Hammers
Swiss Cheese
Roller Skates
Coloured Pencils

The need to hammer things goes back to prehistoric times when early man used stones as tools.

The modern hammer evolved from those first crude implements.

But with its forged-steel design and user-friendly handle, the hammer of today is strikingly different.

No one-hit wonder, the modern hammer is made to endure.

It maintains its structural integrity despite repeated pounding and pulling.

It starts with a thick steel bar.

An automated system loads it into an induction furnace set at more than 1,800 degrees fahrenheit.

The fierce heat makes the steel malleable.

This forge-hammer pounds the hot steel into a series of hammer-shaped compressions.

Then it's into a punch cutter which trims the ragged edges of the forged steel.

The cutoffs go into a bin for recycling.

A worker sandwiches the newly trimmed shape in a press that fine-tunes the shape.

The hammer is cooled down on this revolving rack.

Then they load the hammers into a tumbler, along with tiny bits of steel-- so tiny, they're hard to see.

But their impact will be very noticeable.

As they toss about, the bits rub off scale and debris on the hammers, for an impressive cleanup.

They then clamp the hammer in a device that spins it against abrasive belts to contour the striking head.

These belts also bevel the hammer's head.

It's a safety feature.

The sloped edge is less likely to chip nails on impact.

Now this jagged cutting wheel carves ridges into the hammer's head.

The device repositions the hammer so the wheel can cut it in a different direction to create a grid.

This surface is less likely to slip off nails on impact.

Next comes the tempering process.

The hammers plunge into a very hot bath.

Then they dip them in quenching oil, which cools the metal so quickly, it hardens.

Now it's time for another polish.

This one makes the steal gleam.

It's the finishing touch.

Next, they assemble leather rings in a tray-- 25 to each one.

They place plastic rings at each end to break up the look and buttress it with a pronged metal disk.

They slide the tray into a compartment and insert the end of the hammer in the rings.

A hydraulic tool rams it through them, encasing the handle in a neat wrap that's comfortable to grasp.

They secure the end of the hammer in a clamp, and then a spinning tool flattens the prongs that protrude from the metal plate, riveting it to the leather wrap.

Then, using a series of sanding belts, they smooth the rough leather for a seamless finish.

This is a tank of heavy lacquer in which they immerse the hammers repeatedly.

When it dries, the lacquer will give the leather wrap a tough, sleek finish, and the leather will look like one textured piece instead of many.

For a different kind of handle, they pour liquid vinyl on the hammer shaft that's encased in a mold.

The vinyl adheres to the hammer as it hardens.

The mold leaves a dimpling impression that will make the hammer easier to grip.

They grind off the hardened vinyl spillover and contour the handle.

These handles are preferred by some tradesmen because the vinyl is an antishock material.

They stamp the model number onto it.

Paint guns mist the steel with lacquer for a little rustproofing.

The hammers then travel through an oven, which cures the lacquer.

After they stamp the company logo onto the vinyl, each hammer is visually inspected.

Only then does it get a seal of approval.

It takes about a day to make a hammer, and with the different handle wraps and sizes, they've really nailed it.

The swiss call this cheese "fromage d'alpage," which means "cheese from the high-mountain pastures".

Master cheesemakers retreat to their chalets high in the swiss alps to make this special cheese.

These individuals follow a tradition of cheesemaking that goes back to the middle ages.

Fromage d'alpage is produced by cheesemakers who bring their cows high into the alps for five months-- to this region of gstaad, switzerland.

In the morning, they milk their cows for about seven minutes using an automatic milking machine.

Each cow produces around 2 1/2 gallons of milk, which contains water, protein, and fat.

12 hours later, he removes the fat, which rises to the surface.

He adds a starter culture, which helps preserve the milk.

A wood fire then heats the milk for 20 minutes at a constant 86 degrees fahrenheit.

He then adds an enzyme called rennet and more starter culture to the milk.

After about 40 minutes, these active ingredients coagulate the milk into cheese curd.

He cuts the solidifying curd into smaller pieces.

To maintain an even heat, he keeps blending the curd and the liquid together.

He continues mixing and cutting the curd until the active ingredients separate the curd from the liquid, called whey.

To make cheese, he will use only the grains of curd.

An electric mixer then completes the separation.

He washes his arms and hands thoroughly, because any impurities in the cheese would ruin it.

After heating the mixture for 20 minutes again, the curd is now the perfect texture for making cheese.

Using cheesecloth, they remove the grains of curd.

What started out as 80 gallons of milk will end up producing only 66 pounds of cheese.

The cheesemaker stuffs the sack of curd into a mold and works out some of the whey.

He then puts three molds filled with curd into a wooden press.

And using a wooden block that distributes the pressure evenly, he squeezes out more of the whey.

To get all the excess liquid out of the curd, he turns each 22-pound piece of cheese over so he can press it again.

Too much liquid in the cheese would affect its shape and quality, so he does this a few times, then leaves them in the press overnight.

The next morning, he trims off the excess cheese created around the edge by the pressing mold.

Like every step in this cheesemaking process, this work is also done by hand.

He soaks the cheese in salt water for 24 hours to conserve, harden, and intensify its taste.

The cheese then goes through a salting and maturing process that lasts six months.

During this time, they flip each piece of cheese often so it ages evenly.

After a final surface cleaning, they put the 22-pound pieces on their sides to air-dry.

They'll remain edible for at least 10 years.

But, of course, you don't have to live in the alps to enjoy the taste of swiss cheese.

When roller skates were invented by the dutch in the 18th century, they put a whole new spin on skating.

Before that, people could only skate on iced surfaces, so the sport had definite seasonal limitations.

The wheels of those first roller skates were wooden spools.

But today's manufacturers have come up with some better tricks to make them.

Roller skates have improved by leaps and bounds.

The wheels are made of strong, lightweight polyurethane, so there's nothing to hold you back.

They start with the shoes.

A die press punches out leather patterns, called quarters-- four per shoe.

They place one quarter under a foil strip, and a hot die stamps it with the manufacturer's trademark.

Then, using a template, they mark the locations where components are to be sewn...

Such as these racing stripes.

They stitch them onto the leather quarters in two rows.

The four leather quarters have been partially pieced together.

Here, the operator finishes the job, sewing the shoe's outer layer to the liner.

She then stitches the rest of the liner to the shoe, while a little blade on the machine trims the excess leather.

Now the roller-skate shoe really takes shape, as she folds the leather in two and sews the toe.

This machine punches holes and inserts eyelets for the shoelaces.

This machine, called a laster, glues the shoe to an insole.

They insert a shoe and insole together into the laster.

Its nozzles coat the toe of the insole with cement while pinchers pull the leather around it.

Then automated arms press the leather onto the insole, bonding them together.

Another machine then nails the rest of the shoe around the insole, and a worker pounds them in further.

A final laster folds the edge of the shoe around the heel and then drives nails into it.

The hot lights of this machine activate cement that's been applied to an outsole and the shoe body.

This allows the two to adhere.

As the cement dries, this hydraulic machine presses the outsole to the shoe to aid the adhesion.

They stitch the outsole to the shoe for reinforcement.

After all, roller-skate shoes have to hold up to the rigors of the sport.

They insert nails into holes of this heel-attaching machine...

Then position a fiberboard and leather heel on it, followed by the roller-skate shoe.

Mechanical drivers thrust the nails up into the shoe, firmly attaching the heel.

An operator then forces the rubber sole against a circular cutter to remove the excess material.

Next, they screw a polyurethane toe stop into a skate frame.

They drill through holes in the frame to make corresponding holes in the shoe.

They push bolts into the holes.

Then, using a pneumatic socket wrench, they bolt the skate frame to the shoe.

The bolts are too long, so they cut them down to size with a special breakoff tool.

They slide polyurethane cushions onto kingpins, then install bearings in the hub of each wheel.

A carousel conveyor delivers the wheel and bearings to a tool that presses them together.

With the wheels now linked by axles, these skates are almost ready to roll.

They mount each wheel assembly on a kingpin, then install a second cushion ring.

These cushions can be adjusted by the skater to change the feel of the skate.

A tweak to the axle confirms the wheels spin freely.

It takes about four days for the experts to make a pair of roller skates.

That's somewhat less time than it takes for the average person to master using them.

Colored pencils come in basic color packages for schoolchildren, upgraded sets for architects and other professionals, and elaborate collections of shades for the serious artist.

It isn't so much the color variety that determines the quality, but the pigment concentration in the lead.

The core of a colored pencil doesn't actually contain any lead.

It's composed of pigments, minerals, and binding agents.

This company invented a unique type of colored pencil.

The lead composition is such that it allows you to brush on a bit of water after you draw to create the effect of watercolor paints.

Colored pencils start with a combination of pigments.

Every shade has a specific pigment recipe.

They produce a large quantity of one shade at a time.

Following that color's recipe, they meticulously weigh the different portions of ingredients.

Then they boil a specific quantity of water and additives and add binding agents-- a secret blend of gums, resins, or waxes.

The ingredients expand in hot water, forming a paste.

Workers then mix the pigments into this paste.

The next machine processes the paste into fine chunks, intensifying the color.

The chunks move by conveyor belt with a cylinder that compresses them, then feeds them into an extrusion machine.

The extruder squeezes the paste in a continuous stream that's the diameter of the pencil lead.

In a top-secret process, the next machine chops this long lead into pencil-length leads.

But the leads can't write just yet.

They're bathed in a vat filled with a mixture of chemical waxes.

These waxes coat and impregnate the leads-- in this case, red ones.

Wax is a color-delivery vehicle.

As you write, it rubs off and adheres to the paper, taking pigment with it.

With the leads now finished, the factory subjects random samples to quality control testing, including a break test and a durability test in which each lead must yield 100 yards of writing.

This company makes its pencil bodies from cedar wood.

This machine carves grooves for the leads, then coats the surface with a thin layer of glue.

The planks pass under a wheel that places the leads...

Then through another machine that slips a second grooved plank on top.

The next machine carves the hexagonal shape, then slices the pencils apart.

