Life Casting
Downdraft Cooktops
Compression Hosiery
Electric Motorcycles

Egyptian pharaohs were likely the first to have molds made of their bodies and the images cast.

Today, anyone can have this done.

The experts have it down to a fine art.

It's called life casting, or body molding, and it's in demand because every body is different.

Need a body double?

Life casting creates replicas of body parts that can be used as personal mementos or movie props.

They start by applying cold cream to the body part.

The cream will serve as a release agent, allowing the mold to be removed whole.

This orange goop is the molding material.

It's a seaweed-based substance called alginate.

It's the same stuff the dentist uses to take molds of teeth, but it's formulated to set more slowly.

The life caster spreads the alginate liberally onto this young actor's clenched fist and arm.

Alginate cures in five or six minutes, so there's no time to waste.

He works at a steady pace.

He applies wet plaster bandages to the alginate.

The bandages adhere and form a stiff shell similar to a cast for a broken limb.

The cast-like shell supports the alginate as it cures to the shape of the boy's fist to produce a mold of it.

When cured, the alginate has a firm yet rubbery consistency.

It takes a few tugs to pull off the mold, but the rubbery nature of the alginate means it can be done without cracking or crumpling.

The casting material is durable dental plaster.

He pours it into the mold.

He tips out a bit to get rid of bubbles that have accumulated on the surface.

It's hands off now as the plaster cures because a chemical reaction makes it dangerously hot.

A half-hour later, the plaster is cooled and hardened into the shape of the boy's fist.

The plaster has picked up all the little details, including the tiniest of creases.

He picks out bits of alginate lodged in the creases.

He defines the fingernails and cleans up a few pits and bubbles.

This is the actor's real hand, and this is the replica.

Next, they make a mold of the actor's face.

They apply cream to his hair to prevent it from becoming stuck in the alginate.

The team completely coats his face, ears, and upper chest with blue alginate.

It must be hard not to wince, but he can't budge in order to create a good impression.

They leave the back of his head uncovered for an open mold and create two small holes for breathing.

They layer the plaster bandages over the alginate to give structure to the mold.

It also makes him look mummified.

After several minutes, the mold has solidified.

The team removes it from the subject.

Now that his features have been successfully transferred to the alginate, he can breathe easy.

The life caster trims excess alginate, then wraps fabric around the mold to build a kind of wall to contain spills as he fills it with plaster.

The plaster casting may not be the final one.

Depending on the client's wishes, they may make a mold from this bust and then cast the image in a more flesh-like material like silicone, foam, or rubber.

The plaster is cured and the wait is over.

It's time to peel off the layers and find the face within.

It's a bit like he's removing an intricate mask.

The face behind it is instantly recognizable.

He cleans out the eyes and nose...

And scrubs the entire plaster face.

Here's the actor and his plaster doppelganger.

They'll use it to create a silicone version, and once it's painted and given hair, it will be ready for the movies.

In contrast to a big, traditional hood, which is separate from the stove, a downdraft system vents smoke, steam, and cooking odors without being conspicuous.

The ventilation unit is actually part of the cooktop, and that opens up a lot of kitchen-design possibilities.

Invented in the 1960s, the downdraft cooktop can solve some design dilemmas.

Installed in a center island, it offers a clear line of view where a traditional hood would block it.

Production starts with the burner box.

They'll make three from this steel sheet.

A computer guides tools as they cut holes and notches in the steel.

It also roughs out the shape of the boxes and makes slots for the downdraft ventilation intake.

After the sheets have been cut into individual units, a worker serves them up to a computerized brake press.

The computer controls the stops that position the sheet to be bent at the correct angle.

This transforms the steel sheet into a box.

They're now ready to build the downdraft ventilation system.

The worker inserts the fan blower and motor into an assembly fixture.

He then places a metal part, known as the plenum, over it.

The plenum is the intake duct.

He places a mesh guard over the opening through which steam and cooking fumes will flow.

He secures everything with four nuts and studs.

He caps the nuts with rubber plugs to seal the gaps.

He now transfers the fan and duct assembly to another fixture.

It allows him to correctly position the burner box on the ventilation system.

He plugs the blower motor into a junction box.

He places a metal frame around the plenum and screws it in place to secure the plenum to the burner box.

Next, he assembles the knob switches that turn the burners on and off.

He adds rubber insulators to keep water out of the switches.

He covers them with a metal plate with holes for the knob shafts to protrude.

He installs the lighting system that indicates whether the burners are on or off.

Next, an employee slots the switch system into the ceramic cooktop through the back.

He inserts the radiant heating elements into the holes in the cooktop.

The elements are different sizes to accommodate different pots, and they have different heating capacities.

He wires the switches to the elements, and he ties them to the main power cord.

Another worker screws the elements to a metal bracket that's glued to the underside of the ceramic cooktop, and he completes the wiring work.

The ceramic cooktop is complete and ready to be joined to the downdraft ventilation unit.

He aligns the hole in the center with the intake duct.

He feeds the wires from the cooktop through holes in the burner box to the junction box.

He screws the junction box to the bottom of the burner box.

He pulls the main power harness through a hole in the burner box and secures it to the box with a metal bracket and screws.

He adjusts the ceramic cooktop, which moved out of alignment a bit during the wiring, and then equips the cooktop with knobs which fit snugly to the protruding pins.

And it's over to a test station.

The operator connects a computer to the downdraft cooktop.

She turns the knobs, and the computer measures the power consumed by the elements.

Some elements are the same size but different wattages.

The test confirms that the elements are in the correct slots and that all burners are operational.

It's taken 25 minutes to assemble this downdraft cooktop.

The downdraft ventilation unit will get rid of moisture and odors discreetly.

It's now time to turn up the heat with no worries about the fallout.

If you've got varicose veins, leg fatigue, ankle swelling, or other circulation disorders, your doctor may prescribe compression hosiery, pressured stockings that squeeze your legs primarily at the ankle and, to a lesser extent, in other areas to help the blood in your veins travel back to the heart.

They don't look like ugly old-lady stockings anymore.

Today's compression hosiery comes in a range of colors and pantyhose, thigh-high, and knee-high versions.

The doctor prescribes the compression strength you need.

That's the pressure at the ankle in millimeters mercury, the same measuring unit used in blood-pressure readings.

The hosiery is knitted out of stretchy spandex and nylon yarns.

The computerized knitting machine interlocks yarn strands vertically and horizontally.

This two-direction knit gives the stocking a two-way stretch.

However, it's the horizontal yarn in the knit that provides the doctor's strength prescription.

They program the knitting machine to produce a run of a specific size and prescription.

It automatically varies the stitch and yarn tension to apply 100% of the prescribed pressure at the ankle, 65% at the calf, and 30% at the thigh.

Stronger pressure at the bottom point forces blood upward toward the heart.

The machine outputs stocking-length tubes, which sewers skillfully transform into the final shape.

The first sewer turns the tube inside out and stitches the toe closed.

Then she stretches those stitches to flatten the seam so it'll be comfortable on the foot.

If they're making pantyhose, another sewer slits that tube partway down the inside of the leg so it can be joined to another leg.

The next sewer takes a leg and stitches it to a triangular cotton gusset, which forms the crotch of the pantyhose.

These are maternity hose, so she also sews in a stretchy stomach panel.

Then she sews a big u-shaped seam at the front, joining the second leg to the other parts.

Whether it's a multiple-component pantyhose or a simple single thigh-high or knee-high stocking, the production steps from this point on are the same.

Workers slide each stocking onto a heated aluminum leg form in the size they're producing in this run.

Laser lines show exactly where to align the heel and other parts on the form.

Then, one by one, the forms enter a pressurized steam chamber for about four seconds.

This quick steam treatment is enough to permanently lock the form's shape into the nylon.

The form then enters a dryer, where it stops for about 15 seconds.

The hot forced air evaporates the steam-infused moisture.

When the stocking finally comes off the form, it's dry and leg-shaped.

Workers now group the stockings into 10-pair stacks, put each stack inside a specific color bag to identify its style and size, then load the bags in this high-tech dye machine.

They key in the program which automatically controls every aspect of dyeing the stockings from water levels and temperature to dye injection.

For one hour, the machine washes the stockings.

Then, over the next five hours, it dyes them, adding chemicals to make the water acidic, which draws the dye like a sponge permanently into the yarn fibers.

The compression stockings knit, sewn, shaped, and dyed are now ready to be inspected and packaged.

The factory pulls a set number of random samples per day from the production line and tests them on this extension machine.

It stretches the hose to test the tensile strength, and it measures the compression at the different points of the leg.

Every single pair of stockings undergoes a visual inspection prior to packaging.

Then the packager neatly folds it around a cardboard insert, slips it inside an adhesive-sealed plastic bag, and inserts it into the retail box.

Compression stockings are classified as a medical device.

The sealed bag assures the customer that the stockings are a brand-new, unused pair, and therefore, hygienic.

Looking to drive motorcycle without ever having to stop for a fill-up, change the oil, top off the fluids, or repair a transmission, clutch, and cooling system?

And do you want a quiet motor that doesn't contribute to air pollution?

Then an electric motorcycle may be just the set of wheels you're looking for.

An electric motorcycle lends a whole new meaning to the term "plug and play".

You charge the bike's battery by plugging in to a standard 120-volt household electrical outlet.

A full charge takes eight hours, but you can buy an add-on device to cut that charging time in half.

The bike's journey begins on a sketch pad.

An industrial designer draws an artistic conception, creating the aesthetics such as lines and colors as well as the ergonomics, such as seat and mirror positioning.

The designer transforms the sketches into a computer model to which engineers then add the mechanics.

The motorcycle's battery contains four cell boxes.

To link all the cell boxes, they install two interconnect boards.

Then, into each board, they plug the connectors from two cell boxes.

They use lots of grease to waterproof the battery and protect it against corrosion caused by road salt or sea air.

