Ed Nisley's Blog: Shop notes, electronics, firmware, machinery, 3D printing, laser cuttery, and curiosities. Contents: 100% human thinking, 0% AI slop.
Some years ago a friend brought a favorite old camera that he’d just rediscovered. As you might expect, the exposure meter battery had long since died and its lid was rust-welded in place. Alas, he’d tried and failed to remove the lid by applying, mmmm, inappropriate tools to the coin slot.
I proposed building a quick-and-dirty pin wrench from an aluminum knob, which requires a matching pair of holes in the lid. Given that the lid was already pretty well pooched, he had no objection.
IIRC, I laid a strip of masking tape over the lid, laid out the holes perpendicular to the slot, then drilled them out by eyeball. The trick is to avoid drilling into the battery; it’s likely all dried out by now, but there’s no reason to release any more of that glop than absolutely necessary.
Battery cover wrench
Then I turned the threaded boss off the bottom of the knob and drilled two slightly larger holes separated by the same distance. This would be ideal for manual CNC, but I didn’t have the Sherline at the time, difficult though that may be to imagine.
When you can’t do precision work, epoxy is your friend.
Lay new tape over the battery lid
Cut two lengths of music wire with a diameter to match the holes in the battery lid using a Dremel abrasive cutoff wheel
Stuff the wire stubs into the holes, wipe off excess epoxy
Jam the pins through the tape into the holes in the battery lid
Wait for a few minutes…
You can see the top pin is slightly offset in its hole, but the epoxy ensures that the pins are an exact fit to the lid. The tape prevents the wrench from becoming one with the battery lid. Not drilling into the battery means the pins bottom out on the battery. Music wire means the pins won’t bend; copper wire doesn’t work in this application.
If you’re good with the Dremel, the pins will be not only the same length, but the proper length. IIRC, I made them a bit long and then trimmed them to fit.
Battery lid removed
When the epoxy cures:
Remove the wrench
Remove the tape
Install the wrench
Twist the lid right off.
Works like a champ!
Much to our surprise, the inside of the battery compartment wasn’t a mass of corrosion and the threads were actually in pretty good shape, all things considered. It’s not clear why the lid was so corroded, but there you have it.
He went home happy… taking the wrench along, although we hope it’ll never be used again.
(I found these pix while I was looking for something else. My close-up technique has improved over the years: a tripod, bright lights, and the smallest possible aperture are my friends.)
Having had both of our commercial antenna mounts fail, I decided to make something that could survive a direct hit. It turns out that the new mounts are utterly rigid, which means the next failure point will be either the antenna mast or its base structure. We’ve occasionally dropped the bikes and when the antenna hits something on the way down, the mount is not the thing that bends…
Incidentally, the Nashbar 5-LED blinky white light aimed rearward seems to push motorists over another few feet to the left. Nobody quite knows what we are from a distance, but they do notice that something is up ahead. That’s just about as good as it gets; we tend to not ride in the wee hours of the morning when bike lights just give drunks an aiming point.
Rough-cut stock
The overall structure is a 2-inch square aluminum extrusion, with a hole in the top that matches the right-angle SO-239 base connector salvaged from the Diamond mount and a 1/2″ nylon stiffener plate in the middle. A pair of relentlessly square circumferential clamps attach it firmly to the top seatback rail. A coaxial cable pigtail ensures that the antenna base makes good electrical contact with the seat. I’m not convinced the bike makes a good counterpoise, so we’re now using dual-band antennas that are half-wave on VHF.
Stainless-steel hardware holds everything together, as I’m sick and tired of rust.
Drilling box beam
Not having a huge drill, I helix-milled the SO-239 hole, then reached down through the box to drill the hole for the plastic block retainer screw. Flip the box in the vise, drill four holes for the clamps (I love manual CNC for that sort of thing), manually deburr the holes, and it’s done.
The block of plastic is a tight slip fit inside the box extrusion, with slightly rounded corners to suit. I milled the slot across the top to a slip fit around the SO-239 connector.
The two clamps were the most intricate part of the project and got the most benefit from CNC.
Helix-milling the seat-bar clamp
The clamp hole must have exactly the same diameter as the seat top tube. I helix-milled the hole to an ordinary 5/8″; I have trouble drilling holes that large precisely in the right spot with the proper final diameter. Milling takes longer, but the results are much better.