One at a time, the pencils shoot through a vat of colored varnish.

Their exterior is now the same color as the lead inside.

Once the varnish dries, a heat stamp burns the company name and color number into the wood, filling the lettering with colored film.

Then the pencils roll across an abrasive wheel, sharpening as they go.

The unsharpened end gets a cap of varnish, either in white or the same shade as the pencil lead.

The factory's equipment feeds the appropriate colors to the packaging area.

As the pencils slide into their grooved tray, workers visually inspect each and every one.

From pigments and planks to an artistic medium, the story behind the making of colored pencils is hardly black and white.


Robotic Arms
Tattoos
Sanitary Napkins
Concrete Pipes

Today on "how it's made," robotic arms...

Tattoos...

Sanitary napkins...

And concrete pipes.

The term "robot" comes from the czech word "robota," which means "forced labor".

Most robots are designed for repetitive work that's difficult, dangerous, or would just bore human beings to death.

Robotic arms have varying degrees of freedom, meaning they can pivot in different ways.

A robotic arm resembles a human arm.

It has a shoulder, an elbow, a wrist, and a hand.

The shoulder is actually a stationary base to which the rest is attached.

An engineer first designs all the parts on a computer.

Then those plans go into action.

To form the base's outer casing, they bend steel sheeting into shape using a computer-guided press.

Next they paint the casing in powder paint, using an electrostatic process that guarantees a thorough, even coat.

They run a negative electrical charge to the casing and a positive charge to the paint particles.

This makes the casing draw the paint to it like a magnet.

Once the paint on the base casing dries, they use silk-screen printing to apply what's called the "user diagram".

It illustrates which parts move where and how.

Now they build the robotic arm's hand, called the end effector.

Robots can be outfitted with all sorts of end effectors.

Here they're making a gripper, whose two claws come together to grasp and carry objects.

To make each claw, an automated metal drill cuts a groove lengthwise and widthwise in a piece of aluminum.

They assemble the electrical circuit board that will later go inside the base.

The robotic arm's six separate motors will plug into it.

Next they assemble the mechanical parts of the base.

First the motor that makes the arm rotate, then the gear that goes on the vertical shaft holding the robotic arm upright.

When the motor makes the gear and the shaft turn, the robotic arm turns with it.

At the arm's shoulder level, they install a system of four pulleys.

Each consists of two plastic wheels on a separate axle with a rubber belt running between them like a clothesline.

The belt has little teeth that grip grooves on the wheels.

It rotates the wheels, making the robotic arm move.

Each joint in the robotic arm is capable of and programmed for a specific range of movement.

Like the human arm, the combination of these movements manipulates the end effector.

They plug an electrical wire that links the gripper to the shoulder into a circuit board located in the shoulder.

Then they screw the entire arm to the base.

They link up the wires from the circuit board in the base to the motors in the shoulder.

To do this, they have to bunch the wires, 48 of them in total, and thread them through the shaft that attaches the base to the arm.

Once everything's connected, they fine-tune and test the gear and pulley systems to see if they run smoothly.

Now they can install the gripper and the shaft and gear system that operates it.

Turning the gear one way opens the grip.

Turning it the other way closes it.

Now they mount the assembled gripper to the forearm, plugging its motor into a circuit board that they've already installed there.

They plug the wires from all six motors into the main circuit board which they then install at the back of the base.

The robot controller--  the brain that runs the arm-- is a separate unit.

It controls everything connected to the circuit.

To move the robot, the computer inside the controller switches on all the necessary motors.

It can control eight motors-- six in the robot and two optional accessories.

You can program it to perform a variety of tasks.

From start to finish, it's taken just under 30 hours to assemble this robotic arm.

It can lift up to 10 pounds-- about the weight of a full-grown cat-- and it can move at a speed of a little over one mile per hour.

Most robots are reprogrammable-- meaning that to change their behavior, you simply write a new program.

From an employer's perspective, robots may be the ideal workers.

Granted, they have no ideas of their own, but their productivity is constant, they never call in sick, and they never take lunch or coffee breaks.

Tattooing dates at least as far back as the bronze age.

A 5,000-year-old body found in a european glacier had several tattoos on his skin.

Archaeologists have even uncovered what they believe are stone age tattooing instruments-- sharp bone needles and clay disks containing mineral pigments.

Walk into a tattoo parlor and the vast selection of elaborate designs will astound you.

Once you make your choice, the tattoo artist traces the image.

Next, he places the traced image on carbon paper and re-traces the lines.

This creates a carbon outline of the tattoo on the reverse side.

The artist will use his blueprint, as it's called, as his guide.

He cleans the customer's skin, then firmly presses on the blueprint.

The carbon image transfers easily because the skin is damp.

Now it's time to construct the needles.

Most tattoos require two needles-- one to make the outline of the image, the other to shade and color it in.

Each needle is made up of as many as 20 smaller needles.

The artist aligns these small needles in a jig, then solders them together onto one end of a steel rod.

There's an eye on the other end.

The number of small needles in a needle depends on the tattoo design-- how thick the lines are, how big its colored areas are.

The finished needles go into an autoclave to be sterilized.

That takes 20 minutes at precisely 338 degrees fahrenheit.

The tattoo artist uses that time to assemble the tattoo gun.

After cleaning the frame with rubbing alcohol, he installs the motor, called the coil.

When an electric current runs through the coil, it oscillates the needle at up to 50 times per second.

Once the two needles are sterilized, he takes the one for outlining, called the liner, and slides it into the tattoo gun.

He hooks the eye on the other end onto the spring.

As the spring moves back and forth, it moves the needle up and down.

The tattoo artist stops and starts it with a foot pedal, like a sewing machine.

Time to tattoo.

He turns on the power supply to 10 volts and dabs the needle in the ink cap.

The gun sucks up the ink.

Some petroleum jelly on the skin helps the needle glide more easily.

He begins by tracing the lines of the blueprint.

The needle punctures the skin at a rate of up to 3,000 times per minute, injecting micro-particles of ink, which intermingle with the cells of the dermis, the skin's second layer.

The artist continually wipes away the excess ink to keep his work area clean.

After finishing the outline, he reapplies petroleum jelly.

This seals the pores of the skin and prevents bleeding.

Then he changes to the other needle and begins shading and coloring the image with a back-and-forth movement.

He applies one color at a time, overlapping them to ensure thorough and even coverage.

The needle can penetrate from .

04 to .

15 of an inch, and a good tattoo artist knows just how deep to go to create the different parts of the image.

For example, he has to inject the outline the deepest, but going too deep can tear the skin and cause excessive pain and bleeding.

But not going deep enough misses the dermis and leaves marks after healing.

The cells of the dermis are remarkably stable, so tattoos last a lifetime.

This tattoo has taken approximately 45 minutes to do from start to finish.

The area will dry and scab over.

Then the scab will fall off, and this body art will be ready for exhibition.

Believe it or not, world war i led to the invention of disposable sanitary napkins.

American nurses serving in france discovered that the bandages they used for the troops could double as very absorbent menstrual pads.

This led the bandage company to introduce disposable sanitary napkins in 1921.

Today's disposable sanitary pads are made of layers of cellulose, combined with super-absorbent polymer powder.

Polymer is a fluid-absorbing chemical derived from either petroleum or wheat.

Cellulose is the fiber that makes up the cell wall of trees and plants.

It also retains fluid.

Pulp and paper companies grind and moisten it to form a product called pulp.

Producing sanitary napkins begins with 20-inch-wide rolls of cellulose pulp.

The rolls feed one long machine that does everything.

First, knives spinning at 3,000 thousand rpm shred the pulp into a fine fluff.

Then the machine sprinkles that fluff with polymer powder.

The polymered fluff then travels through what's called the doser, a device that measures out the required amount of fluff per pad layer.

The machine then suctions each dose into a closed chamber where an air current blows it into a pad-shaped mold.

Then another air current blows it out of the mold onto a wheel that transfers it to a conveyer belt.

The machine simultaneously makes a second pad layer.

This one is smaller, rectangular, and at least double the density of the first layer, meaning it has more cellulose compressed into a smaller size.

The compression roller also embosses a pattern that will disperse the menstrual flow, helping absorption.

This demonstration shows the critical absorption role the polymer powder plays.

It can retain up to 40 times its volume.

As the polymer soaks up the liquid, it transforms from powder to gel.

Different types of polymers have different reaction speeds.

This type absorbs at average speed.

This will be a two-layer pad.

The number of layers and their weight depends on the degree of menstrual flow a pad is designed to absorb.

Now the machine's conveyor belts merge, bringing the two layers together.

Now the machine sandwiches the layers between plastic sheets.

The top one is perforated to allow fluid to pass to the absorbent layers underneath.

The bottom one acts as a leak-proof barrier.

A roller stamps the contour of the pad, sealing the absorbent layers inside.

Now the machine applies glue to a paper strip and to a pair of small paper rectangles.

It slaps the strip on the back of the pad and the rectangles on the side flaps, called the wings.

To secure the pad to underwear, you remove the paper to expose the adhesive.

The pads are still connected to each other.

A cutting die excises each one.

Abrasive foam on either side of the die grips then pulls away the material surrounding the pads.

A vacuum then sucks this excess away.

Now the pads move onto the packaging line.

The equipment first folds over the adhesive wings, then folds each pad in three.

The folded pads now go into plastic wrap.

A hot, iron-like device, called an embossing press, seals the plastic around each pad.

Then a knife cuts in between the pads, separating them into individual pouches.

Next, two belts sandwich the pouches and carry them down to the stacker, where an automated counter lines them up for packaging.

As a vacuum opens the bag, a mechanical arm inserts the pads.

The equipment then seals the bag shut.

Everything you've seen happens at an impressive pace.

From start to finish, it takes just 40 seconds to make and package a sanitary napkin.

Most underground sewer and drainage pipes are made of reinforced dry-mix concrete.

"reinforced" refers to the fact the concrete has steel bars inside it for added structural strength.

"dry-mix" refers to the type of concrete.

You can mold it then immediately extract it, and it holds its shape.