Next, they plug wires coming from the two interconnect boards into a circuit board.

This circuit board is the battery's brain.

It regulates the voltages of the individual cells to prevent overheating.

Then the charging components.

Technicians now close up the fully assembled battery with protective covers and run it through a function test.

The test simulates the discharge of the battery that happens when you ride the bike, then the recharge that occurs when you plug in.

All the cell voltages must balance in the process.

The motorcycle frame is made of high-strength, lightweight, aircraft-grade aluminum.

At the tail end, they install the controller, the link between the battery and the throttle, which controls the electricity flow to the motor.

They mount the suspension system, an aluminum swingarm that attaches to the rear wheel on one end and to the frame on the other via a spring-shaped shock absorber, which expands and contracts to dampen bounce as the wheel moves up and down over bumps in the road.

They mount the motor.

The battery's electrical current rotates the motor via the controller, which turns the drive belt, spinning the bike's rear wheel.

This belt's maintenance-free because it's made of high-strength rubber, further reinforced with the material used to make bulletproof vests.

They install the upper triple clamp, which carries the dash, horn, turn signals, and ignition switch.

Then the handlebars.

There are several components already mounted to them, including the front brake lever, the throttle, and control switches.

Then technicians slide the battery into the frame and connect it to the motor and controller.

This motorcycle has no transmission, no gears, no clutch, no cooling system to maintain or repair.

The motor's fins adequately dissipate heat buildup.

Next, two aluminum forks to hold the front wheel axle.

Workers position them inside the upper triple clamp and a second triple clamp lower down.

But they don't install the front wheel just yet.

They first mount the rear wheel.

It has a rubber tire, hydraulic brakes activated by a foot lever, and a sprocket for the drive belt.

They place the drive belt around the sprocket.

Now, when the motor runs, the rear wheel turns.

After mounting the front wheel, they install the bike's plastic body parts.

There's a storage area where gas motorcycles would have their fuel tank.

There are four chargers located underneath the battery.

Their wiring culminates in a single port in which you plug a cable to recharge.

Every motorcycle this factory produces undergoes an extensive indoor road test on a dynamometer, a driving simulator that assesses the performance of every component.

Although very quiet, the bike's as powerful as a midsize, gasoline-run motorcycle and can reach speeds of up to 100 miles per hour.

When the battery needs a quick recharge, you can pull over at a roadside electric-vehicle charging station and fill her up in less than an hour.


Ceramic Tiles
Nuts
Steel Forgings
Skateboards

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

Ceramic tiles...

Nuts...

Steel forgings...

And skateboards.

Ceramic tiles are a popular choice for flooring, kitchen backsplashes, and bathroom walls.

They can withstand humidity and won't absorb liquids or odors.

They're also fireproof, fade-resistant, and stain-resistant.

And no matter how much you walk on them, ceramic tiles never wear out.

This factory specializes in wall tiles.

Floor tiles are made using the same process but with different materials.

The starting material here is talc-- a soft, powdery mineral.

They blend it with four different powdered chemicals, the names of which are a company secret.

The ingredients go into a mixer, where they're hydrated until they're 6% water to 94% powder.

The mixer runs for precisely 12 minutes.

Any longer would heat the mixture and dry it out.

The mixture is now slightly damp and quite lumpy.

A conveyor belt transports it to a grinder that mills it to a fine texture.

This mixture is now ready to be formed into various models of tiles.

The factory uses fully automated machinery to produce its 1.6-square-inch tiles-- a standard wall tile size.

A moving tray first deposits a batch of mixture into a mold.

The mold's cavity is in the shape of six upside-down tiles.

A press descends, applying both heat and pressure.

This compacts the mixture into the cavity, solidifying the shape.

As the press rises, the mold automatically pops out the tiles.

They roll off the machine onto a conveyor belt.

The belt now flips the tiles right side up without breaking them-- which is quite a feat, considering that these yet-to-be-baked tiles aren't fully hardened.

The equipment is precision-adjusted to handle the tiles gently at all production phases.

A revolving brush now sweeps the tiles clean.

Their surface must be free of dust and other contaminants for paint to adhere properly.

The factory uses a water-based paint that's specifically designed for ceramics.

It continually circulates in a vat, keeping the color well-blended.

The painting process resembles an automatic car wash.

The tiles travel through four spray zones, each of which applies a thin coat of paint.

Then they pass under powerful heating elements, which dry the paint in mere seconds.

All that's left is to bake the tiles, which we'll see shortly.

The factory uses the same ceramic mixture to produce these square border tiles.

They look just like the other wall tiles, except that two of the sides are rounded.

When you install a row of these border tiles above the regular tiles, the rounded edges produce a clean, finished look.

While the factory uses the same painting process for border tiles, the molding process, as you just saw, is somewhat different.

Rather than being fully automated, it requires some manual labor due to the tiles' complex shape.

That's why border tiles are often more expensive than regular tiles.

When the tiles come out of the dryer, workers stack them on wooden racks.

They load the racks onto mobile carts and then roll the carts into a gas-powered oven called a kiln.

This factory's kiln is 190 feet long-- longer than an olympic-size swimming pool and large enough to bake 50,000 wall tiles at once.

The firing, as it's called, takes 14 hours.

Any sudden change in temperature could produce thermal shock and crack the tiles, so the kiln starts out at 390 degrees fahrenheit, climbing gradually to a peak of 1,970 degrees, then descends slowly back to the starting temperature.

After a cooling period that lasts roughly an hour, the tiles come out.

They're now fully hardened and ready to have their back to the wall.

Scan the snack-food aisle of your local supermarket, and you'll notice that barbecue, ketchup, and salt-and-vinegar are no longer limited to potato chips.

Nuts come in tantalizing taste choices, too.

But if you're a traditionalist, you can still buy them plain, salted, or unsalted.

The botanical definition of a nut is a dry, one-seed fruit in a hard shell that doesn't open on its own.

Most peanuts have two seeds, so even though we call them nuts, they're technically a legume--  a type of pea.

One way to prepare peanuts for sale is to roast them whole, right in their shells.

This is known as dry-roasting because they cook the peanuts without using any oil in a large convection oven.

The oven temperature is 300 degree fahrenheit.

The roasting process takes about a half-hour.

When the peanuts come out, they're fully cooked and ready to be eaten.

Before the peanuts go off to be packaged, a worker inspects them, removing any shell fragments and foreign matter.

Another way to prepare peanuts or other nuts for sale is to dry-roast only the seeds.

These peanut seeds arrive at the factory with their shells and skins already removed.

A conveyor transports them to a revolving drum called the tumbler.

As the tumbler spins, the nuts are sprayed with a liquid seasoning mixture, one of 10 flavors this company produces-- salted, smoked, ketchup, barbecue, and salt-and-vinegar, just to name a few.

The rotating action ensures the seasoning coats the nuts thoroughly.

Now a conveyor transports the peanuts to a convection oven.

The conveyor turns from side to side, spreading the peanuts in a thin layer so that they'll dry-roast evenly.

They roast for the same length of time and at the same temperature as peanuts in the shell-- about a half-hour at 300 degrees fahrenheit.

As they exit the oven, a worker breaks up any clumps.

When they use the other method of preparing shelled nuts, they tumble on the seasoning after cooking.

Instead of dry-roasting the nuts, as we saw earlier, they fry them in oil.

This process is called oil-roasting.

It gives the nuts a greasier, fried taste.

These cashews are on their way to be oil-roasted.

They go into a huge frying tank containing 580 gallons of canola oil heated to 320 degrees fahrenheit.

The nuts come out fully cooked 15 minutes later, and they're steaming hot.

A powerful ventilation system draws the heat outdoors, cooling the cashews to room temperature.

This process takes about 15 minutes.

By now, the nuts have absorbed any cooking oil that remained on their surface, so they receive a light spray of vegetable oil.

This makes their surface sticky again so that the salt or seasoning mix will adhere.

This factory also produces nut mixes.

Here the mixer is combining various nuts with dried fruit.

From there it's on to a packaging machine, whose eight computer-programmed scales automatically weigh out a specific package portion.

But before each portion goes into a bag, it passes through a metal detector.

This ensures that no shards of metal have worn off the equipment and fallen into the food.

The machinery hermetically seals the plastic packages.

This keeps the contents fresh for at least six months.

When does forging not involve fraud?

When you're talking about metal.

Many industrial machines contain steel parts that have to withstand great stress.

The metalworking method that produces the strongest steel parts is forging-- heating the metal, then forming it to the required size and shape.

Steel forgings are made from scrap iron-- pieces of used iron recovered from demolished buildings and old cars-- as well as bits of new iron left over from the manufacture of iron products.

Forge workers maneuver a gigantic magnet to lift almost 6 tons of scrap at a time until they've filled a 28-ton scrap bucket.

The bucket empties two such loads into a fiery furnace, whose temperature peaks at 3,000 degrees fahrenheit.

This is called an electric arc furnace because the heat is created by a strong electric current running in an arc between three electrodes.

There are about 20 main grades and 100 subgrades of steel.

They're produced by adding specific metals or nonmetallic chemical elements, such as aluminum...

Nickel...

Chromium...

Vanadium...

Manganese...

Carbon...

And molybdenum.

They also add the mineral fluorite to help fuse the metals, some of which are in the form of blocks called ingots.

Throughout the 3 1/2-hour meltdown, they test and adjust the chemical composition.

They try to attain the lowest hydrogen, oxygen, nitrogen, and sulfur levels-- the key to producing strong, high-quality steel.

Then they pour the sizzling molten metal into a 50-ton ladle that's lined with heat-resistant brick.

They add aluminum and lime to chemically counteract oxidation-- rusting caused by air exposure.

Now they cast an ingot-- a block of steel that they'll shape into a forging.

The molten metal flows out the bottom of the ladle into a mold below.

