Ed Nisley's Blog: Shop notes, electronics, firmware, machinery, 3D printing, laser cuttery, and curiosities. Contents: 100% human thinking, 0% AI slop.
The relatively low capacity at 100 mA (black) shows that the boost converter isn’t particularly efficient; the discharge time is long enough that power loss in the booster outweighs the cell’s higher capacity at lower loads.
Surprisingly, the voltage drops to 4.5 V at 500 mA, which is what you should get from a typical USB port. If the device you’re charging expects the nominal 5 V at 500 mA, it will be sorely disappointed. Admittedly, that’s only 10% low, but …
The booster produces only 4.0 V at 1 A, with odd bumps as the cell discharges. Huh?
I know for a fact that my 1.8 A @ 5.0 V Kindle Fire doesn’t even notice it’s plugged into the Powermonkey. The voltage is probably too low to trigger the “External Power, Ahoy!” signal.
Bottom line: it’s not clear this thing actually works for contemporary devices. Maybe newer Powermonkey products behave better?
Here’s a great example of painting yourself into a corner…
Back in the day, I made a voice-only interface that adapted a helmet-mounted electret mic and earbud to an ICOM IC-Z1A HT. A pair of those let us talk companionably as we rode along.
Along comes our daughter, with her shiny-new Technician amateur radio license. I took an early version of the Z1A interface board, force-fitted it into an early version of the machined case that lacked a top, acquired an ICOM W32A HT and another TT3+, did some tweakage, and defined the result as Good Enough. Time passes, she’s promoted to Larval Engineer, goes off to college, and leaves the bike behind (a faired Tour Easy is ill-suited to being left out in the rain and is not a dorm-room-friendly bike).
Knowing that the Z1A on my bike is failing, I get a Wouxun KG-UV3D HT and modify the Z1A interface to match. Then I build an interface PCB for the KG-UV3D, conjure up a nice case (which is why I bought a 3D printer), chop the TT3+ out of the W32A lashup, put everything together, and it’s all good.
Here’s the carcass of the W32A interface in its half-case:
W32A PCB in case
Whereupon our Larval Engineer returns from college and once again needs a radio for her bike. At that point:
The W32A interface now lacks its TT3+.
The W32A PCB doesn’t fit in the Z1A case
The Z1A interface that would fit the W32A radio has the KG-UV3D modifications.
The Z1A radio has failed completely; it no longer even turns on.
Some alternatives:
Get another KG-UV3D, build another interface PCB + case, make it work
Transplant the TT3+ back to the W32A interface
Undo the KG-UV3D mods from the Z1A interface, put it on the W32A
Given that she’s going to vanish in another three months, tops, Choice 1 is out. Although the transplant in Choice 2 seems straightforward, it requires tedious soldering and produces an interface in a partial case.
So Choice 3 it is…
The Z1A board with the KG-UV3D modifications started out like this:
Z1A PCB modified for Wouxun KG-UV3D
Un-modified again and back in its machined case:
Z1A board minus mods – milled case
Buttoned up and ready to roll:
Z1A board on W32A – ferrite core
I put a clamp-on ferrite tumor around the GPS receiver cable to keep RF out of the TT3+, which seems quite sensitive to RFI; the poor thing locked up quite dependably on the bench with 5 W into a long rubber duck antenna, but not into a dummy load. The mobile antenna sits relatively far from the radio on the bike, but I think the TT3+ had problems in the early KG-UV3D lashup.
The TT3 audio level will probably require adjustment, as I’d cranked it up for the KG-UV3D, but that will require some on-the-air testing. Ditto for mic level.
When I get a KG-UV3D for Mary’s bike, I’ll buy two radios and build two interfaces, so as to finally have a working radio + interface on the shelf.
I’m mildly tempted by the new Yaesu VX-8GR, but that’s over $350 for a radio that also requires a new interface board design, a new case design, a new set of adapters, and other odds&ends. Not to mention that the radio’s built-in GPS antenna would live at the bottom of the seat frame beside the wheel and below my shoulder. I suppose I could conjure up an entirely new radio mount, but … the deterrents seem overwhelming.
Various versions of the schematics & PCB layouts for all those boards, plus solid models for the 3D printed case, are scattered here & there on other posts.
Quite some time ago I got a Powermonkey Explorer set (the one with a solar panel charger) at a substantial closeout discount. After the marketspeak dissipates, it’s a single lithium-ion cell with a boost regulator and USB charger inside a screaming yellow case (the new ones seem more subdued) that’s somewhat water resistant, along with a kit of adapters for various widgets & phones. It stopped charging from the solar panel or a USB port, which suggested that I had little to lose by cracking it open.