Concrete pipes can be as small as 10 inches or as large as 11 1/2 feet.

It has a hundred-year life span.

Dry-mix concrete is made of stone, coarse sand, portland cement-- which is a finely-ground blend of clay and limestone-- water, and a chemical that acts as a water reducer.

Trucks unload the sand and stone into outdoor storage bins.

The materials automatically drop onto a conveyor belt which transports them to storage silos above the factory floor.

The cement arrives by cement tanker, which blows it into a silo.

All the silos feed the mixer.

As the ingredients blend, the cement and water combine to form a paste that coats the sand and stone.

The water reducer enables them to use minimal water.

The less water, the stronger and more durable the concrete.

Meanwhile, workers use a special machine to build what's called the cage-- a circular steel frame that will form the pipe's internal structure, its backbone.

They insert 8-foot-long steel rods in a circular configuration, pushing each rod partway through the machine to the other side.

There, an automated spot-welder fuses a steel cable to one rod.

Then the machine begins turning, winding the cable tightly around the rods.

Here a worker is turning the machine manually just to show us the process in slow-motion.

This is what it looks like at the normal automated speed.

As the rods pass through the machine, the welder fuses the cable to them in one continuous spiral.

As the spiraled cable reaches the end of the rods, the machine's claws spread outward, forming a wider section on the end.

This is called the bell section.

Workers position it on a base ring designed to hold the cage in place.

Then they close a hinged steel mold over it.

Now they're ready to pour the concrete.

A forklift transports the mold to a machine called the packer head.

They position the mold directly under it.

A long, drill-like screw descends into the mold.

As concrete pours in, the screw turns at high speed, moving up and down.

Its blades propel the concrete outward against the mold walls, forming the pipe.

This process is called centrifugal projection forming.

The process for making large-diameter pipes is slightly different.

A welder fuses spacers to the cage, both inside and out.

These will center the cage inside the mold.

Workers position the cage onto a base ring, then lower the outer part of the mold-- called the outside form--  over it.

After securing it to the ring, they lower the unit over the smaller, inner part of mold, called the inside form.

An overhead funnel pours concrete into the cavity between the two mold forms.

Powerful electrical vibrators shake the mold.

This forces the thick concrete downward, filling the cavity.

This process is called vibration forming.

With either pipe-forming technique, the molded concrete is quite fragile, so the molds go off to the curing warehouse to harden.

There, workers remove them, leaving the pipes standing upright.

Steam hoses transform the curing warehouse into a sauna.

The temperature rises to 140 degrees fahrenheit, the relative humidity 100%.

The concrete hardens in about 12 hours.

Concrete pipes buried underground have to be able to withstand the weight of the earth above them, so the company subjects sample pipes to extreme pressure to test their maximum resistance.

Concrete pipes join together with watertight rubber gaskets.


Horseshoes
Dishwashers
Graphite Fly Rods
Pizza

Today on "how it's made"...

Horseshoes...

Dishwashers...

Graphite fly rods...

And frozen pizzas.

Horses first wore leather and metal shoes around 500 a.d. to protect their hooves from wear and tear.

Today, depending on the animal's vocation, horseshoes are usually made of steel, aluminum, or plastic.

A farrier is someone who makes the horseshoes and carefully applies them.

A horse's hoof has a hard outer wall like a fingernail, only much thicker.

The farrier attaches the horseshoe to this wall with heat and lead nails.

The horse feels no pain because the nails don't reach the sensitive tissues inside.

Horses get new shoes about every five weeks.

After removing the old ones, the farrier uses a file to trim the wall's growth since the last change--  about 1/3 of an inch.

He measures the hoof's contour, marks the measurement on a steel bar, and cuts it to size with a rotary saw.

Steel is the material of choice because it's affordable and durable.

Next, he heats the bar until the middle's white-hot.

He brushes off any dirt, then dips the bar in water to cool it.

Then he hammers the ends to redistribute the metal toward the middle.

This widens and thickens the part of the horseshoe that gets the most wear, since the front of the hoof hits the ground first and hardest.

After reheating the bar, he hammers it again, this time with no cooldown.

For larger shoes, two farriers take turns hammering so that it goes faster, and they can shape the steel while it's still hot and pliable.

Using a drafting compass, the farrier gauges where two grooves for nails will go.

He reheats the bar, then holds a sharp-ended tool against it, while another farrier drives it in with a hammer.

The nails won't protrude when they're embedded in the grooves.

These areas will also fill with dirt to give the horse traction.

The farriers round the sharp edges of the horseshoe so the animal won't cut itself when it's lying down.

They make the nail holes by first driving this tool into the grooves.

Then they use another tool to perforate the steel, hammering it into the shoe over an opening in the anvil that lets the tool pierce through.

The farrier then repeats these steps on the other side.

It takes 2 farriers about 15 minutes to make a pair of horseshoes.

The first farrier heats one shoe, while the second hammers the other.

Like the hooves, the front and back shoes are differently shaped.

The front pair are rounder, the back ones, more oval, because the horse's hind hooves have evolved to dig into the ground for traction.

The farriers also hammer part of both curves, flattening the edges into raised sides called clips.

These help the shoe fit onto the hoof.

For larger workhorses like clydesdales, the farriers bend the ends downward to give the feet more traction.

It's not uncommon for a 2,000-pound horse to have to pull twice its weight.

Now time for the fitting.

After heating the shoe, but not as much this time, the farrier uses it to melt the outer part of the wall.

This makes an imprint on the horseshoe that later helps him place it properly on the hoof.

Horses first wear shoes at about 3 years old, the age when they start working or competing.

The farrier fine-tunes the fitting with a metal filing tool, curving the edges further to make them even safer for the horse.

Next, he shines the steel with a metal brush.

The shine will quickly fade once the horse takes its first steps.

Depending on the foot size, the finished shoe can measure anywhere from 2.5 to 9 inches across.

Now, to attach the shoe, the farrier first files the hoof to remove any dust or sharp edges.

He slips on the shoe, then gently hammers as many as three nails into each side.

The nails are about 2 inches long.

They're made of lead--  a metal that's easy to bend-- and that's he'll do after hammering them through the wall.

He clips off the ends and bends the rest in towards the wall.

Then he uses other tools to gouge small crevices in which to bury the ends.

This makes it easy to straighten out the nails and yank off the shoe when it's time.

He also hammers the hoof against a template to stabilize the shoe.

Next, he files the hoof so that it meets the angle of the shoe.

And, finally, the horse is ready to stroll.

So whether you've got a pony or a stallion, make sure the shoe fits.

When it comes to horse footwear, function, not fashion, dictates.

In 1886, an american woman invented the automatic dishwasher.

Josephine cochran built a motorized wheel with wire compartments for dishes, turning inside a copper tank filled with soapy boiling water.

It was a hit with restaurants and hotels, but it wasn't until the 1950s that affordable dishwashers for home kitchens came on the market.

Building a dishwasher starts with a watertight container called the tub.

Some high-end models have stainless-steel tubs.

The rest have tubs made of molded plastic, usually polypropylene.

Workers screw two pairs of plastic wheels to each side of the tub.

They'll support the sliders on which the upper dish rack moves.

The lower dish rack rolls along the bottom of the tub.

This steel frame helps solidify the tub.

They affix a steel plate at the bottom to shield the plastic from heat of the motor.

Then they attach steel legs to the frame.

Here, they install a rubber reservoir called the sump.

It collects the water that flows to the bottom of the tub.

They screw in a two-part ring to hold the sump in place.

The heating element is a ceramic-insulated iron cable.

This filter traps food particles washing off the dishes.

After fitting an o-ring seal to make the sump leakproof, they secure the heating element by screwing ceramic insulators to the protruding connectors.

Now for the polypropylene wash arms.

This model has one at the bottom, with a tower that juts out for a larger spray span, and a second wash arm at the top.

The motor pumps clean water directly to the bottom wash arm and, through this flexible hose, to the top wash arm.

Once they connect the hose, they spin the wash arm to make sure there's no obstruction.

Meanwhile, workers connect key components to the dishwasher's circuit board.

This metal box is the timer.

It controls the wash and dry cycles.

For example, it activates this green cam lever to trigger the white lever to open the detergent dispenser at the right moment in the wash cycle.

The detergent dispenser is located on a plastic panel that will line the dishwasher's door.

They call this panel the inner door.

This seal will prevent water from leaking out and also provide some soundproofing.

A press runs over the inner door, driving in the seal evenly all around.

Now they screw the inner door to the outer door.

The assembled door hooks onto hinges at the base of the tub.

This machine presses the hook and hinge together so that the door doesn't come unhinged.

The dishwasher's motor is relatively quiet because it uses an inherently low-noise induction drive design.

The white machine attached to the motor is a food disposer.

It grinds up food particles so that they don't clog the drain.

The last technical step is to connect the various wires.

Before applying the finishing touches, workers conduct a seal test.

They flush each tub with water to check for leaks.

In this portable dishwasher, workers install cement blocks as a counterweight so that the washer won't tip forward when you open the door.

And because a portable usually sits in full view, it also needs sides and a top.

The top is decorative laminate on medium-density fiberboard.

They screw it to what's called the wrapper, a three-sided panel made of painted steel that covers the sides and back-- a clean look to go with your clean dishes.

Fishing may not be rocket science, but the graphite fly rod certainly is.

Graphite is a space-age material-- lightweight, flexible, and strong.

The very qualities that make it useful in space also come in handy at the river or lake.

It explains why graphite fly rods are now popular in the fishing world.

To make one, they start with a sheet of graphite.

They cut out shapes, following precise measurements.

One mistake here, and the performance of the rod will be compromised.

This will be a three-piece rod, with a butt piece, midsection, and tip.

They place a shape on a tapered steel mandrel...

And peel away the paper backing.

This machine rolls the graphite shape around the mandrel.

They make all three sections of the fishing rod the same way.

A graphite strip at the end reinforces it all.

The graphite remains on the mandrel for the next step.

They wind polypropylene tape around the graphite to squeeze out any air pockets between the layers.