This bottom pouring, as it's called, makes for a smoother casting because liquid flowing downward doesn't swill around as much as liquid poured sideways.

This forge can cast ingots weighing up to 46 tons.

After several hours, the ingot solidifies, and they turn the mold upside down to extract it.

Then, over 12 hours, they reheat the ingot to 2,200 degrees fahrenheit.

This makes it soft enough to hammer or press into shape.

To make large forgings, they use a machine called a forging press, mounted inside a forming die or a pair of dies, depending on the technique they're using.

The press applies thousands of tons of pressure, crushing the ingot and forcing it against the die.

The steel is quickly oxidizing with all this air exposure.

They use a high-pressure water gun to remove the scales of rust.

An ingot often passes through a die several times or through a series of dies arranged in sequence.

Each pressing forms the metal bit by bit into the final shape.

Metal is composed of microscopic crystals.

Squeezing it in a press bends these crystals, destabilizing the metal structure.

But reheating the metal creates new crystals to replace the deformed ones.

This restabilizes the structure, and, because the new crystals are smaller, makes the metal stronger than before.

That's why finished forgings require heat treatment in what's called an annealing furnace.

They heat for a day or two, depending on the grade of steel.

Then they soak in a water-and-chemical bath for about five hours.

This strengthens the steel even more.

Finally, workers mount the steel forgings on lathes and milling machines.

They remove the rust scales that formed during heat treatment, then precision-machine the forgings into what the client ordered-- usually industrial parts such as rotors, spindles, and shafts.

Many factories prefer to buy forgings in the shape of blocks or bars and machine the parts themselves.

Skateboarding may have started out as a simple outdoor pastime, but in the last few decades, it's evolved into a popular thrill sport.

Professional skateboarders are known for performing spectacular aerial maneuvers, achieving speeds and heights the early skateboarders could never have imagined.

In the 1930s, thrill-seeking kids began attaching their metal roller-skate wheels to wooden crates.

Little did they know this would one day spawn a worldwide phenomenon.

The boxes evolved to boards in 1958, when some california surfers invented sidewalk surfing-- something to do when bad weather prevented them from riding the waves.

They attached roller-skate wheels to wooden planks, then coasted through the streets.

Pretty soon, the fad caught on in cities throughout the united states.

The deck-- the part of the skateboard you stand on-- is made up of several thin sheets of wood called "veneers".

Inexpensive boards use fewer sheets and lesser-quality woods.

These high-end boards use a full seven sheets of top-quality maple.

Only the top and bottom veneer sheets will actually show, so their exposed side is sanded smooth, and the other side gets a coat of glue.

The inside sheets, meanwhile, go through the glue spreader, which saturates both sides.

This adhesive is specially formulated to withstand vibration and shock.

Workers stack 35 sheets of veneer-- the equivalent of five skateboard decks-- and place them in a mold.

Skateboards vary in size and shape, so there's a different mold for each model.

A press applies 44 tons of pressure, compacting the sheets and bending them to the shape of the mold.

Excess glue squeezes out the sides, binding the five decks into one block.

They'll be separated later.

The block comes out after three hours.

Now they drill two sets of holes through the block.

These are for mounting the front and back trucks-- the pivoting, metal axles that enable the skateboard to turn.

Now it's time to give the rectangular block a skateboard contour.

They select a template in the general shape of the model they're making.

It has pins underneath that fit snugly in the truck holes they've just drilled.

This holds the template still while they do what's called the rough cut-- sawing around the template, leaving a 1-inch margin.

Cutting off the excess separates the five decks.

Now they contour each deck individually.

Using a precise template, they run the deck against a cutting blade until they have the final shape.

Now, using a router, they round off the top and bottom edges.

Then they smooth all the surfaces against a drum sander.

Now they switch to a buffer, which uses a combination of brushes and fine-grit sandpaper to remove any rough wood fibers.

The deck is now perfectly smooth.

The next stop is the finishing room, where they first spray the decks with a colorless primer.

This seals the pores in the wood veneer so they won't absorb the coat of lacquer that comes next.

The primer takes two hours to dry.

Next, they spray on a coat of clear or colored lacquer.

It leaves a protective, high-gloss finish.

The lacquer also takes two hours to dry.

The final step of the finishing process is applying the decoration.

The bold graphic designs are printed on plastic sheets.

The skateboard factory either buys them ready-made or produces them in-house, using its own silk-screen printing equipment.

Workers center the design sheet, then feed the deck through a machine that applies heat and slight pressure simultaneously.

The heat--  390 degrees fahrenheit-- induces a chemical reaction that melts the ink and lacquer.

When the plastic comes off, the deck is finished.

Decks of this caliber are sold unassembled in specialty stores.

They're designed for serious riders who want to customize their skateboards.

They pick and choose from different types of trucks, wheels, bearings, even the bolts that hold everything together.

All these factors determine how fast or how fancy their skateboard will move and maneuver.


CNC Assembly Machines
Lemon Tarts
Miniature War Figures

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

Automated machines changed manufacturing forever when they began assembling parts.

Cnc assembly machines have taken automation to the next level.

Cnc is an acronym for computer numerical control.

The machine is automated by a computer rather than by mechanics.

To design a cnc assembly machine, engineers first analyze the sequence of tasks required to assemble the product.

They then match each task to a pre-designed processing engine.

The processing engines are linked together in a custom assembly sequence.

Each engine is programmed to control its computer-guided motors, which perform the precise motions required to execute a task.

The cnc machine's engines are mounted on a sturdy base frame.

To construct it, workers cut steel tubes to the required lengths.

They grind a joint in each piece...

Then weld the pieces together by melting steel welding wire into the joints.

They bolt a steel tabletop onto the base frame.

It has cutouts for each engine.

It's been ground perfectly flat.

So the engines will be level with each other.

Meanwhile, an electrical technician is assembling the machine's main control cabinet.

It contains one industrial computer for each engine.

A cnc machine has engines for performing rotary movements, linear movements, and for picking up and placing parts.

The motors inside each engine have their own computers.

They're programmed to perform movements at specific speeds and forces.

Once the main control cabinet is assembled, workers bolt it to the base frame.

Then they install steel bases for the engines.

Some cnc machines require robotic arms.

A computer-guided milling machine cuts rectangular bars of aluminum, shaping them into robotic arm components.

This precision-measuring device ensures each milled part meets strict specifications.

After the aluminum components receive an anti-corrosion coating, workers assemble them into a robotic arm.

These self-lubricating sleeve bearings give the arm the ability to rotate.

They add a second assembled arm to create a pair that works together to perform an assigned task.

Each arm is controlled by its own motor, which follows the commands of the engine's computer.

This coupling securely connects each robotic arm to the shaft of its motor.

Each engine on the machine can have up to eight motors.

The motors can operate independently or in unison.

This engine has robotic arms that can pick up, hold, and release parts.

To test the completed machine, a high-speed video camera captures images at 1,000 frames per second.

The quality control team slows down the video to analyze and fine-tune the accuracy and efficiency of every motion.

Just a few simple taps on the operator's touch screen can adjust the arm to move a millisecond faster.

Or a millimeter further.

Cnc machines can assemble small products at high speed.

They also provide something traditional assembly equipment can't-- flexibility.

A single machine can be reprogrammed multiple times for assembling different products.

When life gives you lemons, why bother making lemonade when you can indulge in a luscious lemon tart?

Not too sour, not too sweet, a lemon tart is a delectable dessert that you can make yourself.

Or even better, leave it to the baking pros and buy ready-made.

This thaw-and-serve lemon tart has a shortbread shell and creamy lemon filling topped with buttercream.

Each batch of dough produced in this industrial mixer yields 449 tart shells.

The first step is to lightly blend margarine, sugar, and salt for 2 or 3 minutes.

Next, add pasteurized eggs and mix for about 2 minutes at slow speed.

Fast mixing makes the dough too tight, causing it to crack.

They add white flour while continuing to mix slowly until the ingredients are well-blended.

Once the dough is ready, workers put it through what is actually a hamburger forming machine.

It extrudes 1/4-pound dough patties.

Workers place them in the middle of a nonstick aluminum tart pan three at a time.

They mount the pan on a press, covering it with plastic.

A die strikes the pan, flattening and spreading the dough evenly.

The pans go into the oven, where they rotate for 23 to 24 minutes at 350 degrees fahrenheit.

The dough bakes into a shortbread tart shell.

Lemon juice and lemon oil are the key ingredients in the creamy filling.

First, workers melt margarine on a stove...

Then mix in sugar, lemon powder...

And food starch to thicken the mix.

They blend for 2 minutes, then add eggs.

After another 5 to 8 minutes of mixing, they pour in boiled lemon juice and lemon oil.

Boiling these acidic ingredients prevents the fats from curdling.

The filling is ready.

So they move the bowl from the mixer over to the depositing line.

A pump transfers the contents to a hopper feeding a depositor.

The depositor is pre-set to squirt 22 ounces of lemon filling in each tart.

The filled tarts go into the oven for 11 minutes.

The lemon tarts come out of the oven, cool at room temperature for 2 to 3 hours, then go into a freezer overnight.

The next day, workers remove the frozen tarts from the pans.

They gently remove any specks of browning, then spray on a light layer of glaze made from apricots.

This adds a hint of sweetness.

The glaze also prevents the filling from cracking when it's thawed for serving.

Next, they put the tart in an automated cake slicer.

The turntable rotates as the tart is cut into 12 slices with papers in between each one.

This is for restaurants who serve the dessert by the slice.

Workers embellish each slice with a flower made of buttercream, a decadent mixture of butter, egg whites, and sugar.

They complete each flower with a dot of lemon filling in the center.

This lemon tart is finished.

They wrap it in a cardboard cake band printed with the brand name.

They seal the tart in plastic film, insert it into a retail box, and ship it frozen to a store or restaurant.

