Ed Nisley's Blog: Shop notes, electronics, firmware, machinery, 3D printing, laser cuttery, and curiosities. Contents: 100% human thinking, 0% AI slop.
The original V-750 pedestal is a threaded bushing around the cylinder that contacts the dosimeter. Hard to make from scratch, but it’s basically a bolt with hole in the middle. I can do that…
A foray into the parts heap produced a copper bolt threaded 1/2″-20 and a matching steel nut. I bandsawed the nut in half, doing a surprisingly good job of cutting it parallel to the surfaces, and filed off the obvious blems. The thin washer fit a 7/16″ bolt until I filed the hole out; the OD is a bit undersized for a 1/2″ head and looks much better in this application.
I grabbed the bolt threads in the lathe and turned down the head for a slip fit in the EMT. Turns out the head wasn’t exactly concentric with the threads, but now the rounded-off hexagon tips are. Drill out the middle for a slip fit around the 11/32″ brass tubing, break the edges, and it’s all good.
Drilling EMT mounting holes in bolt head
The bolt threads need to be barely long enough to go through the aluminum box I’ll eventually mount this thing in and pass through the nut, so I sawed the bolt off to 3/8″, more or less, and cleaned up the end in the lathe.
I thought about soldering the bolt to the EMT shell, but, fortunately, came to my senses before doing any damage. Instead, I drilled & tapped three 4-40 holes in the head that will match with similar clearance holes in the EMT. This is the sort of thing that works really well with “manual” CNC: get the first side lined up, then just type G0 A120 and you’re at the next face. A manual G83 peck drill cycle pokes the hole exactly where it’s needed.
Manual tapping, a bit more edge breaking, some cleanup, and the thing looks pretty good.
Pedestal mount – oblique viewPedestal mount – top view
The cylindrical center of the pedestal must conduct light into the dosimeter, conduct a positive charge into the contact pin, and push that pin hard enough to make contact inside the dosimeter.
The general notion is to turn an acrylic rod to a slip fit inside an 11/32″ telescoping brass tube, glue a wider acrylic disk to the bottom to take up the spring pressure, and run a 4-40 machine screw right down the axis to carry the current. There’s also a screw in the side to prevent the shaft from rotating.
Although the bulk of screw and solderless lug looks like it should block much of the central shaft’s view of the LED in the base, enough light gets around to illuminate the dosimeter’s scale. The acrylic doesn’t need an optically perfect finish, either, as diffuse light works fine.
Turning contact base ringTurning central contact post
I used a hole saw to extract a disk from a piece of acrylic that used to contain one of those crappy desk clocks they give out as awards when money’s too tight to mention. The diameter should be a bit larger than the EMT’s ID so you can turn it to a slip fit.
Chuck the disk up reasonably square and drill out the center to a bit over 11/32″, so the tubing will bear against the rod rather than the base.
The acrylic rod has two slip fits: into the brass tubing and into the disk. Neither will be particularly fussy, so don’t lose much sleep over perfection here. Apply some good solvent adhesive to the rod’s large end and slide it into the disk. Pause for a day while it cures: it’s a big joint.
After it’s cured, chuck up the rod and turn the disk so it’s nice & square & neatly finished.
You’ll need two more disks: one for the pedestal base and another to act as a collet. I made them from 3/8″ polycarbonate sheet, of which I have what may turn out to be a lifetime supply. The base disk will be another slip fit in the EMT, the collet must match the actual OD you just turned on the contact disk. Saw a slot in the collet disk to convert it into a (crude) collet.
Drilling 4-40 clearance hole
The original V-750 pedestal has a nice stamped rod running the length of the central post, but I figured a long 4-40 screw would work as well. However, there’s no reason to thread the entire length of the post, so drill out a 4-40 clearance hole from the disk to within about 1 cm of the other end. This is where the collet disk comes in handy; you can see the saw slit at the bottom, between two jaws.
Take the rod out out and thread the end.
Drilling rotation stop hole
The last step is drilling & tapping a 4-40 hole in the side for the rotation stop screw. This will fit into a corresponding slot in the EMT shell to prevent you from twisting the contact wire off.
Put everything together, with a dab of cyanoacrylate adhesive to keep the brass tubing in place, and you’re done with this part.
Although my V-750 dosimeter charger cleaned up reasonably well, I wanted to see if I could build a high-voltage supply from more-or-less contemporary parts to charge the dosimeters. The circuit is easy enough, but the charging pedestal that connects to the dosimeter turned into an interesting shop project.
V-742 dosimeter charging contact
Pencil-style electrometer radiation dosimeters, like the V-742 shown here, have a charging contact pin embedded in a transparent plastic (?) end cap recessed in the bottom. Inside the dosimeter a mighty spring (or, perhaps, the plastic cap itself) holds the pin outward so that it does not make electrical contact with the gold-coated quartz fiber in normal use.
This baffled me at first, because I did not understand why the charge didn’t just leak off the fiber through the charging pin. In order to dump charge onto the fiber, you must first press the pin inward by about 1 mm against the internal spring: no pressure, no contact, no charge.
