Posts Tagged Repairs
So I picked up the frequency counter and found this:
The outer, previously cracked pieces of the faceplate split parallel to the front panel, separating into two layers, and popped free of their mount. The layer closest to the panel remains intact.
The fragments were flexible and the bottom layer was rigid, suggesting the faceplate consisted of two parts, perhaps an acrylic (?) base with a soft silicone (?) poured atop it for armor and scratch protection.
It still works fine and the acrylic (?) layer will suffice for my simple needs, despite being slightly marred by the cyanoacrylate glue I slobbered into the cracks.
I definitely didn’t see that coming…
While installing new underseat packs (about which, more later) on my Tour Easy, I discovered a bight of PTT cable had been touching the top of the chain:
The gentle ripples to the right of the worn-through section seem particularly nice; you couldn’t do that deliberately if you had to.
This section of cable should have been taped to the upper frame bars. It’s hidden under the seat, just in front of the rear fender, and between the under-seat packs, so it’s basically invisible from any angle.
Soooo, that probably explains a bit of the intermittent trouble I’d been having with the PTT switch, although most of it came from the corroded switch contacts.
Rather than replace the whole cable, I cut out the eroded section, spliced the conductors, and taped it firmly back on the tubes.
The handlebar-mounted PTT button for the amateur radio on my bike once again went toes-up, most like due to the accumlation of road dust and rainwater over the years. Rather than replace the switch, which would require peeling off a massive glob of hot melt glue and resoldering the wires, I just carved the tops off the rivets holding the cover in place, pried off the cover, and removed the button to reveal the top of the switch dome:
The dome flexes outward to contact the (rather crusty) terminals on either side, so all the action happens under the dome.
A lineup of the plastic button, the inverted dome, and the cover plate:
The top and bottom of the dome show some grit: that’s where it contacted the switch terminals.
Wiping the crud out of the switch body, scrubulating everything with contact cleaner, and putting it all back together restored the switch to working order. There’s (once again) a snippet of Kapton tape over the cover holding it in place, but I don’t expect this to last very long:
But it works well enough for now …
Mary bought a pair of Revlon tweezers a while ago, picking a Name Brand to avoid hassles with bottom-dollar crap:
Well, that didn’t work.
I contend that the only difference between Name Brands and the bottom-dollar crap I tend to buy is a bit of QC and a lot of price. I’ll agree that’s not strictly true, but it does fit a goodly chunk of the observed data.
I milled a recess into the corner of some scrap plastic to locate the handle end, then arranged a step block to capture the business end:
That setup ensures the holes go into the corresponding spots on both pieces, because I couldn’t figure out how to clamp them together and drill them both at once. I drilled the other piece with its good side up to align the holes; doing it bad side up would offset the holes if they’re not exactly along the center line.
A closer look:
Talk about a precarious grip on the workpiece!
I filed the welds flat before drilling, so the pieces lay flat and didn’t distract the drill.
- Drill 2-56 clearance
- Scuff up mating surfaces with coarse sandpaper
- Apply epoxy
- Insert screws
- Add Loctite
- Tighten nuts to a snug fit
- Align jaws
- Tighten nuts
- Fine-tune jaw alignment
- Apply mild clamping force to hold jaws together
- Wait overnight
- Saw screws and file flush
The clamping step:
Those nicely aligned and ground-to-fit jaws were the reason Mary bought this thing in the first place.
The screw heads look OK, in a techie sort of way:
The backside won’t win any awards:
But it won’t come apart ever again!
There’s surely a Revlon warranty covering manufacturing defects, printed on the long-discarded packaging, that requires mailing the parts with the original receipt back to some random address at our own expense.
Based on having to seal the rear vent hole of the previous earbud, I did the same for the new one:
The audio quality was terrible, so I tried another bud with a foam windscreen over the hole and a hole punched in the middle of the double-sided white foam tape:
The audio remained unintelligible, so I tried an upscale (but still cheap, because surplus) Koss earbud, first without blocking the vents and then with snippets of Kapton tape:
The earphone has three slits on each side, but only the middle slit has a hole penetrating the case; it must be a stylin’ thing.
That sounded better, so I’ll roll with it. There’s supposed to be a foam cover over the housing, but those things always get grody and fall off; there’s not much point.