To serve this tasty dessert, you simply defrost at room temperature for about a half hour.

Toy soldiers aren't just for children.

They're a hobby for grown-ups that dates back over a century.

The science-fiction novelist h.g. wells published the first set of rules for toy solider war games in 1913.

The game is on.

It's time to rally the troops.

These mini soldiers are made of either metal or plastic and hand-painted by the game players.

No detail is overlooked in making these war figures true to the historical period of the game.

Players move the figures around tabletop scenery like chessmen on a chess board.

And like chess, this is a game of strategy.

It's a way to engage in the tactical elements of war without the violence of a real battle.

Making miniature war figurines starts with the construction of a model.

With only one hand and his prosthesis, a modeler expertly bends tin copper wire into a framework for the model.

Each soldier needs to be 1.1 inches in length.

So he shapes and trims the wire accordingly.

Once he completes the wire skeleton, he sticks the leg prongs into a cork.

This enables him to get a firm grip on the skeleton as he builds up the figure with epoxy putty.

He sculpts a base layer using a dental tool that's usually used for scraping plaque.

After the base layer cures, he builds up the chest and calf areas.

After more curing time, he sculpts the soldier's tunic.

Using a tool with a fine point, he pits the surface to simulate medieval chain mail armor.

With skillful artistry, the miniature soldier takes shape.

He inserts a wire into a drilled shoulder socket and applies putty to create a muscular effect.

He builds up the sleeve and pierces it all the way around to continue the chain mail effect.

He carves the rounded rim of the hat.

This small-scale soldier is in fighting form.

He's used to make a mold for tin soldiers that will look just like him.

Meanwhile, another member of the team sculpts epoxy putty models that are three times larger.

These models are used to mass-produce plastic war figures.

Going large first and then scaling down is the only way to transfer all the details.

As he carves hair details into the head of this french cavalry figure, he's careful to not leave any protruding bits.

Otherwise, plastic could snag on molds made from them, jeopardizing the production of the plastic versions.

With curing time between layers, it takes about a week to sculpt this french cavalry model.

They're ready to make molds from the smaller scale models now.

The mold maker arranges the epoxy models on a silicone rubber disk.

He presses each one into the rubber.

The ends leave little dents.

He removes the model and slices it into the rubber with a surgical scalpel, cutting holes where the figures have left the indentations.

He removes the silicone cutouts, then carves a narrow channel to connect the two slots.

He inserts the model into the niche.

He repeats this process with the other soldiers on the disk, then places the disk in a preheated steel vessel.

He puts a lid on the vessel and transfers it to a vulcanizing press.

In the press, heated plates squeeze it using pressure.

This softens the rubber inside, melting around the figures, picking up the contours.

This transfers the disk into a mold.

Coming up next, the miniatures emerge from the mold shell battle-ready.

In the age of video games, tabletop war games still have plenty of fans.

The challenge begins with the acquisition of small armies of miniatures.

Players hand-paint the soldiers and build elaborate backdrops with scenery.

Then the games begin.

As production continues, the mold-maker carves channels into the silicone disk.

He links the channels to the impressions of miniature soldiers and military machinery that have been created by the models.

The channels allow molten metal to flow into the impressions in order to cast copies.

In the storeroom, there are thousands of silicone molds, each depicting different characters and props.

When the order comes in, an apprentice makes the selection.

Next, an operator puts the mold in a casting machine.

As the mold spins in the machine, he adds molten tin through an opening in the lid.

The spinning throws the liquid tin into the mold crevices.

After the casting solidifies and cools, he extracts the little tin soldiers.

These tin war figures are on their way to the gaming front lines.

Making plastic war figures starts with an epoxy resin for a pattern.

They add a hardener and blend the batch to the consistency of pancake batter.

They transfer it to a larger bucket and place it in a vacuum chamber, which pulls out the air.

In the process, the epoxy swells.

Once the epoxy mixture deflates, a team brushes it onto sculpted military models arranged in a steel box.

After filling all the crevices, they dispense more epoxy.

A chute ensures a gentle flow, preventing the buildup of more bubbles.

They repeat this on the other side of the models to create a two-part pattern.

Once the epoxy hardens, they mill the outside of the pattern to pre-determined measurements.

An employee then opens it and discards the models.

He inspects the impressions they've left.

They use this pattern to make a smaller-scale mold from steel.

Using an automated saw, they carve smaller pieces from a block of nickel chrome steel.

An automated milling tool machines the smaller blocks so the two of them will fit together to create one mold set.

A carriage shunts the block back and forth between an abrasive wheel to grind the surface to precise measurements.

A mold-maker follows the impressions in the epoxy pattern with a stylus, which moves a needle-like cutter.

The cutter etches a template into the steel block that's three times smaller than the one in the epoxy pattern.

Using a wand that generates high-frequency vibrations, he polishes the etchings in the steel mold.

It's a gentle polish that doesn't damage any of the etching in the mold block.

They drill channels in the steel to allow plastic to flow to the impressions.

They also insert water-cooling pipes.

They're ready to mass-produce plastic war figures.

The machine melts plastic and injects it under pressure into the mold set.

The plastic hardens, and the machine ejects the little soldiers connected by runners.

This particular production includes miniature rifles and other military paraphernalia.

They pack the plastic soldiers, their horses, and their guns into boxes for retail along with instructions for painting.

After painting, the plastic soldiers and their tin comrades are in tip-top military form and ready for battle.

There will be casualties.

But of course, it's all just for fun.

These miniature war figures are survivors.

They will live on to fight many more battles.


Ceramic Fireplaces
Synthetic Corks
Parking Garage Floor Slabs

The first fireplaces were strictly functional for heating the home, cooking meals, and warming water for bathing.

Over time, fireplaces appeared in other rooms of the house and acquired ascetic features such as wood, stone, or tile work.

This ceramic fireplace is a heritage model inspired by fireplaces of the late 19th and early 20th century.

Certain tiles are exact replicas of originals.

At the ceramic factory they mix water with clay, feldspar, and silica in a pugmill.

Together, these formulate a clay blend.

Once the mix is the right consistency, the operator presses a button, and the mill switches to extrusion mode.

This forces the clay blend through a mantel shaped die and produces a 10- to 15-inch long extruded mantel piece.

They trim the piece with a cutting wire to the precise length required.

They use this extrusion method for making longer pieces.

If they need shorter ones they often cast them individually in a mold.

When casting they add significantly more water to the clay blend to produce a liquid clay called slip.

They pour the slip into a plaster mold.

The porous plaster gradually absorbs most of the water, leaving a layer of clay about 6 millimeters thick on the walls of the mantel-shaped cavity.

After a few hours, they pour out the excess slip and open the mold to extract the cast mantel piece.

Once the clay becomes firm enough to handle they carefully trim off the excess around the opening in the mold.

Then they gently smooth down the seam along the junction between the two halves of the mold.

On the opposite side of the pour hole, they cut out a matching hole.

This will help the clay dry faster by enabling air to flow through the inside of the piece.

To compensate for shrinkage, the molds and extrusion dies are designed 11% larger than the size of the finished piece.

Clay shrinks as it dries.

To make the fireplace's ceramic tiles, they produce a rubber mold of two adjoining tiles and place it inside a metal casing.

They also include a release system to help with extraction.

They fill the casing with an exceptionally strong type of plaster.

It sets in about half an hour, taking on the shape of the rubber mold.

This plaster casting is the die they'll now use to produce the tiles.

They mount the die on what's known as a ram press because it literally rams a block of clay in the die and compresses it with 30 tons of pressure.

The tile die is also 11% larger than the final size to compensate for shrinkage during drying and firing.

They remove excess clay and send it back to the pugmill to be recycled.

Then they position a board under the die and activate the release system, which extracts the clay with a blast of compressed air.

They trim off the excess clay.

Once dry, the tiles and mantel pieces are ready to be glazed.

Glaze is a chemical formula containing finely ground silica combined with different combinations of metallic elements to produce specific colors.

They use a spray gun to apply glaze to the mantels and a tube tip applicator to glaze the tiles.

The tiles design has raised borders between its components.

These are called cuenca lines.

They prevent the different colored glazes from flowing into each other.

The glazed mantel piece and tiles now go into a gas-fired kiln for 12 to 14 hours.

The high temperature, 2,100 degrees fahrenheit, triggers chemical reactions which harden and strengthen the pieces.

The clay's mineral composition transforms into a completely new configuration of crystals and glass.

As for the glaze, its precise formulation of metallic elements produces a specific color, and the silica melts into a glass surface.

The ceramics are now smooth and shiny and ready to transform an otherwise ordinary fireplace into a work of art.

Many winemakers choose to seal their bottles with synthetic closures instead of natural cork from tree bark.

This prevents cork taint, which happens when natural cork gets contaminated by the tca molecule.

Cork taint is completely harmless to humans, but spoils the taste of the wine.

This engineered cork is entirely synthetic and therefore resistant to tca contamination.

It's made of a food-grade polyethylene foam core encased in elasticized polymer skin.

Both materials contract to squeeze inside the bottleneck but then regain their original shape to seal the opening.

To make the foam core, they mix talc with pellets of low density polyethylene, a pliable type of plastic.

Then they add pellets of dark brown and beige colorant to mimic the wood grain look of natural cork.

For each customer's order of corks, a computerized system automatically releases the right amount of each ingredient into an industrial blender.

The blender feeds a specially designed dual extrusion machine.

The machine melts the foam mix to a liquid state then injects carbon dioxide.

This produces bubbles, which create the cellular structure of the foam.

The liquid foam enters the machine's horizontal extruder, while elasticized polymer enters the machine's angled extruder.

Both extruders squeeze their materials through the same shaping die, which outputs a continuous rod of skin-encased foam.

The foam core immediately expands.

The elastic skin stretches with it.

A water bath cools the rod, halting this expansion at a specific diameter.