Helix-mill the other block while you have the position set up, then flip and reclamp to drill the pair of holes that match the box extrusion. Drill 10-32 clearance (#9) all the way through.
Flycutting the Clamp Slit
Bandsaw the blocks in half, paying some attention to getting the cut exactly along the midline, then flycut the cut edge to make it nice & shiny & even. That should result in 1 or 2 mm of slit between the blocks when they’re clamped around the seat rail.
Finished seat-bar clamps
Break those relentlessly sharp edges & corners with a file.
I finagled the dimensions so a 1-1/2″ socket-head cap screw would have just enough reach to fill a nut, with washers under the screw and nut. Your mileage may vary; I’ve gotten reasonably good at cutting screws to length.
Normally, you tap one side of each clamp for the screws, but in this situation I didn’t see much point in doing that: the box must attach firmly to the clamps and I was going to need some nuts in there anyway.
Finished parts
With all those parts in hand, assembly is straightforward. Secure the SO-239 with its own thin nut, screw the plastic block in place, hold the clamps around the seat bar, poke the cap screws through, dab some Loctite on the threads, install nuts, and tighten everything. That all goes much easier with four hands!
The grounding braid fits into a huge solderless connector that must have been made with this application in mind. It originally fit a 1/2″ lug, but with enough meat that I could gingerly file it out to 5/8″ to fit the SO-239 inside the aluminum extrusion. I’ve had those connectors for years without knowing what they were for!
I eventually came up with a simpler and even more ruthlessly rugged mount that’ll appear in my column in the Autumn 2009 Digital Machinist. More on that later… [Update:There]
We used Diamond K540KM truck mirror-bracket antenna mounts clamped to the top seatback rail on our Tour Easy recumbents for several years, but they weren’t entirely satisfactory. The vibration from our ordinary on-road bike rides (a TE isn’t an off-road bike!) fractured the stamped-steel base after four years.
Antenna Bracket Repair
I fixed that by screwing a steel plate across the crack. It became obvious that these mounts weren’t suited to the application when the second mount failed shortly thereafter.
Broken Diamond K540KM Antenna Mount
But we kept using them and, as you might expect, Mary’s mount failed in the middle of a 350-mile bike ride when the die-cast support dingus broke. The fresh granular metal fracture looks dead white in the picture.
I lashed the pieces together with a multitude of cable ties and we completed the mission. When I rolled our bikes into the Basement Laboratory Bike Repair Wing after returning home, the mount on my bike failed.
These mounts aren’t intended for “high vibration” applications and, it seems, bicycles produce much higher vibration than trucks. I’m certain that the frequency range is higher, although I’m not sure about the amplitude.
Obviously, it was time for something better… which meant some quality shop time. More on that tomorrow.
Mary dropped a pair of her sunglasses that disintegrated on impact: both earpieces broke off. She has trouble finding sunglasses that fit, so this is not to be taken lightly…
The sunglasses had interchangeable lenses, a feature which she’d never used, and the lower of the two tabs that snapped into the earpieces had broken off — on both sides, simultaneously. These weren’t high-snoot items, but they were name-brand: Rudy Project from, IIRC, nashbar.com.
Peering through the microscope, it turns out that the lens material may have been pretty good optically, but wasn’t up to the mechanical task: the two remaining tabs had deep stress cracks. The right-side picture shows the lens upside-down, as that was the easiest way to set up the shot.
Notice the many, many cracks that penetrate nearly all the way through the tabs. The tabs didn’t break because she dropped the glasses on the floor, they broke because there was barely anything left holding the tabs in place.
Mind you, she’d never removed the lenses from the earpieces, so this isn’t a case of failure-from-overuse, either. They’re about a year old, more or less, and have been used in stressful tasks like gardening and the occasional bike ride.
Urethane adhesive foam-in-place
I slobbered urethane glue into the ends of the earpieces to mechanically lock the remaining tabs in place and fill all the voids. It looks rather ugly here, but the excess adhesive simply snaps off because it doesn’t chemically bond with either of the other two plastics.
Rudy sunglasses stress cracking – center
After screwing everything back together again, I noticed that there’s another stress crack growing in the middle of the lens, just over the nosepiece. These sunglasses are not long for this world: that failure will be an end-of-life event.
