Javelins Cuckoo Clocks Hearts of Palm Windshield Wipers
The sport of javelin throw dates back to the olympics in ancient greece. The athlete sprints down a runway and just before reaching a line on the ground, hurls the javelin forward. For the throw to count, the athlete can't step over the line and the javelin has to land point-first in the ground. This modern javelin consists of a long, hollow tube and a point. The tube portion is called the shaft. This company uses strong, lightweight aluminum, but javelin shafts can also be made of steel or carbon fiber. The tube is 1.2 inches in diameter. It first goes into a taper machine, where forming dies narrow the back end to very specific dimensions. The taper profile varies by model but has to conform to international rules. After making the exact end of the taper, they slice off the excess tubing. The shaft is now its final length-- 7.2 feet for a woman's model and 8.5 feet for a men's. A straightening machine sandwiches the shaft between two hydraulic cylinders. They apply extreme pressure, straightening any large bends. This is just a preliminary straightening. The final one comes later. Next, working strictly by eye, a specially trained technician sands the shaft, fine-tuning it to a very precise diameter and weight. The javelin's point section is made of steel tubing that's a hair wider than the shaft. After tapering the front, they saw off the excess, making the point around 12 inches long. Now for the point's steel tip that jabs into the ground. They position it in a holder, place the point body behind it, then weld the two parts together. To make the point more aerodynamic, they sand down the weld line until it's flush with the surrounding steel. Using progressively finer grits of sandpaper, they polish away any imperfections until the point is perfectly smooth. Now for the final assembly. The shaft is sporting two coats of paint, and the point is nickel-plated to rustproof the steel. They mark how far up the shaft the point will go and slip it on temporarily. As the javelin pivots precisely where international rules dictate, they add pieces of lead until the javelin balances. Then all the components go on a scale to ensure their combined weight abides by international rules-- 1.3 pounds for a women's javelin, 1.8 pounds for a men's. Next they squirt a little glue inside the point and drop the chunk of lead inside. They drop in some knotted cord and ram it in with a metal rod. This packs in the lead so it won't rattle around. They use glue to adhere the point to the shaft. They drive home the point, so to speak, by throwing the javelin against a lead slab. The force of impact pushes the point into its final position. Now they recheck the javelin's overall weight. If it's underweight, they simply tape some sheet lead to the center of gravity, where the handgrip will hide it. Using a gauge to measure the grip's permissible length, they mark the grip position at the center of gravity, then mount the javelin on a lathe and coat the marked area in glue. They wind cotton cord around the shaft over the glue. Before cutting the end, they verify the length of the grip with the gauge. They apply two decals-- one bearing the company name, the other a safety warning. But no seal of approval just yet. The javelin still has to undergo a final straightening. This takes an expert eye and a small hand-operated press to straighten out any bends. It's all a question of aerodynamics. The straighter the javelin, the more likely it is to go the distance. The black forest region of southwest germany is world-famous for its cuckoo clocks, which have either one-day or eight-day movements, meaning that's how long they run on one winding. The standard feature is a little bird that emerges and cuckoos when the clock strikes. Some clocks also play music and have moving figures. the intricate carvings that decorate many cuckoo clocks start out as a block of linden, a soft wood that's easy to carve. An artisan first outlines the basic shape using a stencil and paint, then cuts it out with a jigsaw. Here he's cutting three blocks at once. To steady the piece, he mallets it to nails protruding from a block of wood. Then he begins carving, using up to 50 different knives to sculpt exceptionally fine detail. The clock cases these carvings decorate are made of pine or plywood, depending on the model. Often a case has no carving at all. Instead, an artist paints an elaborate design. Some cases feature a combination of painting and carving. The technical artistry is on the inside. The clock's brain, called the movement, is a system of brass and steel gears. It keeps time and triggers the cuckoo function. The components and configuration vary according to whether it's a one-day or eight-day movement. Workers sandwich the movement between two brass plates, connecting them at the corners with long screws. Then on the outside, the install the mechanism that times the chime. Next the steel wire on which the cuckoo bird will perch. Then last but not least, the reels that will move the clock hands. The factory runs every finished movement for two days straight to ensure it functions perfectly. The first part that goes on the clock case is the dial. They tack it with tiny nails. Next, the wooden cuckoo bird. They insert the movement's perch wire through a hole in its foot, then secure it with a screw so he doesn't fly off. After trimming his tail so he'll fit, they screw the movement, bird and all, inside the case. Next, the steel wires that operate the components that produce the cuckoo sound. We'll see them shortly. And, finally, the dial's wooden hands. Every cuckoo clock has two chains that regulate the speed at which the movement gears turn. As we see here in slow motion, an automated machine makes these chains one link at a time by first cutting, then bending pieces of brass wire. Each chain goes into the case through a hole in the bottom, then onto a wheel in the movement, then back out through another hole in the bottom of the case. "s" hooks go onto the ends. These will hold cast-iron weights that pull the chain. Workers rig up a small wire connecting the bird and the door. This opens the door when he comes out to cuckoo. as this demonstration shows, the bird's cuckoo is actually the sound of air pumping in and out of two miniature bellows. Before each cuckoo, the hammer on the end of this steel wire hits a tiny gong. The number of gong cuckoos indicates the hour. After connecting the bellows to the movement, there's just one step left-- running a wire from the movement through the bottom for the pendulum. The technical choreography can now begin. Winding up the clock raises the chain, pulling up the weight on the end. As the weight falls back down gradually, it pulls the chain, which turns the movement, which drives the hands of the clock. The pendulum regulates the pace. At this factory, a clock gets