Then, an underwater ultrasonic gauge measures the thickness of the outer skin to make sure it meets specifications.

The rod exits the water bath and continues cooling and shrinking as it drip dries.

A laser gauge then verifies that the rod is perfectly round and measures a specific diameter by this point.

When any of the measuring gauges detects an area that doesn't meet specifications, that part of the rod is flagged in the system and is discarded at the end of the production line.

The rod now enters the final cooling phase.

It travels in several loops past nozzles spraying cold water.

As the rod cools, it shrinks to its final size, a diameter of between 22 and 23 millimeters.

It's designed to fit snugly inside the standard 18.5-millimeter bottle opening.

They had to calculate exactly how wide to extrude the rod so that after expansion then shrinkage, it would end up at this precise diameter.

The rod now enters a cutter.

The blade is so sharp that a safety cover is mandatory.

It's removed here only for the camera.

The winery placing the order specifies the cork length.

Air jets automatically blow off any corks cut from areas the measuring gauges flagged as being problematic.

The cutter slices about 10 standard-length corks per second.

All the good corks land on the conveyor belt and travel to the end of the line, where computer sensors count them as they drop into a collection bin.

Additional machines print on the winery's name and logo, and lubricate the surface with silicone so the corks will glide in and out of the bottle with ease.

The factory's on-site lab tests samples from every order.

Sensory specialists sniff each cork and compare it to a control sample.

There must be no discernible odor that might affect the aroma or flavor of the wine.

If there is, the entire order of corks fails inspection.

While natural cork is designed by mother nature, a synthetic cork manufacturer can engineer the closure to fit more or less snugly according to the amount of air the particular wine needs to develop correctly.

Multi-tiered parking garages have become an urban phenomenon.

With each floor added to the garage the number of parking spaces increases.

In crowded cities where land is limited, garages like these are a necessity.

They build parking garages one concrete slab at a time.

These slabs are known as double-t's because the two support beams are in a double-t configuration.

Double-t's are often factory made and transported to the construction site later.

They are designed to hold up under very heavy loads.

They make these slabs outdoors.

Wind blows dirt onto the molds, so they sweep it clean.

This mold is about 500 feet long and will be used to make several slabs.

They spray an oil-based release agent onto it.

The release agent will allow the slabs to be easily extracted when complete, preventing cracking.

They spread it more evenly using mops.

This release agent bonds to the metal quickly and won't wash off easily if it happens to rain.

They're now ready to assemble the floor slab's elaborate support structure.

They prop up the ends of each slab with galvanized steel stirrups.

They place l-shaped bearing plates in strategic locations along the mold.

Then they insert wooden blocks in the mold.

These blocks will form notches in the cast concrete that will be used to join the slabs during construction.

Next, workers thread high-strength steel cables called tendons throughout the beam sections of the mold.

They pull the ends through holes to the outside of the mold and clamp them.

A worker tucks another wood block between two tendons to complete the notch part of the mold and hold the tendons in place.

The team threads more tendons throughout the mold, weaving a strategic support structure.

To separate each cast slab, they insert wooden dividers with slots that accommodate the tendons.

They adjust the location of each of the stirrups so that they sit at a specific spot near the dividers.

With the final tendons in place, they bring in a hydraulic jack.

The worker attaches it to one of the protruding steel tendons.

He activates the jack, and it pulls the tendon until it's stretched tight like a rubber band.

He pulls the rest of the tendons with the jack and checks the tension to confirm that it's exactly the same for each one.

Pulled tight and later released, the cables will hold the concrete under compression, adding strength to it.

Without it, the concrete slabs would never be able to support the weight of many vehicles.

The next worker ties a plastic bracket to the stirrups to set them at the right height.

He inserts metal mesh into the mold where each slab will end.

This will help disperse some of the concentrated bearing stresses.

He stabilizes the mesh, and reinforces it with the support structure.

The team places plastic pockets along the tops of the beam sections of the mold.

These pockets will be used to chain the slab to the truck during transport.

They'll also act as entry points for electrical wiring and hold controls for parking space counting equipment.

Coming up next, the deck section gets plenty of extra support, and then it's set in concrete.

The average car weighs well over 2,000 pounds, so each parking garage floor must hold up many times that weight.

Double-t concrete slabs make this possible.

Each slab has two reinforcing beams, and each beam has a tense steel skeleton that compresses the concrete, making it stronger.

With the steel tendons stretched through the beam parts of the mold, workers now lay metal mesh across the deck.

This mesh is known as welded wire fabric, and it will reinforce the surface of the parking slab.

They tie the welded wire together for full coverage across the deck.

They use plastic clips to prop up the wire so that when they pour the concrete, it will envelop both sides.

They insert handles that will protrude from the ends of the completed slab to allow it to be lifted for transport and installation.

There are four double handles in each parking floor slab.

They enmesh the prongs of weld plates in the steel grid.

The plates are strategically positioned for the welding of the slab to other pieces of concrete.

All the prep work is finally done, and they pour the concrete.

The concrete flows into the beam sections of the mold first, and then workers spread the overflow across the deck.

This is a high-performance formula that's known in the industry as self-consolidating concrete.

It flows evenly into tight spaces and compacts better without the need for much vibrating.

This leveler vibrates the surface of the concrete only slightly as it evens it out.

They then rake the surface of the slab to allow another layer of concrete to adhere to it later during construction.

They now insert arced metal bars into slots on the sides of the mold to form a ribbed framework down the length of it.

This serves as a support structure for a tent.

They unroll the tarp from a huge spool and drape it over the ribbing.

They secure the canvas to the sides of the mold with hooks.

The tent will shelter the concrete from the wind and rain as it cures.

Along with an additional plastic layer, it will contain the hot and humid conditions created inside.

The heat accelerates the curing of the concrete, and the humidity prevents cracking.

The cure takes 16 hours, and then they roll up the tarp.

Using a torch, they cut the steel tendons and place the concrete under compression.

The cuts also separate the slabs.

A driver now parks his crane over one of the slabs.

Workers attach the hooks of the crane to the protruding handles at the ends of the slab.

They signal the crane operator, and he activates the lift.

Thanks to the release agent applied earlier, the concrete slab easily dislodges from the mold.

It's a heavy load.

Each slab weighs 40,000 pounds.

The crane sets it down and the team inspects the slab for defects.

Satisfied that the slab is free of flaws, a worker trims the protruding steel tendons flush to the concrete.

Another worker spreads a concrete-like paste on the exposed ends of the severed steel to seal it from the elements.

Then a worker glues rubber pads to the bearing plates.

They'll act as cushions when the slab sits on another concrete beam.

He wraps some tape around them while the adhesive sets.

This parking garage floor slab is now ready to join the rest.

Side-by-side, the slabs will form one large parking surface to create even more spaces.


Sails
Walnuts
Wheel Immobilizers
Honeycomb Structural Panels

A sail is essentially a vertical wing that provides forward thrust and lift to propel a boat over water.

It's impossible to know who came up with the concept because boats with sails have been plying waterways for thousands of years.

But there's no doubt that when it comes to their design and construction, today's sails have come a long way.

For thousands of years, sails were square, but in the 3rd century, triangular sails appeared on the mediterranean.

The shape enabled boats to sail into the wind, as well as with it.

Modern racing sails are made of laminated synthetics.

They start with a plastic membrane.

Rollers apply a hot liquid adhesive to one side in measured amounts, because even a couple of extra grams would weigh down the sail.

They press a scrim onto the hot adhesive.

It's a superstrength synthetic called aramid, which will keep the sail from tearing.

Then it's over to a computerized laser that cuts patterns out of the scrim-reinforced plastic.

A worker rolls up each panel to transport it to the next worktable.

Here, they tape 10 to 20 of the panels together, using heavy-duty p.e.t. plastic with an acrylic adhesive.

Now hundreds of small jacks stretch aluminized plastic around a framework, pulling material into a curved aerodynamic shape.

This mold will be used to shape the sail.

The team stretches clear plastic film over it.

Then they drape the joined panels over top.

They use ropes and clamps to pull it to the contours of the mold.

And now they're ready for some supertough synthetics-- aramid and carbon fiber yarns.

The yarns have been coated with adhesive so they'll stick to the plastic film.

A robot rolls the yarns onto the film, while a worker follows in a harness overhead to keep an eye on the job.

The robot applies the yarns in a pattern plotted by an engineer to anticipate the wind load on this sail.

The robot now switches from a vertical path to a horizontal one, applying yarns in a transverse pattern.

The team installs a long, narrow pocket over that section.

A batten will later be inserted in this pocket to control the sail's shape.

They pull another layer of scrim-enhanced plastic on top.

And now all the layers of this sail cloth are in place.

A worker hovers overhead to inspect the surface for defects.

They now seal the assembled sail in a vacuum bag and attach hoses.

The hoses suck out the air, pressing the layers of the sail together.

Now the robot applies heat to the sail.

It activates the adhesives and the plastics to laminate the layers together.

And it also sets the three-dimensional shape of the sail.

A worker inspects the job with a magnifying glass.

Then it's over to a revolving sewing turret.

As the sewing machine turns, it pulls the sail forward, allowing the operator to stitch hems, grommets, and reinforcements onto it.

They apply the corporate logo.

Next, a worker walks the length of this enormous sail to inspect it.

No imperfections will be tolerated.

After all, this is a big-ticket item.

Large racing sails can retail for hundreds of thousands of dollars.

Sophisticated engineering and high-tech materials have produced a racing sail that's lightweight yet incredibly strong.

There may be rough water ahead, but with technology on their side, this crew should be able to sail right through it.

The walnut has been cultivated for thousands of years, but its actual discovery remains a mystery.

Some of the earliest evidence of the walnut comes from the region of persia in 7th century b.c. back then, royalty had dibs on this nut, and commoners were forbidden to eat it.