The frames claim “Designed in Italy” which doesn’t win any points with me; the design is fundamentally flawed.
Yo, Rudy, how about designing some sunglasses with a high-tech feature like durability… rather than style?
Oh, yeah, I suppose this repair voids the Warranty. Perhaps buying from Nashbar on sale triggers this clause: “Buying Rudy Project sunglasses, goggles or helmets from an online retailer at a price below the suggested retail price (MSRP) voids your warranty.” The expense of sending them in negates any possible benefit, which I’m sure they realize, too.
Our daughter has been helping a friend learn to ride a bike (at age 15: it’s never too late!) and we’ve been rehabilitating a new-to-her bike in the process. It’s an inexpensive Ross bike, perfect for the task at hand, and is providing a good introduction to machine-shop work.
The fact that it’s much older than she is makes not a whit of difference. Nay, verily, I rode a bike pretty much like this one for hundreds & hundreds of miles back in the day. I got better ones when I could afford them and she will, too; maybe we’ll tempt her into a recumbent bike some day…
Anyhow, the seat tended to spin around even with the clamp cranked dangerously tight. Taking a look down the tube showed that they used welded-seam tubing (it really was an inexpensive bike) and didn’t bother to clean up the internal seam. As a result, the chromed steel seat post rested on maybe three small patches of metal that didn’t provide much friction at all.
I wrapped a neodymium magnet in a rag and stuffed it down the tube to catch the filings, then applied a coarse cylindrical file (a rat-tail would work as well) to the seam. When it was nearly flush, I switched to a finer file to smooth it and the other high spots. The picture shows the improved seam, ready for the seat post. Ugly, but rough is actually a Good Thing in this situation.
Seat Clamp Swaging
The seat tube has a nominal 1-inch OD, so I clamped a random round from the heap in the vise, tapped the clamp around it, and massaged it lightly with a hammer to persuade it into a more cylindrical shape. It’s still not perfect, but at least the bolt lugs engage the seat tube around the slit somewhat better.
With all that in hand, the seat post is now perfectly secure.
On her first “I can ride!” parking-lot outing, she experimentally determined that a bicycle wheel’s lowest-energy state resembles the edge of a potato chip. Fortunately, it was the front wheel and, after a bit more shop derring-do than one might wish, we swapped in another wheel that’s been hanging on the garage wall for a decade, ready for just such an occasion.
Remember how independent your first bike made you feel? It’s working that way for those two, just like it did for us. Life is full of bumps and they’ll get hurt every now and then, but there’s no other way to get through it; they’re just about ready to ride over the horizon.
Happy Independence Day for those of us in the USA!
I managed to jam the 3-jaw chuck on my lathe by turning the lathe on without the formality of snugging the chuck against the spindle first; IIRC, there was maybe 1/8″ clearance. The resounding thunk when the irresistible force hit the immovable object was the prelude to about a year of increasingly desperate attempts to remove the chuck, punctuated by long periods of despair.
The absurd derring-do with clamping the 4-jaw Sherline chuck in the 3-jaw lathe chuck described there finally prompted me to ask my buddy Eks for advice, which is what I should have done in the first place. He suggested removing the chuck body from its backplate, building a lever that bolted to the backplate with the same six bolts as the chuck, blocking the spindle with wedges under the belt pulley, and wailing on the lever with a lead hammer.
We wondered if a hard hammer would be better than the lead hammer, perhaps because the impact would be less squishy, but that was in the nature of fine tuning.
The key idea is that removing the chuck body also removes a tremendous amount of rotational inertia, so that wailing on the lever arm actually transfers force / impact directly to the backplate, rather than trying to spin the body. The somewhat risky part is that there’s a pin connecting the spindle with the drive pulley (it’s disengaged when using the back gears), so that it’s entirely possible to break the pin rather than unstick the chuck. But it was still a better idea than any I’d had so far.
Stuck backplate
Making note of the witness marks on the backplate and chuck body, I removed the body. Fortunately, there was just enough clearance between the front bearing journal and the backplate that I could get the bolts out without dismantling anything else.
That left me with the rather grody and still firmly stuck backplate. The bolt disk was brazed onto the threaded cylinder with a keyway. Although the chuck body had a key slot, it looks like the matching key had been machined off of the cylinder, so the bolts were taking all the cutting torque. Worked OK for both the previous owner and for me, so I suspect it’ll continue to work just fine for the next owner, too.