Then it's into the oven to cook at 257 degrees fahrenheit for an hour and a half.

The tape won't melt, but resins in the graphite will, baking the rolled layers together.

Afterwards, they remove the shrink tape and pull the graphite blank off the steel mandrel.

Then the rod blanks go for a dip in a special finish, which turns it a deep blue.

They bake on the finish for a half-hour at 257 degrees fahrenheit.

Afterwards, they measure the rod sections and cut them to size so they all fit together.

Bending without snapping is the graphite rod's strong point.

They hot-glue the stainless-steel tip to the end.

Then they piece together the retainer for the fishing reel.

This locknut will allow the reel to be tightened.

The plug will keep everything from sliding off.

They glue cork rings together to make a handle.

Then they shape it with a chisel and sandpaper.

The line guides go on next.

They keep things from getting into a tangle.

They wind thread around it to secure it to the rod, one foot at a time.

A final step ensures the handiwork doesn't unravel.

They place the rod in a rotating jig and brush three coats of glossy epoxy onto the thread wrap.

This not only protects it but gives it a nice finish.

Now they slide a metal foot into a groove on the reel retainer, and it's ready for the reel to be attached.

But before you can cast your line, there is some information that needs to go on the rod, like the brand name and serial number.

A final inspection, and it's almost time to test the waters.

The reel snaps into place, and it's easily adjusted with the locknut.

The rest is a matter of luck and the right bait.

Millions of pizzas travel daily from the frozen-food section of the supermarket to the family dinner table.

Thick or thin crust, meat or vegetarian, their convenience makes them a staple in the freezer.

But how do they end up tasting so fresh when they start out so frozen?

Making frozen pizzas requires a maze of machines.

To make the dough for the crust, they combine flour, salt, sugar, water, yeast, and oil in a large mixer...

And they throw in a bit of cornmeal for flavor.

The mixer turns the ingredients for about four minutes.

This is one powerful machine.

A truck transmission drives the steel bars that knead the dough.

The dough rises for about half an hour.

Then they feed it into a chunking machine, which divides the big blob into smaller pieces.

The chunks travel to a sheeting machine that rolls them into a flat sheet one-inch thick.

A light dusting of flour keeps the dough from sticking to the machinery.

A series of rollers called quick reducers gives the dough an even consistency.

A flour brush massages the dough, ensuring a smooth surface.

Next, stainless-steel spikes pierce the dough with holes about a quarter-inch deep.

These holes will stop air pockets from forming in the dough.

A large plastic roller with several round forms cuts the circular shape of the pizza crust.

The machine automatically separates the leftover dough.

The factory remixes it with fresh dough for the next batch.

A conveyor takes the dough circles to their next destination--  the oven.

They bake for two minutes between 390 and 600 degrees fahrenheit.

Six chambers inside the oven automatically control the temperature pattern to ensure that each one bakes evenly.

Next stop-- the tomato sauce.

A tank pumps a steady supply of sauce into a reservoir, drenching a roller turning inside.

A plastic board then scrapes the sauce onto the crusts passing below.

The excess sauce drips down, replenishing the reservoir.

Mounds of preshedded mozzarella are ready to be added.

A cheese-applicator machine controls the output so that the mozzarella forms an even layer.

Large hoppers load heaps of pepperoni, sausage, and other meat toppings into a meat applicator.

As with the tomato sauce and cheese, the meat toppings cascade down on the pizza crusts.

The pizza is now ready for inspection.

Workers take samples off the line and weigh the crust, sauce, cheese, and meat to ensure the equipment dispensed the right amount of each.

Next, the pizzas enter a spiral freezer called a blast cell, where they spend about 20 minutes at minus-25 degrees fahrenheit.

An overwrapping machine applies a clear layer of plastic around each pizza, automatically cutting the wrap to fit.

A vision-control system takes a picture of every pizza, verifying the size, diameter, and checking for any imperfections.

The machine automatically rejects any less-than-perfect pizzas by air-blasting them into a separate tub.

Finally, an arm pushes each pizza into a waiting box.

All that's left now is to heat it up and dig in.


Cheese Graters
Hot Sauce
Silver Jewellery
Traditional Mexican Chairs

Many recipes call for shredded ingredients, which is why a cheese grater is an indispensable kitchen tool.

Depending on which type of blade or blades a grater has, you can coarsely shred to finely grate not just cheese but also potatoes and vegetables.

Graters come in different sizes, shapes, and configurations, from flat models with one blade to box graters with a different blade on each side.

The blades are made from a stainless-steel sheet that's just 1/50 of an inch thick.

The sheet enters a shearing machine, where a die descends and cuts the blade shape, holes and all.

The machine's dies are interchangeable, so when it's time to produce a different model, workers simply remove this die and install another one.

Stainless steel is the ideal blade material because it's food-safe, durable, and rust-proof.

For this model, the next step is to curve the blade.

They insert it into a press that bends it with a rounded die.

The press also turns over the edges along three sides, forming a channel for a handle.

The handle is made of stainless-steel wire.

A bending machine wraps it around a grater-shaped form...

Then cuts the end free, releasing what is now a finished handle.

Now for this model's final assembly.

Workers slide a handle into the blade's channels.

Next they put the blade in a press, which forces the channels closed, encasing the wire.

With the handle and blade now locked together, the grater is finished.

Another model has a built-in tray to collect the grated food.

This machine forms the pivoting handle which enables the blade to stand upright in the tray.

First the machine cuts a strip of stainless steel to the required length.

It makes holes for a rivet on each side.

Then it bends the piece to a "u" shape.

Meanwhile, a forming press shapes the tray out of a stainless-steel sheet.

The tray moves to the next press, which slices off the excess from the perimeter.

The tray is now completely formed.

All that's left to do is punch a hole on each side for the rivets that attach the handle that props up the blade.

They take the handle and rivet it to one end of the blade.

Next, they rivet the tray to the other end of the blade, and the grater is fully assembled.

This company packaged certain models in blister packs.

Workers put the grater in a clear plastic cover, then position a printed cardboard backing over it.

The backing is coated with transparent, heat-activated glue.

A few seconds under a hot press, and the plastic cover adheres to the backing, encapsulating the grater.

From a basic version on up, a grater is an essential kitchen tool most cooks can't do without.

When it comes to cuisine, some like it hot.

A quick way to satisfy a picante-loving palate is with a splash or two of hot sauce, typically served with mexican food such as nachos, tacos, and burritos.

It can also spice up everyday fare such as eggs, potatoes, and sandwiches.

This american company has been producing hot sauce, also called a pepper sauce, since 1868.

Its signature version is made from tabasco peppers, a type of chile pepper.

The brand also comes in additional varieties, using habanero, chipotle, and green jalapeño peppers.

The company has pepper fields at its home base in louisiana, as well as in central and in south america, using seeds harvested from the louisiana crop.

The company president uses his experienced eye to select the best plants for seed extraction-- those with even and early-ripening, juicy peppers, well-formed, layered branches, and healthy, damage-free leaves.

He marks his selection with a string.

Then pickers harvest those peppers and send them to the seed extractor.

The peppers are hand-picked for sauce production, as well.

To determine which ones are ripe enough, the pickers use what cajuns call a petite baton rouge, french for "little red stick".

If a pepper matches the color of the stick, they harvest it.

If not, it stays on the plant.

It's labor-intensive but ensures only the perfect peppers go into the sauce.

Within hours of harvesting, the factory grinds the peppers and mixes them with salt.

This creates a mash which then goes into oak whiskey barrels to ferment and age.

Wooden barrels breathe, letting in just enough air to spur natural yeast growth-- the key to fermentation--  but not too much air, which would discolor the mash and produce a metallic flavor.

After laying paper on top of the mash to prevent surface discoloration, workers seal the barrels.

Then they spread a layer of salt over the top.

The barrels now go to the warehouse, where the mash ferments and ages for three years.

Fermentation releases carbon-dioxide gas, which forces liquid out through a vent hole in the top of the barrel.

The salt absorbs the liquid and hardens.

After the three-year fermentation and aging period, they break up the salt and open the barrel.

What was once pungent and acrid is now aromatic, with a mellow, complex flavor.

However, it still needs significant refining.

So they pump it into large mixing tanks, add vinegar, then churn for three to four weeks.

That's now long it takes for the vinegar to break down the pepper solids into smaller particles.

During that process, the vinegar also takes on the color, flavor, and aroma of the peppers.

The sauce requires no cooking whatsoever because the vinegar acts as a natural preservative.

The next step is a two-stage milling process.

The first mill extracts the pepper pulp.

The second mill removes the seeds.

The sauce is now finished.

The quality-control department analyzes samples from every batch of sauce for viscosity, ph, salt level, and other criteria.

Lab technicians also perform taste tests for flavor, clearing their palate in between with crackers and cooling the fiery heat with ice-cream bars.

Once the batch gets the thumbs-up, it's pumped to the bottling line.

The company uses glass rather than plastic because glass is a better barrier against oxygen.

Oxygen penetration would adversely affect the flavor and color of the sauce.

The capping machine twists on a plastic screw cap.

Then the bottles travel to the labeler, which adheres the main product label, slips on a decorative neck band, and applies a clear plastic seal over the cap.

Hot off the production line and ready to go.

People have been making jewelry and other objects since about 4,000 b.c. silver remains popular today because of its beauty and its affordability compared to gold and platinum.

Pure silver is rather soft, so it's traditionally combined with one or more metals to give it hardness and strength.

The silver used in jewelry is traditionally sterling silver.

Sterling is composed of 92.5% silver and 7.5% alloy.

The alloy is usually copper or copper combined with other metals.

This mexican jewelry manufacturer melts the standard ratio of copper and zinc alloy to silver...

Then also remelts silver left over from the jewelry production process.

At 1,760 degrees fahrenheit, it takes just seconds for these solid metals to become molten sterling silver, at which point workers pour it into a stainless-steel mold.

The silver rapidly cools and hardens into a flat bar.

Workers extract the bar and clean it with sulfuric acid, then pass it between two rollers and a press.