Thankfully, that's ancient history.

Today, the walnut is mass-produced to meet a global demand.

It starts in an orchard like this one in california.

Walnuts take five years to grow, and they emerge shrouded in protective husks.

Using mechanical shakers and sweepers, workers harvest the walnuts.

Once the husks have been peeled off, it's over to the receiving pit at the processing plant.

This machine separates out any rocks or sticks, then drops the walnuts into a conveyer.

At the end of the line, the nuts spiral off and land softly in cooling bays below-- 8 bays that hold over 13 tons of walnuts.

The walnuts are funneled into these sealed chambers for fumigation to eliminate insects.

After 28 hours, they're on the move once again.

They fall between rollers.

The gaps between these rollers are tapered to allow the small, medium, and large nuts to fall into separate lanes.

This sorting system will allow them to be cracked by machines geared to specific nut sizes.

These large walnuts head up a conveyer called the cracker belt.

At the top, they enter the cracker.

It's a revolving machine with pistons, one for each walnut.

The technician activates the pistons to press against the nuts.

The pistons apply a precise amount of pressure to crack the shells without damaging the nuts inside.

The nut cracking has been slowed for our camera, but in reality, this is a high-speed operation.

The nuts, shells and all, fall onto a conveyer.

The pistons have cracked between 80% and 90% of the walnuts.

To capture the rest, the whole pile shakes its way toward a second group of sizing rollers.

The smaller pieces drop through the gaps and go for further processing.

The larger ones continue on to a machine called a re-cracker.

There, the nuts travel through slats in a revolving cylinder.

Inside those slats are little knives that break up the whole nuts.

After some of the larger shells have been removed, it's on to a giant sifter.

The nuts and shells bounce on a shaking screen.

The smaller bits fall through, and the larger ones remain on top.

The holes in the screen become progressively larger to sort the pieces into eight sizes which differ by a fraction of an inch.

The bigger, choicest walnuts fall into a separate chute.

The smaller pieces will be used in baking, among other things.

A high-speed belt sends nuts and shells flying through the air to allow a computerized camera to detect shell fragments and activate a system to blast them off the production line, leaving the prized kernel, the walnut half.

An inspector removes any remaining shells or unacceptable nuts.

Then the walnuts enter a vacuum chamber, which suctions away any last crumbs.

They exit on a spiraling slide and land in a box.

This packer portions out bulk product for the food industry.

He removes nuts from the box until it reaches the correct weight.

These walnuts are on their way to adding crunch and flavor to cookies, cakes, and other good stuff.

The walnuts in this box have taken years to grow and a couple hours to process, but in the end, the wait should be more than worth it.

On the street, it's known as "the boot".

Accumulate a few unpaid parking tickets, and you may very well find your car wearing one.

Municipalities use wheel immobilizers to clamp down on offenders, while universities use them to deter illegal parking on campus.

The boot's dome goes over the rim.

On the other side, its inner arm hooks in between the rim and brake.

A secure bolt clamps those outer and inner parts together, immobilizing the wheel.

Boots must be strong and tamper-proof, so the main components are made of steel.

This steel tube will become the boot's outer arm.

This steel bar will become the stand that props up the boot during installation.

This flat steel bar will become the inner arm that hooks between the rim and brake.

They bend it lengthwise to give it strength.

Then they bend it into the final shape.

Now back to the tube they cut for the outer arm.

After bending it in two spots, they drill two holes for the tube that will house the secure bolt.

They bend a flat steel bar to make a stiffener that reinforces the inner arm.

Meanwhile, that steel bar they cut to make the stand goes onto a machine called a rod bender.

A welder now fuses the tube to the outer arm...

Then welds that assembly to a part called the body box.

After welding the stiffener to the inner arm, he welds a pin through holes in both the arm and the other end of the body box.

So now the inner arm hinges on the box.

After a coat of baked-on enamel, the boot's body is complete.

The dome measures 12 inches in diameter.

First, they weld a bracket to it.

Next, they fit a sleeve into the bracket and thread a pin through them both.

Then they weld the pin to the bracket.

So now the sleeve pivots.

This, too, receives a baked-on coat of enamel.

Now they glue a rubber trim over the dome's edge so that booting a car doesn't damage the rim.

It's time to assemble all the parts.

First, the mechanism that clamps the boot's inner and outer arms around the tire.

Using a special key, they screw into a stainless-steel nut inside the bolt tube.

This spring holds the inner arm in the correct position.

The stand goes on with a bolt.

The stand elevates the boot off the ground, enabling the installer to turn the secure bolt key.

In this cutaway, you can see how turning the key moves the secure bolt forward, pushing the inner and outer arms together to clamp the tire.

Next, they slide the dome sleeve over the body's outer arm.

They align the hole in the sleeve with the hole in the arm, then bolt the parts together.

The arm has several holes so the boot can accommodate wheels of different sizes.

Every boot gets a metal plate bearing the model and serial number.

The boot manufacturer records who owns the boot and won't issue a new secure bolt key without proper identification.

From the mechanics to the cabin, aircraft are made with the most lightweight, high-strength materials, such as honeycomb structural panels.

These make up the support structure hidden beneath the flooring and behind the walls of, among other areas, the lavatories, galleys, and stow bins.

The cells at the center of the structural panel are hexagonal in those designed to lie flat and rectangular in curved panels.

Producing the core begins with giant printing cylinders.

Etched into their surface is a pattern of lines.

They rotate in heat-activated adhesive, printing the line pattern onto paper that passes between them.

This paper is made of thermoplastic, but depending on the type of panel, it can be another kind of paper or even aluminum foil.

This machine cuts the paper into sheets-- anywhere from 500 to 2,000 sheets, depending on how thick the cores will be.

The machine then stacks the sheets in a specific sequence.

Every other sheet is offset by half a line.

This back-and-forth pattern is what forms the core's honeycomb cells.

The stack now goes into a heated press, which activates and cures the lines of adhesive, bonding the sheets.

After an hour, they remove the stack and attach aluminum-foil loops along its perimeter.

Then they stand the stack on its side and hook those loops onto the steel pins of a device called an expansion frame.

It slowly pulls apart the sheets, opening the honeycomb cells that the special stacking sequence formed.

To ease the expansion process, they soften the paper with water.

This is a time-lapse shot.

The full expansion takes about 15 minutes.

Next, the block goes into an oven, where it bakes for about a half-hour at 527 degrees fahrenheit.

That heats sets the thermoplastic paper, locking in the honeycomb shapes.

Now they repeatedly submerge the block in a vat of resin, baking it after each dip.

Here, an aspirator sucks out the excess resin.

Then, after a final baking, an automated saw slices the block horizontally into several cores.

Then it's over to the assembly table.

They construct a structural panel like a sandwich-- the honeycomb core in the center.

This one's made of aluminum foil.

Then on either side of the panel's outer sheets, in this case, made of carbon fiber.

On the top and bottom, workers position a sheet of release paper to prevent the panel from sticking to the metal sheets that hold everything in position for now.

Workers load the assembly into a press.

The heat and pressure combined bond all the layers.

About an hour later, they take the sandwich out of the press and remove the metal sheets.

Workers slap on labels identifying the product and manufacturer.

Then they shear off the panel's rough edges.

The factory subjects some samples to a series of quality-control checks.

This load test, for example, assesses how much the panel can flex and how much weight it can withstand before snapping.

Whatever the materials, thickness, or density, these structural panels all deliver maximum strength with minimal weight.


Gears
Leather Watchbands
Vitrelle Dishes
Kitchen Shears

If you've ever looked inside a wind-up watch or a car's transmission, you've seen a system of gears.

A gear is a wheel with teeth that meshes with the teeth of another gear to transmit power on a continuous basis.

Combining gears of different diameters affects rotation speed and force.

This factory makes gears that go into transmissions for industrial machines.

Production begins with a large, round bar of high-grade steel, which contains a certain amount of carbon to make it even stronger.

An automated band saw slices off a piece that's the right thickness for the size of gear they're making.

This piece is called a gear blank.

They mount the blank on a computer-controlled blade.

As it spins, a turret carrying a series of carbide tools moves in.

One tool after another takes its turn machining the blank to a specific shape.

A shower of coolant prevents overheating when the jumbo drill has its turn.

It bores a hole right through the middle of the blank.

The last tool carves a groove on the front of the blank.

This final bit of metal removal lessens the gear's weight.

Now the blank goes into a computer-controlled mill.

The mill drills holes through which lubrication will flow when the gear is operating.

These holes also lighten the gear's weight.

When the blank comes off the mill, they stamp it with the company name and part number.

Now for the gear's teeth.

A machine called a gear shaper carves out the inner teeth-- the ones lining the center hole-- with its titanium-coated cutter.

The machine's other components keep the cutter's movement correctly timed.

The number of teeth and tooth size vary from gear to gear, so for each model, the factory has to fit the gear shaper with a specific cutter.

Now for the outside gear teeth.

The computer-controlled machine that cuts them is called a gear hobber.

The gear turns against it as it cuts.

If the hobber would cut the full depth of the teeth in one shot, the cutter would chip, so the gear keeps turning around and around again as the hobber cuts a bit more with each pass, until the teeth are the right depth.

Then the gear undergoes a computerized inspection.

A probe scans the entire surface, including every tooth.

It sends data to a computer which then analyzes the dimensions and ensures they meet the engineering specifications.

Gears that pass this quality-control inspection go into a furnace for heat treatment.

This strengthens the steel.

When the furnace reaches a certain temperature, they inject carbon inside.

The gears absorb it, and the steel strengthens even further.

A soaking in oil afterward hardens the metal.

Heat treatment, however, distorts steel somewhat, so each gear now goes to a computer-controlled grinder.

It restores them to very precise specifications for bearings to fit properly.

This factory manufactures gears in various sizes, and not only in steel.