Duh…
The dosimeter’s innards must be kept scrupulously clean and full of dry air. After you pull the pin out to admire it, the dosimeter won’t hold a charge ever again. I yanked the pin out of a dosimeter that simply didn’t work and, after a bit of fiddling, the dosimeter can now be set to zero, but the charge leaks off in a matter of hours rather than days.
Charging contact pedestal
The V-750 charging pedestal has an outer sleeve (the negative contact) and a central pin (the positive contact) that fit neatly into the end of the dosimeter. The pin stands about 2 mm proud of the plastic insulator that pipes light into the dosimeter to illuminate the scale. The sleeve, insulator, and pin move as a single unit: the dosimeter presses them down into the V-750 against two stacked springs.
A 1-lb spring holds the insulator in place by pressing the whole cylinder outward against its shoulder. The charger turns on when the dosimeter reaches that spring’s limit of travel at about 1 mm, but it’s not firm enough to press the dosimeter pin into contact with the quartz fiber. That’s the position you use to read the dosimeter: the light is on, but the fiber won’t move yet.
In order to charge the fiber, the dosimeter must move down an additional 3 mm against an 8-lb leaf spring until it seats against the pedestal’s threaded shell. Holding the dosimeter steady against that pressure while twiddling the voltage knob to adjust the dosimeter fiber to the zero point of the scale is more challenging than you might expect: grab it in your fist and hold on tight. It’s a good idea to wear glasses, as the dosimeter optics provides maybe 5 mm worth of eye relief: you can easily poke yourself in the eye with the fool thing if your grip loosens.
So, basically, a new charging pedestal must include a shell that meets the dosimeter’s body and a central shaft consisting of a sliding outer sleeve, a transparent insulator, and a central pin. The shaft must be pushed against the dosimeter by a really stiff spring to close the charging contact.
Maybe it’s just me, but all of the laser pointers I’ve bought, even the relatively spendy ones, have crappy switches and unstable battery contacts.
For example, this is the business end of a $12 (!) pen-style pointer. The battery contact was off-center and poorly secured; I pried the white plastic retainer out, bashed the spring into submission, and replaced the retainer with a length of heat-shrink tubing. It wasn’t pretty.
This pointer has an actual mechanical switch module inside, with a clicky mechanism actuated by the external button. Cheaper pointers seem to rely on bare PCB contacts bridged by the button’s base. Ugh.
Laser pointer battery orientation: positive DOWN
Memo to Self: The AAA cells fit into the housing with the positive terminal away from the laser head. The white plastic plug has a molded cross that could be mistaken for a + symbol, but it’s not.
Mary recently replaced her well-worn REI packs with a pair of Novara Transfer panniers, chosen because they’re just about the biggest packs available without insanely specialized world-touring features. They seem rather less rugged than the older ones, so it’s not clear how long they’ll last.
They fit her Tour Easy recumbent fairly well, but there’s always a bit of adjustment required.
Ramp on front edge of lower clamp rail
She hauls tools and clothing and veggies to & from her gardens, food from the grocery store, and the Token Windows Laptop to presentations. She brings the packs inside, rather than leave them on the bike, so they get mounted & dismounted for every ride.
The packs hang from the top bar of the rear rack, with a sliding clamp near the bottom of the pack that engages the rack’s vertical strut. I adjusted the clamp to the proper fore-and-aft position, but we found that the front end of the rail holding the clamp jammed against the seat support strut. That’s not a problem found on a diamond-frame bike.
The top picture shows the solution: Mr Pack, meet Mr Belt Sander. A ramp chewed onto the front end of the rail lets it slide neatly over the strut and all is well. The only trick was to avoid sanding through the pack fabric: the line perpendicular to the rail is sanding dust, not a gouge!
Acorn nut caps inside pack
Each top rack hanger mounts to the plastic pack frame with three bolts covered by plastic acorn nuts on the inside; the acorns cover actual metal nuts, so it’s a lot more secure than it looks. Three more bolts secure the bottom rail to the frame, with three more acorns poking into the pack, for a total of nine acorn nuts.
Most folks carry clothing and suchlike in their packs, so the 10 mm bump at each acorn presents no problem. Unfortunately, those things look like a nasty bruising hazard for soft veggies and groceries.
Top hanger pad – outside view
I sliced up some closed-cell foam packing material (everybody saves some of that stuff, right?), punched holes at the appropriate locations, and tucked the pads over the acorns. An inner fabric layer covering the frame and nuts should hold the pads in place.
Bottom pads with hole punch
It’s not clear the bottom pads will stay in position, but I wanted to try this without adhesives, mostly because I doubt any adhesive can secure polyethylene foam to whatever plastic the pack frame is made from or coated with. Perhaps double-sided foam tape will work?
I’m in the midst of cleaning up the shop after a winter of avoiding the too-cold basement. The best way I’ve found to pull this off is to pick up each object, do whatever’s needed to put it away, and move to the next object. Trying to be clever leads to paralysis, so I devote a few days to fixing up gadgets and putting tools back in their places. After a while, it gets to be rather soothing.