The rollers apply more than 3,300 pounds of pressure.

Workers feed the bar into the press repeatedly, each time turning the wheel to narrow the gap between the rollers to progressively thin it out.

Rolling the bar scrambles its molecules, making the silver brittle.

So they reheat it to rearrange the molecules into a regular pattern again and restore flexibility and malleability.

The bar now goes through another rolling press to radically reduce the thickness.

This 4/10-of-an-inch-thick bar becomes a thin strip a mere 1/100 of an inch thick.

In doing so, it also lengthens dramatically from 10 inches to just over 4 yards.

The strip now passes through a series of forming rollers, which progressively curl the edges up and inward until the strip becomes a hollow tube.

Then the machine solders the edges, sealing the tube.

The tube is still way too thick for making earrings and rings, so on it goes to another thinning operation.

The machine grabs one end of the tube and pulls it through a series of circular dies which have progressively narrower diameters.

Once the tube is the required diameter, a winding machine curves it.

Some tubes then move on to a cutting machine which uses a diamond head to engrave a pattern in the surface.

To make hoop earrings, an artisan steadies a piece of curved, engraved tube in locking tweezers and solders on an earring hook, then the latch into which the hook snaps.

Some pieces of jewelry incorporate cubic-zirconia stones.

In this design, a computer-guided laser machine has already cut two patterned pieces out of an ultra-thin silver sheet.

A stamping machine then rounded each piece into a half-sphere.

The artisan now solders the two halves together, encasing the cubic-zirconia stones inside.

Then he solders the rest of the earring components made from silver tubing and silver wire.

Here an artisan is making a pendant.

He locks cubic-zirconia stones in between the front and back frame pieces.

Then he positions the center piece within the frame, soldering it in four spots.

Next, he solders a ring to the top of the pendant...

Then the bail, the loop for the chain, around the ring.

Next, into the finisher, a rotating barrel of abrasive powder that rounds edges and smoothes rough spots.

A buffing with a cloth wheel then polishes the silver to a mirror finish.

The same computerized laser machine that cut the sphere earrings can also etch an elaborate design on the surface of a piece.

It can reproduce virtually any image that can be created or copied with software.

The laser draws by pulverizing a microlayer of silver.

As the laser works, a built-in suction device vacuums the silver powder away.

Besides adding strength and durability, the alloy makes sterling silver less porous and, therefore, shinier.

And the copper in particular has anti-corrosive properties which reduce tarnishing.

The mexican barrel chair is sometimes called montezuma's chair, after the 9th aztec emperor who, as legend has it, enjoyed sitting in one.

After the spanish conquest of the aztec empire, these chairs were deemed seats of honor for visiting v.i.p.s.

Now considered more rustic than regal, anyone can sit in a chair like montezuma's.

There are various versions produced in mexico today, many handcrafted using techniques that date back centuries.

With a sharp, curved blade, the craftsman first splits a chunk of mexican rosewood into long, narrow pieces.

He cuts 36 splints for the chair's distinctive lattice work.

He pares down the ends of each splint, and he carves a round head onto each end.

These heads will stop the rope from sliding off as he ties the splints together.

He pulls the back away from a much longer piece of wood and then trims it to slimmer dimensions.

This wood is fresh from a local shrub called guizema.

It's so pliable, it's almost elastic, allowing the craftsman to bend it around his knee into a "u" profile.

Too much force, and he could crack the wood.

Too little, and the curvature won't be right.

A thick nail used on railway tracks is now used as a hammer as he nails a linear piece of wood to a curved one, completing his chair base.

He now loops plastic rope around the tips of the two splints and ties them together.

He lays the tied splints to holes in the guizema wood base.

He angles the top end of the splints diagonally and ties them together to create the chair's trademark lattice.

He then arranges the rounded willow wood frame on top and lashes the tied tips to it.

He reinforces the chair base with willow wood branches that have been scraped flat.

He nails five of these poles to the base of the chair.

The next craftsman secures a rounded bundle of willow branches to the protruding poles.

This completes the back framework.

Another worker now strings rope made of agave plant fiber across the seat framework and ties it to it.

He creates a strong yet flexible webbing to support the seat.

He now splits open some locally grown reeds and flattens them with a stone.

Basket-weave-style, he interlaces the flattened reeds to create a plated material that will be the next layer for the seat.

After cutting it to the exact shape and dimensions, he places it on top of the webbing.

He then stitches a strip of leather along the border.

His co-worker now reinforces the plastic ties at the chair base with leather rope.

The leather ties also give the base a more finished look.

He turns the chair on its side and trims the poles.

He also carves slivers of wood from the base so that it's even all the way around, allowing the chair to sit level on the floor.

The next worker drapes tanned and stretched pig-skin leather over the back framework.

He trims it to the contours of the bent willow wood.

He covers the reed seat with more leather from the same hide and cuts away the excess.

Using a leftover swatch of leather, he applies wax made from pig and cow fat to leather rope.

The wax allows the rope to slide easily through holes in the leather so there are no snags as he stitches the upholstery together.

The leather upholstery is now tight and tailored.

The next worker sprays mineral dye onto the leather.

It's honey-colored for a warmer look, and it also hides any minor flaws.

After the dye, he applies a protective coat of lacquer.

They heat an iron stamp and apply it to the latticed base to brand the wood with the company name.

And with that job done, it's time to take a seat.

But with so many twists on this ancient design, it could be tough to decide which one.


Macarons
Pine Needle Baskets
Micrometers

Today on "how it's made," macarons...

Pine-needle baskets...

And micrometers.

Meringue cookies with a flavored filling, macarons were first produced in the eighth century in venetian monasteries.

In 1533, the recipe came to france with the pastry chefs brought by the italian noblewoman who arrived to marry the king.

Macarons have been considered french ever since.

Macarons are as much a treat for the eyes as for the mouth, with colorful meringue shells sandwiching a flavorful filling.

To prepare what's known as italian meringue for the shells, the bakers combine sugar and water.

They heat the mixture to precisely 222 degrees fahrenheit, slightly above the boiling point.

In a mixing bowl, the bakers combine egg whites with dehydrated egg whites.

Using a combination of liquid and dried egg whites reduces the amount of moisture in the meringue mixture.

When there's less moisture, it's easier to control the baking.

Workers mix the egg whites for about 8 to 10 minutes to make an emulsion, then add the boiling water and sugar.

The combination mixes until the temperature drops to 104 degrees fahrenheit.

No thermometer is necessary.

Bakers can tell by the stiff texture of what is now meringue.

The next step is to flavor and color the meringue.

Workers weigh very precise quantities of almond powder...

Then icing sugar.

They transfer these ingredients to the mixer...

And blend them thoroughly.

The baker adds the blended almond powder and icing sugar to a mixture of egg whites and, in this case, red food coloring because these will be raspberry macarons.

They resume mixing for another two or three minutes until everything is thoroughly blended.

Then the baker adds this mixture to the meringue to color and flavor it.

Five more minutes of blending, and the meringue is ready.

It's time to form the meringue shells.

A worker pours the meringue into the feed vat of the depositer.

The depositer dispenses 5-gram disks of meringue, 60 disks per lined baking sheet.

Using a micrometer, a worker measures each disk to make sure it's between 1.69 and 1.77 inches in diameter.

Meringue expands with baking, so this ensures each disk will bake into a shell that's the correct size.

Then, fans blow air to dry out the tops.

Evaporating the moisture prevents the top of the disks from rising as they bake in the oven for 15 to 20 minutes at 249 degrees fahrenheit.

When they come out of the oven, the baked shells are set out to cool.

Meanwhile, the bakers prepare the filling, mixing chocolate with piping-hot 35% cream.

As the chocolate melts, they blend the ingredients thoroughly.

Then the baker refrigerates the filling for 12 hours at 48 degrees fahrenheit.

When the filling comes out of the fridge, it's firm but malleable enough to be scooped up and put in a pastry bag.

With filling and shells now ready, the baker can begin assembling the macarons.

They squeeze about 5 grams of filling onto each shell...

Then place another shell on top, pressing gently to spread the filling outward.

The macarons fit perfectly into the slots of plastic retail trays, thanks to the careful measuring of the meringue disks prior to baking.

The trays pass through a machine which seals them in a pocket of plastic film to keep out moisture.

Then, each tray is packaged in a retail box.

This colorful selection features five flavors of macarons-- raspberry, blueberry, lemon, cherry, and exotic fruits.

When indigenous north americans needed containers, they looked no further than the pine needles that littered the forest floor.

They wove the needles into sturdy baskets for their daily use.

The making of these coniferous containers continues today, ensuring that it doesn't become a lost art.

Pine-needle baskets are beautiful examples of resourcefulness.

They prove that something substantial can be made from needles that would otherwise just end up on the ground and be trampled on.

The norway red pine in the northern united states sheds needles in the fall.

Just before they drop, they can be easily plucked from the branches.

This forager also collects needles that have fallen to the ground.

He tosses some pinecones into the bag too.

Back in the studio, a craftsperson immerses the needles in boiling water and simmers them for five minutes.

This softens the needles so that they're flexible enough to work with.

She selects a pinecone and boils it for 15 or 20 minutes.

This causes the scales to close up, and the cone shrinks.

Here are the pinecones before and after boiling.

The shrunken cone will serve as a handle for a basket lid.

After winding waxed linen thread around the cone's base, the craftsperson loops thread around the strands to hold them firmly together.

She now coils a bundle of pine needles around the cone and sews them to it.

She sets the cone aside for now.

Next, for an effect that is simply decorative, the craftsperson coils pine needles around a colorful piece of stone that's been sealed in acrylic.

Holes around the edge of the acrylic envelope make it easier to stitch the pine-needle coil to the decorative center.

The craftsperson gives each stitch a gentle tug to pull the coils snuggly so that it encompasses the acrylic edge.

This decorative center is now ready to be used as a starting point for a basket or a lid.

Using another technique, she crafts a basket center using only softened pine needles and thread.

This will be a bit trickier.

Using pliers, she pulls off the sheaths that hold the groupings of needles together.