It also makes gears in material such as nylon, aluminum, brass, and stainless steel.

Some gears have straight teeth, others angled teeth, which makes less noise when turning.

Gears are an essential component in everything from watches to heavy mining equipment, keeping machinery going at every turn.

When it comes to wristwatches, there's nothing quite like a band made of genuine leather.

It has a classic look that's versatile, working with both casual and formal attire.

And a leather watchband is always comfortable against the skin because, unlike synthetics, leather breathes.

These premium watchbands are made of alligator, a leather with an unmistakable texture and shine.

The tannery dyes the croc leathers in classic shades, as well as in the latest high-fashion colors and styles.

Nearly all the production steps are manual, beginning with cutting leather pieces for the band's two straps.

Every watchband model requires a steel cutter for each strap in every size.

Now they coat the back side of each piece with glue.

Later, when it's almost dry, they center a watchband core onto it.

This flexible form is made of synthetic material reinforced with fiberglass.

Using a machine with a fine blade, they make small cuts at the ends to let the leather fold smoothly over the form.

One side of each strap attaches to the watch face with a spring-loaded bar.

They mark exactly where the bar goes, then punch a tiny hole for its tiny base.

Next they apply superstrength glue and fold the leather over to encase the bar.

The glue dries instantly.

They now coat the rest of the form with glue, then lay it in a mold that pushes the leather against the edge tightly so they can neatly fold over the remainder.

Now they run the open end through a machine that cuts a beveled edge.

Next, they run a tiny sander over the leather on the back side.

This roughens the surface, which will help the leather backing adhere.

To make the loops which go on the buckle strap, they bevel the ends of small leather strips.

They glue and fold them into a loop, making sure they're large enough to fit around both straps.

One loop sits directly below the buckle.

A glued-over flap of leather locks it in position.

They press it flat with pliers to ensure a good bond.

They machine-stitch each strap with strong, polyethylene-based thread.

To prevent unraveling, they melt them right into the leather.

On the buckle end, they pierce two holes for stitches that reinforce the locked-in first loop.

Then they punch two holes in the back of the second loop for stitching to reinforce its glued-together ends.

This loop has to be movable, so they don't stitch it to the band.

They heat the edge of each strap.

The iron's rounded tip molds an attractive, rounded edge.

Using a heated tool again, they widen the channel through which the buckle will pass.

Now they insert the buckle end into a stamping press.

It cuts a slot for the buckle's tongue.

A heat press burns the company's name into the leather lining.

That same strap then goes into a press, which punches the sizing holes.

From here, both straps go off to the buckle department.

Random samples are subjected to rigorous quality-control testing.

This machine pulls the ends of the strap in opposite directions, with up to nearly 50 pounds of tension, far more than anyone would ever apply to the watchband when they pull to buckle it.

Vitrelle is a super-durable dinnerware material invented in the united states in the early 1970s.

It's made of three layers of glass, fused together.

Vitrelle dishes are thin and lightweight, yet they're stronger and far more break-resistant than ordinary dinnerware.

In a perfect union of form, function, and food, this company serves up vitrelle dinnerware in several striking designs.

The dishes are made of 65% recycled glass from earlier production runs.

To make the other 35% that's new glass, the factory combines several raw materials-- sand...

Salt...

Limestone...

Feldspar...

And two more types of salt.

The exact proportions are a closely guarded secret.

The ingredients go into a furnace, where a fiery 2,500 degrees fahrenheit melts them into liquid glass.

It exits the furnace.

An extruder shapes it into a three-ply sheet that lands in a mold--  in this case, a plate mold.

A trimmer cuts off the excess, while compressed air blows down from above to cool and solidify the glass.

A vacuum arm then extracts each dish, and the leftovers are recycled.

The dishes now undergo what's called fire polishing.

Each one passes through a gas-oxygen flame, which seals the three layers of glass.

It also melts the outer rim, smoothing and rounding out the rough edge created by the trimming.

Oval dishes go on a different fire polisher, designed for an oval rim rather than a round one.

Now the conveyor system flips each dish over for backstamping.

The bottom of every vitrelle dish has the trade name and other information.

A silk-screen machine applies the lettering.

Then a gas-air flame bakes the ink into the glass.

Once that's done, the conveyor system flips the dishes right side up again.

To decorate the dishes, a machine silk-screens the design onto membranes.

Robotic arms position a membrane above each dish.

Then a press head pushes the membrane down onto the surface, transferring the paint.

Robotic arms then move the dishes back onto a conveyor belt.

Certain dishes have a design on the outside.

An automated silk-screen machine applies the paint directly to the surface.

The decorated dishes now travel through a tunnel oven for 5 1/2 minutes.

The nearly 1,500-degree fahrenheit heat cures the enamel paint.

At the end of the ride, a tempering process that makes the glass stronger.

Then, nozzles spray the dishes in a soy-based silicone.

This wash-off coating prevents scratches during packaging.

The factory subjects a sample from each production run to a 6 1/2-foot-drop test and a rim-impact test.

The sample mustn't break, chip, or crack...

All to ensure this stylish dinnerware will withstand whatever your household can dish out.

Shears are typically larger than scissors for heavier-duty cutting.

And you can insert up to three fingers in the handle's finger ring.

Using more fingers gives you a stronger grasp, which translates into more control and more cutting force.

These high-end shears effortlessly slice through produce, snip fresh herbs, and open packaging.

Outside the kitchen, they easily cut many materials, including thin aluminum and galvanized steel.

The secret to their strength?

Blades made of stainless steel, which contains a minute amount of carbon.

To make them, workers feed a bar of this high-carbon stainless steel into a press.

It stamps out blade shapes called blanks.

Stainless steel can be heat-treated to make it more durable and corrosion-resistant.

But first, a furnace softens the blanks for the forging process that transforms them into blades.

Each blank goes onto a forging dye that has two blade-shaped cavities.

One strike in each, and the blank is a blade.

Once it cools, a trimming press cuts off all the excess metal around the perimeter.

Heating and forging tend to warp steel, so another press makes the blade perfectly flat and straight again.

Trimming the excess metal leaves some rough areas, so the next step is to smooth the surface with a sanding belt.

To make the hole for the bolt on which the blades pivot, they drill a round hole partway through...

Then pierce a rectangular hole through the rest.

You'll see why later on.

Now the blades undergo heat treatment-- first, to harden them, a slow heating and rapid cooling, then, to make them tough and durable, a reheat and slow cooling.

A grinder shapes the round area next to the tang, the term for the metal core of the handle.

With a sanding belt, they smooth out and blend the adjacent corners.

Here, two polishing wheels give the surface an upscale satin finish.

Then an etching machine uses electrically activated chemicals to imprint the company's name into the thumb-operated blade.

Just one final step before the blades are finished.

A computer-operated grinder serrates the inside edge of the thumb-operated blade.

Workers now load six blades at a time into an injection-molding machine.

The machine shoots molten plastic into the cavities, then rapidly cools the material until it solidifies.

Each blade exits the machine with a molded handle firmly encasing the tang.

Now for the final assembly-- first they drive a bolt with a rectangular head into the pivot hole of the finger-operated blade.

Then they add the thumb-operated blade and press the bolt again into its final position.

A self-locking, hexagonal nut secures the bolt from underneath.

An automatic tightener does the initial fastening.

Then workers do the final tension adjustment manually.

The final step is to grind the excess plastic off the handle stops.

This enables the blade to close fully and in perfect alignment.

So, why the rectangular bolt?

Watch closely.

It allows you, with just one simple twist, to separate the blades for cleaning and then reassemble them.

Now, that's cutting-edge design.


Fish Decoys
Film Digitization
Cylinder Stoves
Concrete Light Poles

When luring fish to a hole in a frozen lake, it helps to take a crafty approach.

It's a handcrafted piece of folk art, and it's also a cunning piece of work.

Often brightly colored with bold patterns, the decoy attracts the attention of fish-- an attraction that will likely prove fatal.

Native north americans were the first to use decoys to catch fish in the winter.

European settlers followed their example.

And centuries later, decoy artists carry on this tradition of trickery.

At this workshop, the decoy starts with a plank of white cedar.

It's a wood with dense fibers, so it won't expand when wet.

He draws a basic fish shape on the wood freestyle.

This one is to resemble a herring.

He carves out the shape with a band saw, producing the blank, which can now be transformed into a fish decoy.

He cuts a narrow slot for attaching a metal tail fin.

He draws a center line around the decoy blank.

This serves as a reference point as he now tapers the edges with a sharp knife.

If he cuts too deep, he could spoil the carving, so he whittles carefully, removing just a bit of wood with each stroke of the knife.

The goal is to round the sharp edges and soften the profile without cutting too deep and gouging the wood.

He sands the entire surface of the decoy until it's perfectly smooth.

Sanding also opens up the pores of the wood so paint will adhere.

He carves a mouth and then cuts slits for two sets of side fins.

Using a power carver, he now bores into the wood to create fish eye sockets on both sides.

He takes an equal amount of two epoxy clay components and kneads the two together.

This activates the ingredients, turning it into a putty-like adhesive.

He presses some of the adhesive into each of the decoy's eye sockets.

He presses the glass eyes into the epoxy-filled sockets.

Next he cuts six fish fins from a sheet of aluminum, creating one dorsal fin, two sets of side fins, and a large tail fin.

He inserts the fins into slots in the carving.

He then drills holes in the wood on each side.

He presses nails into those holes using pliers.

This secures the tail fin.

The fins on decoys are larger than on live fish to enable them to swim well when weighted.

He now carves a pocket for the lead weight in the decoy belly.

He inserts the front side fins, so that they protrude slightly into the freshly carved pocket.

He scoops up molten lead and pours it into the pocket.

As the lead solidifies, it weights the decoy so it will sink, and it also secures the two side fins.

He applies epoxy to the lead, sealing it so it won't be exposed to the water.