Bicycle handlebar stem in spindle
Peering through the spindle reminded me of some recent bike repairs and it occurred to me that maybe, just maybe, a old-skool split-wedge handlebar stem would get enough traction inside the spindle to hold it in place. Some rummaging in the Bike Junk box produced just such a stem and it fit exactly into the spindle bore. Now the spindle is fixed in place by its ID and there’s no risk of breaking the locking pin or (shudder) the back gear.
Even better, the lumber pile emitted a chunk of 1×4 (actual dimensions!) wood that was precisely the correct length to reach from the floor to the stem. I like it when projects work like that; finding exactly the right stuff in the pile is sort of an omen that things are going well.
Fundamental rule: always start with a hunk of something that looks a lot like what you want to end up with.
Corollary: ya gotta have stuff!
Coordinate-drilling the lever arm
Some rummaging in the parts heap turned up several feet of nice “angle iron”, so I bandsawed off a hunk. I should have realized something was wrong when a foot of teeth stripped right off the saw blade, but I ascribed that to, oh, maybe weakening a few teeth when I soldered up the blade.
I had our daughter run the trig to generate coordinates for the six holes, then lay out the center bore and bolt holes on the plate for practice. Drilling the first hole prompted me to resharpen the drill, but poking the remaining five holes into that plate produced vast clouds of wood smoke from the sacrificial plate underneath, despite boiling copious quantities of cutting fluid off the top.
I finally admitted defeat when the “angle iron” rubbed the teeth right off a 2-inch hole saw.
As nearly as I can tell, that plate is un-machinable stainless steel, hand-forged by the Devil himself specifically to taunt me, and is good for nothing. Obviously, I hadn’t used it for anything in the years it had been in my pile and, perhaps as an omen, it didn’t have any other holes in it from anybody else’s efforts. I’ll keep the pieces around just to sneer at them; won’t get fooled again.
So, at this point, I am out a bandsaw blade, a drill bit, and a hole saw. We won’t discuss the circle cutter or my abortive attempt to lash the damn thing down to the Sherline and perform helix-milling upon it.
Unstuck backplate with beating bolt
While licking my wounds, I wondered if the bolt circle on the backplate would provide enough lever arm to make any difference. I tightened a sacrificial bolt & nut with one face of the bolt aligned along a radius from the spindle center, then deployed a big drift punch and the two-pound ball-peen hammer (a.k.a., The BFH).
A half-dozen good shots later, the backplate spun free. Notice the very small gap between spindle and backplate… that’s all it takes!
I added a closed-cell foam washer to fill the gap between the backplate nose and the butt end of the chuck; there was a remarkable amount of crud built up in there.
I am so happy that it even makes up for the death toll among the tools…
It’s worth noting that the headstock has two honkin’ big bronze spindle bearings, no delicate balls, and a few mighty thwacks didn’t do them a bit of harm.
While replacing the rear derailleur on Mary’s Tour Easy, I rediscovered that I have two different cable sizes in my stash: large brake cables and small derailleur cables.
The large ferrules are 0.235 inches in diameter, the smaller 0.187 inches. The brazed-on cable-stop sockets are obviously sized for the larger ferrules, which makes perfect sense.
If you put a small ferrule in a large stop, it tends to cant whichever way the cable pulls it. That results in the cable sawing into the edge of the ferrule… and that results in excess friction and sometimes a broken cable.
In the past I’ve snipped out little brass shimstock rectangles, wrapped them around mandrels, and generally spent a lot of time fiddling around. This time I remembered to rummage in my collection of brass tubing cutoffs, which yielded a pair of very-nearly-perfect slip fit pieces that neatly adapted the small ferrules to the large stops.
Rear shift cable with modified ferrules
Life is good…
I have no idea what the cables look like on weight-weenie exotic-frame bikes. For sure, this isn’t a trick for hydraulic disk brakes.
Incidentally, the cable housing length worked out to 130 mm. Neither of the charts in the SRAM X.7 instructions matched the TE’s butt end; the seat stay angle is halfway between what’s normal for diamond-frame bikes. So we picked a reasonable length and it seems to be OK.
The Smell of Molten Projects in the Morning 