was the reason I gave in and acquired a mobile phone. It was the least reliable bike I can remember, although whenever friends borrowed it, it rewarded them with exemplary reliability. That personal dislike thing again, maybe. It’s continued forever: I’ve not had an Ariel on the road since about 1997. No reason, that’s just how it’s worked out.
What has this got to do with the photos hereabouts? I borrowed this machine by accident. A very late VH, a 500 single. Resplendent in someone’s interpretation of Ariel claret. Remarkably, the previous owner had enjoyed a drop of claret so much that he’d painted the cylinder barrel in the same colour. I felt that a little excessive at first, but it grows on you.
In fact, I’d popped over to Northamptonshire – Irthlingborough, no less – to borrow a Velocette so I could write up a story about … a Velocette. I did that. With my customary Velocette enthusiasm well to the fore. That was an attempt at humour. I’ve never, ever been able to start Velocettes – apart from the twins, and that day’s test victim was a Venom.
My host for the day – another very nice man called Ernie – suggested that I could console myself by borrowing the Ariel. So I did. And I was indeed consoled, such is the way of Ariels.
This is a 1959 VH, a 500 single. Pretty much the last of the line. Take a good look at it. All judgements are personal things, but this less than humble scribe considers Ariel’s late singles to be among the very best looking of 1950s British motorcycles. Although it pains me to admit this, they do exude a certain class, as endlessly trumpeted by their advertising.
And that class is not restricted to the looks of the things. Their engines – as you’d hope – are right at the end of their development cycle and are actually excellent, in temperament as well as in road performance. The machines are great riding machines, with lots of features to attract anyone who does in fact fancy riding their old Brit banger. Simple things, like one of the most stable centrestands in the long history of centrestands. More on that in a moment. The sidestand is also well worth a mention – especially on these very late machines, when the factory decided to fit the otherwise unremarkable leg with a prong to make it simplicity itself to operate from the saddle. This is important to those of us who can be unsteady on our pins.
The seat. So many seats are … strangely uncomfortable. Ariel seats of this generation are glorious. Whenever I rebuild a bike I typically replace the seat – with a late Ariel, recovering the original is always the better bet. Lots more positives which I’ll talk about when I get to the actual riding bit. Because… although these photos were taken (for a CBG feature, strangely enough) a very long time ago, I remember the bike very well. There’s a simple reason for this. As soon as I rode it I needed to buy it. I have always been acquisitive. And here are the reasons why…
Before I ride an unfamiliar bike, I always go for a long walk around it and give it a serious case of The Hard Stare. There’s a reason for this. Some bikes are so poorly prepared, so badly put together that riding them is not a pleasure. I don’t write up stories about bad bikes, simply because there’s no point, no value to you, gentle reader. If a machine has design flaws – also known as character – then that’s another matter entirely. Were this a tale about an Ariel fitted with the odd Anstey Link backside, then that’s a design … ah … feature, not a piece of rubbish preparation. The VH was a delight. Its colour was questionable but unimportant. It didn’t leak. Its cables were all adjusted and its brake levers were at sensible angles, so the shoes themselves were in decent adjustment. I popped off one of the rubber inspection covers fitted to the FERC, and the chain was both adjusted and lubed properly. ‘FERC’? A traditional Ariel joke – Fully Enclosed Rear Chaincase’, simple. Tyres were well treaded and up to pressure – a rare condition for my own bikes, where I am always surprised to discover they’re maybe 25% soft.
Fuel on. Tickle. Observe that there was no air filter. Shame. The mag part of the magdyno is a manual mag, so I pondered whether retarding it was tight wire or slack wire? Asked Ernie the Owner. He shrugged, smiled, wandered away with a spring in his step. So I left the unusual magneto advance lever where it was, applied a firm foot to the kickstart and the engine just rolled into life. Lovely. These are very quiet engines, both mechanically and exhaust wise. The compression ratio is a pleasant 7.5:1, the cam is soft enough, and the bike simply sat there, tick-tocking away while I pulled on gloves and helmet. This is what you might call a great first impression.
The saddle height is listed as being a fairly lofty 31 inches, and the saddle itself is wide, if well shaped at the front. But they don’t feel tall, swinging arm Ariels. The plunger and rigid frames are about four inches lower, so if seat height is a concern, that’s a way to go. Slinging a leg over the saddle is easy, despite the alleged height, and especially as the bike rests easy on its side stand. Which – as I mentioned already – is simplicity itself to retract with just a tip of a toe.