the seal of approval only after a two-day test run during which it must perform impeccably. It's this attention to detail, both artistic and technical, that makes these traditional german cuckoo clocks such timeless treasures. heart of palm is a vegetable that comes from certain species of palms. It doesn't grow on the plant the way fruits and vegetables usually do. Rather, it's the soft, edible inner core of the stems. Harvesting palm stems and then processing them to extract the heart is very labor-intensive, which is why this delicious vegetable is a delicacy. Life for this tropical vegetable begins in the farm's nursery, where they plant a palm seed in a pot of soil. After a couple of weeks, they transplant the seedling into a bag, and the seedling grows. Life in the nursery is one of routine-- scheduled feedings of fertilizer, regular weeding, and a daily shower. After about three months, that little seedling has matured into a plant that's strong enough to go into the field. Workers remove it from the bag gently, careful not to harm the roots. Then they plant it in loose soil. After about a year and a half of field growth, it's time for the first harvest. Using a machete, the harvester grabs and chops off the main stem. One of the remaining smaller stems will become the new main stem and be ready for harvesting in about six months' time. This cycle continues for about a decade. After cutting off the stem, the harvester strips the bark. This exposes a shell underneath that protects the palm heart at the core of the stem from damage and dehydration. Later the factory will slice off this shell like so to extract the heart. Once the stems arrive at the factory, they go into a basin of water immediately. This prevents dehydration. Next workers load them on a conveyor belt, lining the bases right up against the edge. Someone else, meanwhile, clicks a counter to tally the number of stems passing by. The conveyor belt transports the stems to a circular saw that slices off a portion of the base. Next workers slide each stem across a razor-sharp blade, slicing open the shell that encases the heart. With a quick twist, the shell comes off, and they place the heart on a conveyor above. Further down the line, the hearts run against another circular saw, which slices off what's left of the base. Next a row of saws spaced six inches apart cuts each stem into pieces. Now the hearts of palm are just the right size for packaging. In the field, the stems' bark and outer shell acted as a dirt barrier. Still, the hearts get a rinse in cold water before going into the jar. Each jar has to contain a specific weight and number of pieces, so it goes on a scale, and, if necessary, a worker adjusts the weight by swapping a piece for one of a different size. The jars now move onto a machine that fills them with brine, a special recipe of water, salt, and citric acid that acts as a preservative. The brine-filled jars then go into a hot-steam machine. It heats the liquid for about 10 minutes, almost to the boiling point. This forces all the air out of the hearts, preparing them for pasteurization. On the way to the pasteurization chamber, the jars pass through a capping machine, then under an ink-jet printer head, which applies the lot number and product expiration date. Now it's into the pasteurization chamber for an hour and a half. This intense heat, 207 degrees fahrenheit, kills off any microorganisms lurking inside the jars. After a one-week quarantine period to ensure the hearts of palm don't deteriorate in any way, the jars are ready for labeling. The brine and pasteurization combined give the sealed container a four-year shelf life, so whether served alone, in a salad, with pasta or rice, these hearts of palm are guaranteed to be as fresh as they are tasty. The first windshield wipers were invented in the early 1900s by a woman who got the idea from watching a trolley driver wipe the sleet off the windshield with his hands. After 1920, wipers became standard equipment on all cars. Today, even the space shuttle has them. These windshield wipers all have a rubber wiping blade. To make it, workers load natural rubber into a mixer that breaks it down into fine grains. Then they add powdered carbon to the rubber and leave it to mix. After several hours, a worker cuts the rubber away from the mixer and feeds it into a heat-treating machine. Next the natural-rubber strips enter an extrusion machine, which will combine them with the strips of synthetic rubber. The rubber extrudes through this steel die to form a continuous profiled band. The rubber band cools in a salt bath before it's cut into lengths, then split in half to form two wiping blades with a clean, sharp edge. The blades go through a spray of graphite to reduce friction, then drop onto a grate to dry out. The rubber is so smooth, it's hard to grasp, so workers must insert each blade by hand into an assembling machine. In the center of the wiper blade is an opening into which a machine will insert a metal tension strip. It serves to press the blade on the windshield and hold its shape. The machine applies pneumatic pressure to literally blow the strips through the length of the blades. This steel coil feeds into a stamping machine that repeatedly cuts and bends it to form brackets. These brackets connect the windshield-wiper blades to the wiper arm and give them the shape they need to wipe on curved windshields. The brackets come out of the machine in rows, still attached to the edges of the coil. Next, the rows of brackets dip into a vat of paint to receive a base coat, followed by two more coats of black paint that will protect them from corrosion for several years. Assemble all these pieces together, and you'll have this complete windshield wiper. Thanks to this machine, it's a fully automated process. First it sets a plastic joint on the smallest brackets, then clips them two at a time onto a larger middle bracket. Next the machine sets an adaptor onto the top-center bracket so the wiper can attach to a variety of car wiper arms. Finally, all the trays on which lie the assembled wiper parts come together as the machine proceeds with the final assembly. Four brackets held by joints branch out from the main center bracket. They hold the wiper blade in eight different places. This design allows a full range of movement to the wiper while applying an even pressure all along the blade-- the key to a clean wipe with no streaking. The completed wipers come off the assembler two at a time. Workers visually inspect the wipers and then test the performance of the blade against a rotating sheet of wet glass. They monitor the amount of friction the blade applies to the glass and gauge its durability. Finally, they test the wipers on an opaque black windshield that reveals just how well they work. With a life-span of more than a million wipes, they're surely the most reliable device on any car.