Without the sheaths in the way, it will be easier to work with the needles.

The craftsperson now takes a bundle that's almost the thickness of a pencil and forms a small loop.

She ties a knot at the cross point.

She stitches the bundle all the way around, creating a spiral with a threaded pattern that radiates outward, like spokes on a wheel.

The craftsperson continually tucks more pine needles into the tail of the spiral to make it thicker and more even.

She then weaves a basket base from the center spiral outward.

She stitches each coil of pine needles to the one before it.

And she aligns the stitching to create a decorative pattern that adds to the appeal of the basket.

The craftsperson now tucks in pine needles with the black sheaths still on, to add even more visual interest.

She artfully arranges them around the basket base and stitches them to it.

From start to finish, it takes about 12 hours to craft the entire basket.

After completing the lid with the decorative stone, the craftsperson tests the fit.

For an alternative embellishment, she weaves red dogwood twigs into a pine-needle basket.

It's another way to be creative with the materials that nature offers up in abundance.

Each one of these pine-needle baskets is an original, handcrafted by an artisan.

And that makes them worth holding on to.

A micrometer is a handheld precision-measuring tool typically used in manufacturing.

A toolmaker producing parts for factory equipment or a machinist making parts for a product would use a micrometer to take precision measurements to make sure the part dimensions confirm to engineering specifications.

Micrometers come in different types and ranges of measurement.

This model is designed to measure the outside diameter of an object.

The graduations are in imperial units up to 1 inch.

The micrometer's frame starts out as a forged-steel part that needs to be machined to the final shape.

Workers secure the part on a mechanical milling machine.

The machine first squares the ends...

Then slices the part down the middle, dividing it into frames for two micrometers.

A computer-guided mill profiles the frame.

This is the forged frame before this step and after.

Another computer-guided mill reduces the inside and outside diameters of the frame's hollow stem.

Workers insert a nut in the stem, then dip a piece of solder into a soldering chemical called flux and insert it through a hole in the stem.

They hold the stem inside a soldering coil.

The heat instantly melts the solder, fusing the nut to the stem.

Workers remove excess solder with a wire brush.

Then, they grind the stem to finalize the diameter.

Here's what the stem looks like before this last grinding and after.

Next, on the opposite end of the frame, they mill a notch.

This is for the lock nut that locks the micrometer against the object while you read the measurement.

Workers now sandblast the entire frame.

This removes all traces of metal dust and machining lubricant, leaving the surface pristine, a requirement for the next step-- electroplating the frame with chrome.

They complete the micrometer's frame by laser-marking the brand name and a reference chart of measurements in fractions of an inch and the decimal equivalents.

This machine shapes a long steel rod into the micrometer's inside shell, which, in conjunction with the outside shell, displays the measurement reading.

The machine first drills through the rod to form a hollow cylinder.

Next, it reams the inside and grinds the outside to the required diameter.

The same machine also shapes a steel rod into the micrometer's outside shell.

It carves a diamond pattern onto it called a knurl.

This textures the surface, making it easier to grip.

Then the machines reams the inside to the required diameter.

After sandblasting both shells, workers hang them on a rack, then dip the rack into a tank of chromic acid.

Copper prongs on the rack deliver a positive electrical current to the shells while the chromic acid is charged with a negative current.

This magnetically draws a chrome layer onto the surface of the shells.

Then a computer-guided laser marks the brand name and the graduations on the inside and outside shells.

This computer-guided mill shapes a steel rod into the micrometer's key measuring component, the spindle.

The machine first profiles the outside.

Then it drills a hole 1/2 inch deep and reams it to the correct diameter.

It's critical that the spindle not wear down with long-term use, as this would effect the micrometer's measuring accuracy.

To prevent this, they harden the steel through a heat-treatment process.

First, workers put the spindles in a furnace at a temperature of 1,526 degrees fahrenheit.

After an hour, they submerge the spindles in oil, then freeze them overnight to stabilize the steel.

The next day, workers temper the steel by putting the spindles back in the furnace for an hour, this time at a lower temperature.

Once the spindles cool, a machining tool grinds threads into them.

The precision of that threading determines the micrometer's measurement accuracy.

To use a micrometer, you place the object you're measuring against the stationary end of the frame called the anvil.

Then you rotate the spindle on the opposite end until it's seated against the object.

You turn the nut to lock that position and read the measurement.

The spindle for this model has 40 threads per inch.

So turning it one revolution in either direction moves it 25/1,000 inch.

If the steel hadn't been hardened, those threads would wear down over time, causing inaccurate measurements.

For the same reason, this disk they now prepare to solder onto the face of the spindle is made of tungsten carbide, the hardest type of steel.

After fluxing the face of the spindle, topping it with the disk of solder, and positioning the fluxed carbide disk on top of that, workers place the spindle inside the hot soldering machine to fuse the carbide to the face of the spindle.

They grind the diameter of the carbide disk to reduce it to the same diameter as the spindle.

After this grinding, the disk becomes integrated with the rest of the spindle.

They grind the face of the carbide disk flat.

Then this lapping machine polishes the face to perfect the flatness and produces a mirror finish.

They perform a quality-control check with an optical parallel made of sapphire.

It projects bands of light which detect flatness to a degree the human eye can't perceive.

This second test reflects light off the mirror-finish face.

When rotating the spindle, the light should stand still.

This indicates the face is perfectly perpendicular to the diameter.

The micrometer's anvil, the fixed surface opposite the spindle against which you place the object you're measuring, is also machined from carbide.

To assemble the micrometer, a worker places a spring in a recessed area of the frame stem, then the inside shell onto the stem.

The spring applies enough tension to hold the shell in place.

The inside of the stem will have female threads to match male threads on the spindle.

This adjusting nut on the end of the stem controls the thread engagement between the two, enabling the spindle to move more tightly or loosely.

The next step is cutting those female threads into the inside of the stem.

First, a worker reams the stem to the required diameter, then switch the reaming tool on the lathe for a tapping tool.

Tapping is the term for cutting threads.

They put the stem back on the lathe and tap 40 female threads per inch.

Now, workers can assemble the spindle to the stem.

They mount the spindle on an automatic lapping machine.

Then a worker slides the stem over the spindle, going back and forth multiple times to fit both sets of threads together.

They lubricate the threads with instrument oil so they'll glide smoothly against each other.

After assembling the lock nut in its notch, the worker cleans the spindle face with alcohol and glues the anvil to it temporarily.

Then they rotate the spindle until the anvil reaches its adhesive-coated position at the opposite end of the frame.

When the adhesive sets, the worker separates the spindle and anvil.

Using an optical parallel, they check the spindle and anvil faces to make sure they're perfectly parallel to each other.

The worker completes the assembly by fitting the outside shell to the frame.

It covers the end of the spindle that's protruding from the stem.

A steel ratchet locks it into position.

A final round of quality-control testing ensures the device works smoothly and measures accurately.

In this test, they measure four different-sized measuring blocks.

In this one, they bring out those optical parallels again to check flatness and parallelism.

They also perform a cosmetic inspection and check that the graduations are all legible because, of course, no one wants a micrometer that doesn't measure up.


Kitchen Knives
Mannequins
Socks
Hypodermic Needles

Today on "how it's made"...

Kitchen knives...

Mannequins...

Socks...

And hypodermic needles.

Any good cook knows that you're only as good as your tools, so using the right kitchen knife for the job is essential.

From chef's knives and cleavers to boning knives, filleting knives, and paring knives, a serious cook buys only quality cutting utensils and stores them in a block to keep their blades sharp.

Today's blades are truly a cut above the stone tools the cavemen used.

Knife-making is now a science, producing tools that really give you that edge in the kitchen.

First, they roll out steel by the sheet from a big coil.

Then this machine, called a press, cuts out the blades with a punch.

And it really does pack a punch.

It presses down with 110 tons of pressure in order to make these steel cutouts.

Next, things get really hot.

They roll baskets full of the blade cutouts into a high-temperature furnace.

The blades bake at almost 1,600 degrees fahrenheit for 2 hours.

This hardens the steel.

Out of the fire and into the freezer, the blades chill out at subzero temperatures-- negative 56 degrees fahrenheit for two hours.

This freezer is cooled by liquid nitrogen.

Now we have what they call "cold, hard steel".

Next, they douse each blade with water while a belt grinder smooths the back of the blade and sparks fly.

Continuous water keeps the steel cool and hard while a sander smooths the back of the blade.

Now a robot moves in.

This robotic arm has vacuum grippers like an octopus.

It picks up a blade by suctioning, then it transports it to a grinding machine.

The machine grinds the blade to give it that cutting edge.

Water flows continuously through the grinder, again to keep the steel cool.

The robot keeps everything moving, putting a paring blade through the grinder every 12 seconds.

The automated process for this bigger blade is a bit different.

This robotic arm holds the blade in a grip, rather than through fast-action suctioning.

That's because it takes more time to grind this big blade, called a cook's knife.

So this arm holds onto this blade a few seconds longer.

But if this makes you nervous, relax.

The robot doesn't have a habit of dropping them.

Some blades require a personal touch, like this shiny chef's knife, used for chopping vegetables.

The worker runs the blade over the grinding stone very carefully.

This gives it a very thin edge.

Then a laser burns the brand name onto the side of the blade.

Next, a piece of wood goes into a clamp, and a router shaves it into the shape of a handle.

The end of the blade now fits neatly into the handle.

A worker clamps the knife onto a riveting machine.

Those things that look like bullets on an ammunition belt are actually the rivets.

The machine forces the rivets into the handle from both sides.

The rivets lock together inside the handle so they can never be taken apart.

Now they grind down any protruding steel from the handle.

This makes the wood flush with the steel from the blade.

The piece of metal that extends into the handle is called the tang.

It gives the knife weight and balance.

Finally, they hone the knife between two stone grinding wheels.

With this kind of an edge, these knives will slice paper.

But these knives will do their best work on the cutting board, where they'll make the cook's life easier and meals tastier, no matter how you slice it.

They strike alluring poses in store windows, motionless models flaunting the latest fashions.