Feel out the controls. Ariel singles are a little unusual in their post-war use of a dry clutch running outside an oilbath primary chaincase. In case you’d ever wondered, this is the reason for the big chrome dome at the back of the chaincase: the clutch lives under there, while the clutch chainwheel lives inside the chaincase, separated by the
outer chaincase half. The reason may well be that the Burman dry clutch – Ariel did not make their own gearboxes or clutches – runs beautifully well. It’s light, progressive and slips not, neither does it drag.
The Burman gear lever – a fine piece of light alloy – lifts up into first, and a little circular indicator rotates to tell you which gear you’re in. I’ve never understood these, surely riders know which gear they’re using? Surely? And I’m unsure why, but I inevitably find myself lifting the lever into first with my heel. Just the first shift while pulling away, after that downshifts are easy with the toes. Strange things, habits.
Softly tuned big singles are a pleasure to use, and the Ariel was no exception. It pulls away easily on a light throttle – pull the wire more and it accelerates more. Simple stuff, but worth remarking on in case some riders still believe that all big bangers are Venoms or Gold Stars. This is the time to work out whether full ignition advance is light wire or slack – the latter in this case. Advancing the ignition once you’re rattling along a little alters the character of the engine a surprising amount: the exhaust note becomes harder and the engine feels smoother, more willing somehow. All classic 1950s stuff.
So there we are, heading off for a little light exercise in the handsome Northants countryside. The riding position – as with AMC machines but not featherbed Nortons – suits me fine. The bars are wide, the controls light, and the handling is excellent – up there with the very best. BSA used the Ariel front fork design, and it’s easy to see why, it works well, unobtrusively and smoothly. Cornering is … leisurely. This is not a racing machine: the rider sits bolt upright in that classic sack o’spuds slump and man and machine lean together. Throwing a machine like this around feels … wrong. It’s a touring machine, with no sporting pretensions at all. You want a sporting single? Ariel would sell you an HT trials or an HS scrambler. This is a tourist, a bike for everyman, every day.
And then we need the brakes. Both anchors are handsome 7-inch sls devices which work very well in theory. Sometimes they work well in practice, too, but not always. They can be – as with BSA/Triumph conical hubs – very variable. These worked reasonably well together, even the front one, which was a relief, because the rear brake is operated by a complex arrangement of crank and cable which appears designed deliberately to waste the rider’s effort. It must be said that there were better brakes around in 1959, not least the excellent 8-inch Norton stopper. However, these worked well enough for main road cruising. Mostly.
And main road cruising is perfectly possible. The speedo needle can be pointed directly downward – an indicated 65mph – while the engine has no trouble maintaining this pace through A-roads. There’s a real riding rhythm to this, and the Ariel is a flexible machine, allowing a very relaxed ride. I loved it, swinging through the miles with hardly any use of the gears or indeed the brakes. It’s easy to forget that a touch of ignition retard stops the revs falling when pulling uphill. I know that it works, but I’ve no idea how. And I don’t care.
Traffic is also completely easy. The ratios are perfectly spaced for traffic, and the brakes work well at town speeds, happily. Sitting upright helps when spotting errant stumblies and myopic motorists both, while the bike is sufficiently unusual to attract enough attention from many other road users.
There’s a terrible tendency to become fixated on the glamourous machines from back then. All flash, glitter, noise and discomfort. It’s also too easy to dismiss gentle tourists like the Ariel in favour of the oddly popular rigid frame / tele fork models, someone told me recently in all seriousness that bikes like this are the very definition of ‘grey porridge’. Once … I might have agreed. No more.
‘Softly tuned big singles are a pleasure to use, and the Ariel was no exception. It pulls away easily on a light throttle – pull the wire more and it accelerates more. Simple stuff…’
The fuel tank is big – 4½ gallons – allowing a keen rider to ride non-stop for around 200 miles, maybe more. And the Ariel VH is that kind of bike. Oddly addictive in a quiet, unassuming, inconspicuous way. The more I rode it, the more I liked it. And when I parked and hefted it onto its centrestand, I liked it some more. Even though the stand’s feet were worn down from their original elliptical cam shape, they still worked well. Better than most of their time.
‘What’s the ticket?’ I asked of a plainly nervous Ernie once I’d returned his bike to the shop. He shook his head.
‘It’s already sold.’ He nodded to a smiling man nearby, who should have been shuffling his feet at this point. Smiling man had watched me ride away and asked what I was doing with the bike and could he have a ride when I returned. Ernie mentioned the Ariel’s imminent magazine guest stardom. And that sold it. Sometimes… you just can’t win.
I’ve owned several Ariels, singles, twins and fours since then. None was as good as this one. The one that got away…