It’s an odd shape, but grabbing it across the equator and applying gentle pressure cracked one side:
Cracking Powermonkey case
Wedging a screwdriver in the opening and twisting a bit freed the other side:
Enlarging Powermonkey case crack
Then it was just a matter of pulling gently to expose the cell & circuitry within:
Powermonkey interior
That seems to be a standard 18650, presumably similar to that 2.2 A·h cell.
I didn’t find anything obviously wrong, so I buttoned it up with screaming yellow silicone tape, put it on its wall-wart charger for a bit, and now it’s all good again: a shining example of a laying-on-of-hands repair.
The single button has much more travel than it should, so I think the internal foam supports have lost their springiness.
They’re rated at 600 mA·h, as are the much shorter 2/3 AA NiMH cells I also used for those phone packs:
Norelco T770 – rebuild
That’s a wrap of Kapton tape around the cells, plus a block of closed-cell foam to fill the cell holder. It’s not a high-stress environment, so this hack-job repair should work fine.
The trimmer’s charge / discharge cycle remains hostile to NiMH cells and I don’t expect a great lifetime from the new cells, either…
A long-forgotten toy emerged from the heap bearing a trio of corroded NiMH cells between the usual plated-steel contacts:
Corroded contacts – original
The toy wasn’t worth salvaging, but I extracted the contacts and applied Evapo-Rust to see what happened. After an overnight soak, some corrosion remained:
Corroded contacts – after Evapo-Rust
Scrubbing with a stainless-steel detail brush removed the flakes and left reasonably clean metal behind:
Corroded contacts – after brushing
Although it’s not beautiful, I think the contacts came out as well as one could expect. The longer contact plate has holes, thinned sections, and some corrosion inside the spring; I’d be mildly tempted to rebuilt the whole thing with some nickel shim stock and a new spring.
If I were salvaging the toy, I’d dab vinegar on the wiring to neutralize the creeping potassium hydroxide, rinse the whole thing with water, and clean out the case. Instead, it joined the consumer electronics recycling box with a thud…
The front brake on my bike started sounding more gritty than usual on a recent ride, which led to pulling the pads off, which led to discovering that one pad had worn completely through:
Worn-through brake pad
The rim had a slight scuff where that aluminum tab stuck through, but nothing worth worrying about. The wear indicators aren’t reliable, because the pad curve matches 27-ish inch wheels and the Tour Easy has a 20 inch front wheel. If you align the pads to the outside of the rim, as I do, the inside edge gets light wear. So I let ’em wear, check them when the tire gets a flat, and this is the first time a pad has worn through. I think that means the front tire hasn’t had a flat in quite a while…
While I was at it, I replaced all the pads on both our bikes. The rear pads didn’t have nearly as much wear, which is about what you’d expect, although the wear indicator grooves have just about bottomed out:
Worn replaceable pads
Those are replaceable pads, which work quite well on the new brake arms. I suspect by the time I get around to needing new inserts (I bought a bunch, of course) they’ll be obsolete and unobtainable.
I file the pads flat to save a bit of time wearing them in:
Filed replaceable pads
I don’t hold with the notion of toeing in the pads to avoid squealing, vastly preferring crisp brakes with very little travel. Whatever the material is in Aztek pads, they don’t squeal after they’ve fitted themselves to the rim… but, of course, this new pair howled worse than the Freezer Dog when I got them out on the road.
Squealing brakes aren’t entirely a bad thing, as they scare the daylights out of oblivious pedestrians, but I’d rather use the bell. So I gripped a strip of fine sandpaper between pad and rim, gently squeezed the brake lever, and rolled the bike about two wheel revolutions. Repeat on the other side and the rim’s now nice and clean and grippy. Flip the sandpaper over, scrub the pad surface, and they don’t make a sound.
When I bought a new belt some months ago, I thought the lack of stitching meant it was made from a single strip of leather. Come to find out that it’s actually two strips glued together with something sticky that came un-done at the point where the belt passes through the buckle.
So I peeled a bit more apart, smoothed a thin layer of urethane glue (aka Gorilla Glue) inside, laid waxed paper on both side just in case the foam expanded beyond my wildest imagination, and clamped it together:
Belt clamping
The glue layer turned out just about perfect, with only a few blobs sticking out the sides:
Belt with urethane glue blobs
Those blobs snapped off easily enough and the belt works fine again. We’ll see how long this one lasts…
The Smell of Molten Projects in the Morning 