As nearly as I can tell, contemporary earbud designs optimize for volume (dBm/mV) and thumpin’ bass, all to the detriment of actual audio quality. Based on numerous samples over the years, there is zero correlation between price (admittedly, on the low end) and audio quality (admittedly, with my crappy hearing).
I own a pair of very nice (and thoroughly obsolete) Shure E2c sound-isolating ear beetles that sound great (even with my crappy hearing), but I’m unwilling to chop them up for the bike headset …
The elastic cord behind the left-side under-seat Easy Reacher pack on my Tour Easy snapped some time ago, probably due to wear against the brace I installed to keep it from flopping around. Quite contrary to what I expected, the repair turned out to be almost trivially easy.
The cord terminates in a pair of plastic lugs, each with a ferrule that slipped off under moderate persuasion to reveal a pair of wedges that engaged the cord:
I expected the ferrule to have a positive lock engaging those wedges, but, nope, there’s (at most) a small ridge. Pry the wedges out and the cord slides out of the lug without a protest; the wedges don’t quite meet in the middle with the ferrule in place and there’s plenty of retention force on that flexy cord.
One of the shorter bungie cords in my collection turned out to be exactly the right diameter and length, with ends secured in its hooks using a simple crimped wire. Bending the ends of the wire at right angles freed the cord from its embrace:
The original stainless steel hook lies by the edge of the road along my usual bicycling route, but a slightly reshaped S hook (made, alas, of ordinary steel) fits around the cord well enough. When this one rusts away, I have plenty more.
Insert cord into lugs, push ferrules over locking wedges, remove one ferrule and lug, install reshaped S hook, reinstall lug and ferrule, install new cord on pack:
Install pack on bike: done!
I have no explanation for how well this worked out; I fear the Universe is saving up spit for something truly awful.
Took a picture of the sewing machine setup with the Sony DSC-F717, transferred it into DigiKam, got the “done transferring, you can disconnect the camera” message, believed it, disconnected the camera, deleted the image file, and then discovered that DigiKam mislaid the image file.
Rather than re-set-up and re-take the shot, I followed my own directions and recovered the image from the Memory Stick:
dmesg | tail [43176.079853] usb 2-1.6.3: New USB device strings: Mfr=1, Product=2, SerialNumber=0 [43176.079855] usb 2-1.6.3: Product: Sony PTP [43176.079856] usb 2-1.6.3: Manufacturer: Sony [43198.073652] usb 2-1.6.3: USB disconnect, device number 22 [43333.788533] sd 9:0:0:0: [sdc] 1947648 512-byte logical blocks: (997 MB/951 MiB) [43333.803292] sd 9:0:0:0: [sdc] No Caching mode page found [43333.803299] sd 9:0:0:0: [sdc] Assuming drive cache: write through [43333.824681] sd 9:0:0:0: [sdc] No Caching mode page found [43333.824688] sd 9:0:0:0: [sdc] Assuming drive cache: write through [43333.825491] sdc: sdc1 sudo dd if=/dev/sdc of=/tmp/pix.bin bs=1M ^C615+0 records in 614+0 records out 643825664 bytes (644 MB) copied, 38.5841 s, 16.7 MB/s strings -t x pix.bin | grep Exif | head 68006 Exif 208006 Exif 3f8005 _Exif 7b8006 Exif 13d8006 Exif 15b0005 wExif 1798005 CExif 19c0006 Exif 1b90006 Exif 1f98005 %Exif dd if=pix.bin of=image03.jpg bs=$((16#1000)) count=1K skip=$((16#3f8)) 1024+0 records in 1024+0 records out 4194304 bytes (4.2 MB) copied, 0.0121431 s, 345 MB/s display image03.jpg convert image03.jpg dsc00656.jpg
Obviously, there was a bit more flailing around than you see here, but that’s the gist of the adventure. For what it’s worth,
image01 was a random blurred shot and
image02 is the ID picture I keep on all my cameras.
convert step discards all the junk after the end of the image, so the
dsc00656.jpg file doesn’t include anything unexpected.
The picture isn’t all that much to look at, even after cropping out the background, but …
The advantage of the manual method: renewing one’s acquaintance with tools that come in handy for other tasks.