Broken wire in power screwdriver
Some months ago I snagged a power screwdriver from a discard pile; while it didn’t work, un-bending the battery pack connector solved that. It runs from a quartet of AA cells, which means I can use alkalines and it’ll always be ready to go. It’s not a high-torque unit, so I’m using it for case screws and similar easy tasks.
But it quickly became intermittent and finally would turn only clockwise. Onto the to-do heap it went…
Power screwdrivers consist of a battery, a motor with a planetary gear reduction transmission, and a cross-wired DPDT switch in between. Not much can go wrong and, if it turns at all, most likely the problem has something to do with the switch or wiring.
Opened it up, pulled out the motor, and, lo and behold, one of the wires has broken off the switch. As nearly as I can tell, pushing the switch that-a-way forced the solder tab down on the wire and made the connection, pushing it the other way pulled the tab off the wire.
While I had the hood up, I replaced the wires with slightly thicker and longer ones. Soldered everything back together, mushed the grease blobs back into the planetary gearing, and it works like a champ…
Now, fairly obviously, there’s absolutely no economic sense to this sort of thing, given that the driver probably cost under ten bucks, but I just can’t stand to see a perfectly good gadget wind up in the trash.
I’d love to do this sort of thing for a living, if only I could figure out how to avoid going broke while doing so. Maybe I can get me some of thatmy economic stimulus money that’s sloshing around these days?
With the epoxy cured overnight, I fired up the Sherline CNC mill to poke screw holes in the brass hinge splice.
The first step was to mill a flat-bottomed hole in the lower surface of the thin brass to expose the threaded hole in the remaining hinge plate. I crunched the end of the frame in a machinist’s clamp, then grabbed that in the Sherline milling machine vise; the frame is upside-down in the picture.
The brass stock was 0.015 inches, so I milled downward 0.020 inches to get through the epoxy. I’d love to say that worked perfectly, but I had to fiddle around a bit and eventually put a slight divot in the hinge plate.
That alignment was by pure eyeballometric guesstimation, but poking a small epoxy disk out of the threaded hole revealed that the 2 mm milled hole was centered on the hinge hole. Pretty close. Kinda-sorta. Good enough for my purposes, anyway.
Laser alignment to hinge hole
I aligned the spindle to the actual hinge hole with my laser aligner, a process that turned out to be surprisingly easy: note where the red dot vanishes on each side of the hole, split the difference, repeat for the Y axis, and you’re done.
Through-drilling top hole
With the spindle centered, I ran a #60 drill through the threaded hole (which it just barely cleared) and poked a hole in the thicker top plate (which is on the bottom here, remember). The packing under the hinge is a cut-up credit card; a handy source of thin sheets of stiff plastic.
Then I flipped the frame over and drilled out the top hole with a #54 drill to clear the threads on a 00-90 machine screw. I’d like to say I did a precision alignment job, but what I actually did was chuck that little bitty drill up in my big drill press, run it on the slowest spindle speed (maybe 400 rpm), brace my arms on the table, and feed the frame onto the drill by hand. Works perfectly… if only because I’m enlarging the hole by, what, 7 thou on each side.
Finished hinge – top view
A bit of filing cleaned up the drill chaff inside the hinge so I could mount the earpiece on the frame and screw it in place. I don’t have a 00-90 tap and wouldn’t use it in a titanium frame anyway, so you can tell this isn’t going to have a happy outcome, but, by and large, the undoubtedly metric threads in the frame did a pretty good job of re-forming the 00-90 brass threads. Ugly, but serviceable.
Some Dremel-tool work with an itsy grinding wheel on the flexy shaft eroded the back side of the U-shaped brass and new hinge plate to clear the earpiece; I think it only took half a dozen trial fittings & tiny grindings before the earpiece folded properly.
A dab of low-strength purple Loctite in the threads and I’d say that screw is in there for life!
Finished hinge – side viewFinished hinge – bottom view
Then I cleaned it up with a miniature wire wheel and, hey, it’s got a certain geeky charm, doesn’t it?
I have my doubts about how well the epoxy affixes itself to the brass, so I suspect I’ll be drilling a hole or two to mechanically lock it in place with some urethane adhesive when it falls off.
If the remaining hinge plate fractures, however, then the frame is toast.
Until I get around to having the optical shop dye up another pair, these should suffice for my simple needs.
Trivia:
The plastic film on the lenses comes from a big roll of the stuff they use to protect CRT monitors in shipping. Works great for shop projects and, back in the day, I used it when I was hauling monitors around. I think it’d suck the front right off an LCD panel, so I haven’t used much of it lately.
If you’re following the pictures, you’ll notice that the dsc* numbering series resets right in the middle of the story. That’s where my Sony camera gagged while writing an image and explains why I don’t have pix of the first drilling steps.
The color balance is weird on the milling machine pix because the shop lights are much cooler than the warm compact fluorescent bulb hovering over the table.
The Smell of Molten Projects in the Morning 