He coats the entire decoy with lacquer.

This seals the wood against water, which would have caused the wood to swell, cracking the final finish.

Once the lacquer dries and the paint has been scraped off the eyes, the decoy is ready to take the plunge.

He tests it to confirm that it sinks and that it sits level underwater and swims.

Sometimes, more lead needs to be added.

But in this case, the decoy performs fine underwater.

He marks a spot for a screw eye for threading fishing line and then twists the screw eye into that spot.

He paints the herring decoy a vibrant red, a color that isn't scientifically accurate, but one that should tantalize real fish.

Decoys are often exact copies of fish.

They're designed to simply pique their curiosity.

Since fish are attracted by colors and shapes they don't normally see, decoy artists can be as creative as they like.

Considered a form of folk art, fish decoys are often entered into competitions.

But of course when it comes to their underwater allure, the real judges are the fish.

Unless you're actually in a movie theater, you're likely watching a digital version of a film.

A movie shot on film has to be digitized to be put on a disc or to be downloaded and viewed on an electronic device.

Digitization also preserves the movie as film physically deteriorates over time.

A movie has to be in a digital format to be viewable from a dvd...

Or as a download to a computer...

A smartphone...

I repeat--  a nuclear war has broken-- ...

Or a tablet.

[ dog growls] [ electricity crackles] aah!

This organization has produced 13,000 films since it was founded in 1939.

And now it's in the process of digitizing the collection, as well as the 80 to 100 new films it produces each year.

Once all the finished films are digitized, the next step will be to digitize stock shots and archival footage.

The film board's archives contain many films which have deteriorated due to age and poor storage conditions such as exposure to cold or to heat, both of which deform film, and excess humidity, which causes fungus growth.

Film's other enemy?

A damaging chemical reaction which occurs over time between the acid in the film plastic and the colored dyes that make up the image.

The first step is to repair any breaks in the film so technicians can view and evaluate its condition.

They do this using a simple device called a splicer.

They lay each broken end into the splicer's track and cut off the severed frame.

A missing frame here or there isn't all that noticeable.

Once the broken frame is removed, they lay both ends in the track, centering the meeting point.

Then they tape the splice on both sides.

This tape is specially designed for film splicing.

Its chemical makeup won't damage the film over time as would ordinary adhesive tape.

The splicer punches sprocket holes in the tape so that the spliced portion, like the rest, will thread onto the sprockets of the projector reel.

Technicians evaluate all existing versions of the film, from the original, to the screening prints produced for movie theaters.

They assess the general condition, note where the splices are and which frames are damaged, then they decided which version is in the best shape overall.

That's the version they digitize.

Later, they'll digitally edit out the damaged portions and replace them with identical but undamaged frames digitized from another copy.

After threading the film through the scanner, they close the gate to hold the film flat and close to the scanning camera.

Then they input the picture quality specifications and start her up.

The scanner gently loops the film around its spools...

And begins rolling it past the camera.

For the picture quality they've selected for this digitization, the camera snaps three pictures of every frame.

The scanner's control station displays what's being scanned in real time, along with all the technical parameters.

This digitization process itemizes every single frame so when they digitally replace a damaged portion with an undamaged one from another copy they can match everything up to the exact frames.

The final step is color correction.

Because the digitized film is often pieced together from more than one film original, there are usually color variations.

For example, the character's blue jacket will be a different shade of blue at different times.

At this station, the technician manipulates the colors to render them uniform throughout the film.

It's essential to resist the temptation to overcorrect the image.

After all, film has a very different color and texture than video, and even though the digitized film will play on video devices, it must remain artistically and historically faithful to the film original.

Do not remain seated.

I repeat-- a nuclear war...

A cylinder stove is designed for campers who like their creature comforts.

Just pitch the tent and set up the stove inside.

It keeps things warm and toasty for most of the night.

It also has a cooking surface and a tank at the side to provide hot water for washing.

No need to huddle around a campfire to stay warm.

A cylinder stove can take the chill out of the wilderness experience.

The cylindrical shape means it can take the heat.

It will expand and contract with the temperature change and still maintain it's original shape.

The cylindrical firebox starts with a flat sheet of steel.

A worker feeds it through a roller repeatedly until it reaches the desired shape.

Then a plasma cutter cuts an opening for the stove door in another sheet of steel, following a pattern overhead.

The plasma cutter works by sending an electric arc through compressed air, and the result is a clean cut.

He now places the stove body on the door framework and clamps the assembly in a special jig to secure it as he welds the two parts together.

He then places the backplate on the workbench and positions the other end of the cylinder on it.

He clamps them there and welds them together.

Using the plasma cutter, he trims the front and back of the stove.

The trimming rounds the ends nicely.

From three flat sheets of steel to a cylindrical firebox, the transformation has taken less than 10 minutes.

The welder now reinforces the underside of the stove top with several braces arranged in a grid pattern.

This extensive bracing will prevent warping to keep the stove top perfectly flat under the intense heat of the wood fire below.

This is the stove top before and after bracing.

After cutting a hole for the stovepipe, he inserts a piece of pipe temporarily so that he can correctly install a stovepipe collar.

Once the collar is solidly attached to the cooktop, he removes the stovepipe.

He then bends the rim of the collar in four places, creating tabs to keep the stovepipe from sliding into the firebox.

He's now ready to join the cylindrical firebox to the stove top.

He locks them in position and welds the entire assembly.

This final welded seam seals the stove for an airtight and long-lasting burn.

Next he positions leg fittings on the belly of the stove using a sawhorse-style tool.

Once he welds the fittings to the stove, he removes the tool.

Then it's over to a computerized plasma cutter.

It cuts damper holes in the stove door.

Damper holes are used to regulate the flow of air to the fire.

They also install a baffle plate on the back of the stove door to keep sparks from flying out into the tent.

The worker attaches the door to the stove with a hinge.

He tests it to confirm that it opens and closes easily.

Another worker now roles pipe for the chimney, using galvanized steel because it doesn't rust.

He interlocks the seam and flattens it.

He crimps the ends to connect the pipe to the other pieces of pipe.

There are five pieces of stovepipe in all, and they can be stacked together for transport.

With the latch now attached to the stove door, he sprays black stove paint onto the cylindrical firebox.

The paint job will prevent rusting.

Finally he rivets a brass manufacturer's tag onto the stove front.

Now it's time to pack it up.

From the grate to the water tank to the stovepipe, everything can be stowed inside the fire box, making it completely portable.

Assembly in the tent should take about five minutes-- a small job for a long-lasting burn.

The biggest cylinder stoves are designed to hold a fire for an entire night.

And with the proper setup, campers should sleep safe and sound.

Installing a piece of heat-resistant rubber protects the tent around the stovepipe.

Then it's time to hunker down for the night and enjoy a little warmth in the wilderness.

Spun concrete light poles tower above our towns and cities, lighting the way.

They're actually hollow structures with wiring or cable snaked through the cores.

The concrete walls are reinforced by steel.

Yet these poles are flexible enough to bend with the wind and snap back.

When it comes to lampposts, the higher the light, the greater the area illuminated.

Some concrete light poles are over three stories high.

They start with a tenon, the part of the pole framework that anchors the light fixture.

They place two in a mold because they're making two light poles at once.

A worker strings four thick, steel strands from one end of the long mold to the other, threading them through the tenons and through spiral wire.

This establishes the basic framework of the concrete poles.

Another worker installs zinc boxes for electrical connections.

He caps it with a block of rigid foam to protect it when the concrete is poured.

The next worker attaches a stress gun to chucks that secure the steel strands.

The gun pulls the strands one by one to a specific tension, and they stretch like rubber bands.

They'll be pulled even tighter later.

Every yard or so, he attaches stay rings for extra rigidity.

He ties them in place with plastic-coated wire.

Another worker stretches the spiral wire around the steel strands and tenons to round out the skeleton of the light poles.

The spiral wire will also stop the pole from twisting too much in high winds.

A crane transfers the long and hefty mold over to the next station and lowers it onto several stands.

A hopper now swings into action, guided by workers.

It's a traveling concrete dispenser.

As it moves on a track, it funnels specially mixed concrete into the mold.

The concrete has been made to order, with the customer specifying its color, strength, and other qualities.

The concrete also has a low moisture content.

This makes it the consistency of clay and therefore formable.

As the concrete is dispensed, workers pack it around the light pole's steel skeleton.

Using trowels, they scoop up overflow and smooth the surface of the wet concrete.

One worker then cleans up the outer flanges and applies a nonstick substance.

A crane moves the top half of the mold into position and lowers it onto the concrete-filled bottom part.

The team bolts the two parts of the mold tightly together using pneumatic impact tools.

They now pull the steel strands to their final tension, stretching them so tightly that they compress the concrete once it hardens.

Concrete is much stronger when it's being compressed.

The mold is now ready for the spinning machine.

It's essentially a series of railway wheels.

A crane lowers the mold's running rings into the grooves of the wheels, and then they crank up the speed.

The wheels turn at 500 rpms, and the centrifugal force causes the concrete to migrate to the wall of the mold.

The result is a hollow pole with dense, concrete walls.

Transferred to a kiln, the concrete steam-cures in the mold for about five hours.

The concrete light poles are ready for the big reveal.

They open the mold and roll them out.

At this point, the two poles are still attached.

They examine them for flaws, and then they'll separate them.

All they need now is some buffing up.

Here, they polish a different octagonal pole to expose the pigments in the concrete.

The different colored aggregates in this particular cement mix give the pole a mottled marble look.

An i.d. tag has also been molded into the cement with the manufacturing date and the pole's height and mass.

They test just how far they can take it to confirm the pole meets industry standards.

They spray a special acrylic finish onto some poles.

Graffiti can be easily scrubbed off of it.

Even though it only takes about 5 1/2 hours to manufacture a concrete light pole, it should shine for many years.