For clothing retailers, mannequins are a vital sales tool.

They come in fixed or flexible versions, the bodies realistic or abstract.

And they can be made out of a range of materials, from wood to fiberglass.

Meet lady swing and mr.

X-- not flesh and bone, but polyurethane foam.

These fully flexible fashion figures start out as humongous blocks of soft polyurethane foam.

Using a band saw, workers divide them into smaller blocks, about the size of a large refrigerator.

A worker creates a pressed-wood mold using both a grinder and a sander to soften the inside.

She applies a layer of putty over rough or damaged areas.

This will harden and prevent the foam from clinging.

She'll make separate molds for the arms, legs, head, and torso.

A 3-square-foot slab of foam goes on top of the mold, then a slab of harder foam, called a pattern, on top of that.

The foam layers and wood mold now go through what's called a pressure cutting machine.

Pressure forces the slabs together, while a thin blade slices the excess foam away.

Exactly how much pressure the machine applies is a closely guarded trade secret.

The foam arms pop right out on the other side.

For the head and torso, they use a foam slab measuring 58"x17"x5 1/2", and a foam pattern that includes shapes for breasts and a belly button, and grommets to shape the nipples.

This foam pattern is impressionistic.

This mannequins are not meant to be anatomically correct.

Here's the pressure-cutting machine close up.

Nine rollers compress the mold, soft foam, and pattern slabs together, forcing them through a paper-thin opening, and slicing away up to six inches of foam.

True to form, lady swing pops up on the other side.

Her flexibility is her best trait.

She and mr.

X are often displayed on sports equipment, like snowmobiles and bikes.

Their manufacturer first named them in the 1970s, and the monikers just stuck.

Workers inspect the mannequin and trim the excess material.

They extract her easily because they sprayed the empty mold cavity with lubricant.

Next, a worker assembles a quarter-inch-thick steel skeleton to give the mannequin some structure.

Workers will insert the skeleton between the half-sections of the foam body.

A welder fuses together 16 joints in the ankles, knees, thighs, hips, elbows, and shoulders.

Another worker sprays slow-drying, water-based glue on the skeleton and on the foam body sections that'll cover it.

This will make them adhere together snugly.

The hand skeletons are thin and pliable, like coat hangers, so they'll bend.

A worker places the skeleton between the torso halves, positioning the foam so the edges meet evenly.

These dummies don't come cheap.

They sell for between $600 and $800 each, depending on the market value of the foam's main ingredient, oil.

Still, that's a bargain compared to their more realistic-looking, but much less flexible, fiberglass cousins.

They cost up to $2,000 each.

After letting the parts dry and set overnight, a worker tests the limbs for flexibility.

She joins together the lower leg portions.

The skeleton protrudes at the heel so that it can be secured to the floor when the dummy goes on display.

Now, here's a scene worthy of a horror movie.

Using an electric carving knife, a worker slices of 2 1/2 inches from the front of the head.

She glues on a hollow face mask made of plastic, using solvent-based glue for an extra-strong bond.

Next, they spray the mannequin with a flesh-colored water-based glue, then sprinkle it with a fine powder made of tiny cloth particles.

This is called flocking.

It takes 12 hours to dry and gives the mannequin a protective fire-retardant skin.

This factory's flocking comes in 18 different colors, from a variety of skin tones to several vibrant colors.

Before lady swing makes her debut, a makeup session-- powder blush to color her lips and cheeks, and water-based paint on her eyes, lashes, and brows.

They add a wig, and voilà-- she's ready for her date with mr.

X. socks are something we put on without thinking.

But consider this-- the very first socks were strips of cloth or hide wrapped around the feet.

Imagine walking around in those.

Thankfully, that's ancient history, and today's socks are much better for the sole.

With so many styles and fibers for sock these days, it's no problem putting your best foot forward.

But you have to step into this room of knitting machines to truly understand what a science sock-making has become.

Here's a machine with the top open so we can get a view of the knitting action.

An automated whirling cylinder pulls yarn from spools through holes in metal spokes.

Little hooks on the needles grab the yarn.

The hooks have latches.

The latches open as the hooks snare the yarn and close as they knit so you don't lose a stitch.

As you can see, this machine knits socks a lot faster than grandma, sometimes making over 360 pairs a day.

As the layers are added, a sock emerges from a tube at the bottom.

The knitting machine is fully computerized.

It automatically switches to a different color of yarn to make a stripe or a company logo.

Now the machine changes gears to make a heel.

It does a half rotation instead of a whole one to knit the heel shape.

The needles go up and down as the latches open, and the needles pick up the yarn, pulling it in.

Knit one, purl two.

Here it is in slow motion.

This is about the speed at which a human could knit at, but this machine normally runs at a speed of over 200 revolutions a minute.

A tension mechanism moves back and forth, keeping the yarn from going slack and getting tangled.

Now a sock shoots out of a vacuum tube, and a worker turns it inside out.

She sews the toe closed and cuts off the extra fabric.

Then she turns the sock right side out again, and it's sucked up by the vacuum.

Next, the vacuum tube deposits the sock into a bin.

The trapdoor on the end of the tube ensures that vacuum pressure isn't lost.

But there's more than one way to close a sock toe-- a more automated way.

A worker slides the sock between two metal plates.

Pressure holds them in place.

Then a motorized conveyer system transports the sock to a sewing head.

A blade cuts off excess fabric, and a needle goes up and down like an oil rig, stitching one row and then another as reinforcement.

This automated system produces a finer seam than a sewing machine that's run manually.

Now that the toe is closed, a robotic arm moves in and feeds the sock to a set of rollers.

A blade pushes the sock down while the rollers turn the sock right side out.

A vacuum chute fires the sock into a bin.

Then it's on to the rotary dying machine.

He loads 1,800 pairs or more, depending on the size of the dying machine.

The socks toss around in a bath of dyes, chemicals, and softeners.

For athletic socks, they add antimicrobial treatment to the mix.

It will help prevent fungus or bacteria that cause foot odor.

Now they slide the sock onto a foot form made of polished aluminum that won't cause snags.

The aluminum leg forms stretch the socks to the prescribed size as they travel down a conveyer belt into a boarding machine.

The boarding machine is like a gigantic iron, and the heat seals the stretch in the nylon so the sock stays that size.

Once out, a robotic arm grips the sock and pulls it off the aluminum form.

It's called a stripper.

Then an automated rack with protruding pins collects the socks.

The worker removes them a bunch at a time, and the socks are ready for packaging.

And then, all you have to do is pull up your socks.

A hypodermic needle is the proper term for a syringe and needle.

It's used to draw blood or inject medication.

This indispensable tool was invented back in 1853, but it wasn't until 1954 that mass-produced disposable syringes came on the market, developed for the vast immunization campaign against polio.

A syringe may make you cringe, but the treatment it delivers could be a lifesaver.

To make a hypodermic needle, they start with a flat strip of stainless steel.

The milling machine rolls it into a tube shape.

A laser welds the seam together.

But what makes the steel stiff enough to use is something called cold-work, in which they press the tubing through a die several times.

This also slims the tube dramatically, so now you have a thinner, tougher tube.

It takes about a couple of days to turn this stainless-steel strip into a tube with needle potential.

But it will have to be sharp to perform, and the next steps will focus on getting the steel tube to a point where it's more than just a blunt object.

An electrically powered blade scores the walls of the tubes as rubber pads bear down and roll.

This rolling causes the tubes to finally break at the score line.

The tubes are being cut down to size-- about two inches long.

The tubes fall into a bin, a tangled mess.

The bin, driven by air pressure, agitates, and this shaking motion straightens them out.

An operator bundles them together with a plastic band, but removes a few to check the specs.

This micrometer uses laser light to measure the outside diameter.

The tube is supposed to be 8/100 of an inch, and it's right on.

Next, a mechanically driven drum rolls superadhesive tape onto the tubes.

The tape will hold the tubes in place as more work is done on them.

They razor cut five-inch strips of the tape tubes so that there are about 100 tubes per strip.

Then they spray aluminum oxide on the ends of the tubes.

This roughs them up so that the surface will be easier to work with.

Now they place the strips of tubes into the grinding fixture, and then they snap it shut.

Coolant flushes over the tube tips as the fixture moves across a grinding wheel.

The wheel grinds through the tops of the tubes, shaping them into a rough point.

This is only the first grind, so it's not yet needle-sharp.

Now the fixture rolls and rotates the tubes.

Then it's back to the grind.

The angle of the wheel is changed so that it sands the sides of the tubes.

These two secondary grinds sharpen the tubes into a finer point.

This is how they look before grinding, and this is after, with their sharp needle tips.

Now it's time for the big inspection.

She pushes the ends of the needles with the back of her tweezers to make sure they're even, and then pulls out a needle for sampling.

She measures the length of the grind.

It should be a few hundredths of an inch long.

Next, she sizes up the needle's outside diameter with a micrometer.

Holding the needle between posts, it measures the space between them.

Then she checks the inside diameter by inserting a plug gage into the tube.

Now she inspects a whole bundle of needles for irregularities or burrs.

Using tweezers, she removes one for a closeup look under the microscope.

Once they pass inspection, it's on to the big wheel, or the automated assembly machine.

Brass- and nickel-plated fittings, called hubs, drop onto pins on the wheel.

Then needles fall into the hubs.

Metal fingers align them so they fit together precisely.

The hub is the piece that will connect the needle to the syringe.

Automated crimpers press the needle into the hub.

Sheer friction bonds them.

Now two metal pads on the same wheel position the needle.

A plastic sleeve drops down, encasing the pointed tip.

Finally, a robotic arm lifts the needle off the wheel and drops it into a bin.

The needles are now ready for you, but are you ready for them?


Anatomical Models
Jukeboxes
Tortilla Chips
Spark Plugs

In the 18th century, anatomical models became widely used for educational purposes.

However, they were unique pieces carved in wax, which made them expensive and fragile.

Today, they're made of plastic-based resin and are found in medical schools, doctors' offices, even art schools.

This model of a human torso has 20 removable parts.

The front, sides, and back all provide different views of the body's inner and outer structure.

Workers cast each part of the model using a plastic-based polymer resin.

They pour the resin into nickel molds of the different parts, like this skullcap mold...

Or this heart mold.

Then they join the two molds that make up each part and clamp them shut.

The molds go into a gas oven set to 437 degrees fahrenheit.

As the heat penetrates the molds, the resin evenly coats the entire inner surface.

After about 10 to 12 minutes, they come out piping hot.

Workers spray them with water to cool them down before they unclamp the mold and release the warm casting.

Here are some shoulder muscles fresh from their mold...

The cross-section of a heart...

An arm...

And a leg that workers set to cool into shape on a form made of heat-resistant gypsum.

Using a needle, a worker punctures the resin to release trapped air so the part doesn't shatter.

Then he drills small holes for the pins that will hold the parts together.

Each part is hand-painted to single out key features.

An artist carefully paints in the veins in blue on this leg...

And then uses yellow for the nerve endings...

And red for the arteries.

Even the toenails get some color.

Before they can assemble the model, workers must first insert metal pins into each part.

They help attach the parts to one another.

Now the artist can finish painting in the arteries on this shoulder muscle.

The gray areas indicate the ligaments.

Next, she turns her attention to the head, painting in the eyes first to give the figure some life.

It's all in the details.

This final touch really makes the eyes come alive.

The parts go into a warm oven for about 15 minutes to soften the plastic.

This makes them easier to assemble.

Here, a worker lowers the model's head onto a metal pin set in the torso.

She puts the brain inside the model's skull and covers it with the skullcap.

Next, she adds muscles to an arm, guiding the pin into a hole on the adjoining part.

She adds the bicep, a muscle that helps flex the hand...

And, finally, the deltoid, the muscle that lifts the arm at the shoulder joint.

She tapes up the arm to keep all parts together as she attaches it to the torso.

Nickel-plated hooks and fasteners hold the removable parts in place on the assembled model.

This life-size muscular figure measures in at 4 1/2 feet.

It has 45 separate parts, all anatomically correct.

The human body-- truly an extraordinary structure.

The jukebox actually started out as a memo-recording device for executives.

That phonograph recorder was invented by thomas edison back in the 19th century.

It evolved into a coin-operated music machine because music is a lot more fun to dance to than the boss' orders--  "take a memo".

Put a coin in the slot and people will dance to your tune.

Records replaced the phonographic cylinder early in the 20th century.

Amplifiers were added in the 1930s and gave the big box a big sound.

In the 1980s, compact discs came along, putting a different spin on the jukebox.

With those smaller discs, manufacturers could pack a lot more music into a machine.

Now compact-disc technology is becoming outdated, and the latest jukeboxes contain computers that download songs from the internet.

To make a modern jukebox, they start with the door.

They sandwich a red panel with swirled designs on it between layers of plastic.

The assembler aligns them, then screws them together.

He snaps the jukebox name into a snazzy piece of plastic, then fits it in one of the cutouts in the front of the door.

Next, he installs aluminum framework around the door.

He supports it at the corners with metal brackets.

He screws a little metal wheel on the latch so the door will open and close smoothly.

He mounts the touch screen in the big cutout on the door.

He strings wiring for lighting around the perimeter of the door and fastens two long panels equipped with l.e.d. lights to the back.

He plugs in the lights for a test, and it proves this door is flashy enough for the entertainment biz.

He runs plastic trim along the perimeter of the door and screws a long metal hinge to one side of it.

This jukebox door is now complete, and the rest is an inside job.

The assembler installs an exhaust fan in the jukebox cabinet.

He screws an audio amplifier to the back wall.

The wireless router that allows the jukebox to connect to the internet goes in next.

He mounts the power-supply system to the sidewall of the cabinet.

He tucks the computer into a lower corner of the box.

The power transformer for the amplifier goes on the back wall.

He installs an audio-control system just below the transformer.

He connects the amplifier to the audio-control system, and then he wires the computer to the router.

He hooks up a communication system that passes information between all the devices in the jukebox.

And he installs a transformer for the speaker system.

Now the jukebox is ready for the showpiece-- that light-studded door with the touch screen.

He screws the door's long hinge to the cabinet.

He inspects his installation job and determines no adjustments are needed.

So he fastens the bill box to the back of the door...

And installs the computer hard drive in the cabinet.

And, finally, the money test.

He feeds the jukebox some cash and makes musical selections to check its function.

At the jukebox factory, when the job is done, it really is party time.

On their own, dipped in salsa or guacamole, or topped with chili and melted cheese, tortilla chips are the quintessential mexican snack, even though they're actually an american invention.

In the late 1940s, a los angeles tortilla factory began cutting and frying leftover tortillas, selling the first tortilla chips.

When the chips are down, they usually go fast.

Tortilla chips start out as raw yellow corn.

The supplier cleans the kernels and dries them to a moisture content of 14%, then ships them to the chip factory.

There, the corn goes into large stainless-steel cooking kettles filled with almost-boiling water.

Workers then add lime, an ingredient that does many things.

It's antibacterial, it gives the corn a parched flavor, it helps loosen the hull--  the kernel's shell-- so it will come off later on, and lets moisture penetrate the kernel.

Each cook kettle contains more than 650 pounds of corn and almost 200 pounds of water and lime combined.

Next stop is a soak tank.

The cooked corn sits there for 12 hours to further absorb water.

Once the moisture content hits 45% and the hulls are soft and loose, a pumping system moves the corn to the washer.

This machine strains the water so that what's left is just soft, hydrated corn.

The next stop is the tumbler, a rotating drum with perforated walls.

Water jets blow off the loose hulls.

The corn travels on a conveyor from the tumbler to the mill.

An auger feeds the corn into a stone grinder.

It literally pulverizes the corn kernels between two stones, producing a soft corn dough called masa.

The masa exits the mill through a narrow nozzle that shapes the dough into a thin sheet.

The sheet then runs through rollers that have triangular dies on their surface.

The triangles move into an oven heated to 644 degrees fahrenheit.

They spend just 16 seconds inside, but that's enough time to dry the dough to the point where it won't break apart when handled.

The heat also traps tiny pockets of moisture in the dough, creating little blisters.

This gives the tortilla chips their trademark bumpy texture.

From the oven, a conveyor belt transports the triangles to the fryer.

The corn oil is 360 degrees fahrenheit.

They take just 55 seconds to fry into chips.

A mesh conveyor belt then lifts them out.

As they leave, the excess oil drains back into the fryer.

At the next stop, augers feed nacho-flavor seasoning into a tumbler.

The seasoning's main ingredients are powdered cheddar, parmesan and romano cheeses, and spices.

Nozzles spray the chips with corn oil to make the surface adhesive.

Then the seasoning tumbles on and sticks.

After exiting the tumbler, the chips travel to the packaging department.

Chutes route them to different packaging machines.

The packaging equipment represents technical choreography at its finest.

Each machine has 14 bucket-shaped scales.

When there's enough for one package, a trap door opens.

The chips drop just as a forming device shapes a piece of foil and plastic film into a bag.

The chips land in the bag.

Then a heat sealer immediately closes the top and cuts it free while simultaneously sealing the bottom of the next bag.

From bucket to bag to bowl.

It takes a spark to get your motor running.

The spark plug was invented in the 19th century to fire the internal-combustion engine.

There are usually several in an engine, and they fit into the cylinder head.

When the plugs are all working, it means your trip will have a good start.

The spark plug produces what looks like a mini lightning bolt to ignite the gas that runs your car.

To make spark plugs, they blend alumina ceramic powder and other ingredients with water.

After a thorough mixing, the milky-looking brew drains into a big dryer, which converts it back to powder.

The powder funnels into a mold.

It closes to press the powder into the shape of spark-plug insulators, and a binding ingredient in the mix helps them keep their shape.

An automated system loads them onto mandrels that spin the ceramic insulators against a grinding wheel.

It grinds them into a more graduated shape and does a very precise job.

These ceramic shapes are quite fragile, and they'll need to be baked in order to harden.

But first, a tester double-checks the measurements with a laser tool.

Then they bake in this very hot kiln until they're extremely hard.

This takes up to 24 hours.

While the insulators are in the kiln, tools ram steel through shaped cavities called dies.

They're essentially punching out shells that will be the spark-plug casings.

Other tools bore into the upper part of the shells to give them a hexagonal profile.

This will later enable mechanics to wrench them into a vehicle's engine block.

More tooling contours the spark-plug shells, and the result is quite a transformation.

A conveyor now shuttles the spark-plug shells forward, as nickel-alloy wire unwinds overhead.

An automated welder fuses the wire to the shells.

This wire will serve as the spark plug's ground electrode, and it will be bent towards a firing electrode later.

The space between them will contain the spark.

Ridged rollers carve threads in the steel shells so they can be screwed into the engine block.

The shell then gets a protective silvery finish.

The ceramic insulators are now out of the kiln, and it's time to roll on the insignia.

The insulators then brush by a rubber wheel that coats them with glaze as a protective finish.

They install center electrodes in the insulators, and powder funnels into them to fill the space around the electrodes.

The powder is a mix of glass and metal.

Automated prongs compress it in the insulators.

Grippers then insert the terminal studs into the insulator.

The stud will act as the electrical connection to the center electrode.

The insulators now go into an oven.

The black powder melts around the studs and center electrodes to seal them inside the insulator cavity.

Nozzles squirt oil onto the metal shells to lubricate them.

The insulators funnel into the grip of robots which will install them in the shells.

They slide in easily because of the lubrication job.

Tools called shrinking punches apply an electrical current to each shell to fit it tightly to the insulator.

A robot positions the assembly right side up with the side electrode protruding, then bends that side electrode towards the center one.

The robot then collects the spark plugs and sends them down the line.

It's time for an inspection.

She looks for imperfections in the glaze, the inscription, and the nickel plating.

She measures the space between the two electrodes before sending them over to the packaging department.

And now these spark plugs are ready to keep your engine firing on all cylinders.