LED Tubes
Chocolate Peanut Butter Bars
Robotic Medication Dispensers

L.e.d. tubes are designed so they can easily replace fluorescent tubes that are inside overhead commercial light fixtures.

Unlike traditional incandescent and fluorescent lighting, a light-emitting diode produces light through a microchip.

It lasts twice as long and uses half the electricity.

These l.e.d. tubes come in a selection of lengths.

They're designed to be a modern, energy-saving alternative to fluorescent tube light fixtures.

The manufacturing process begins with a printed circuit board.

"printed" means the board has a network of conductive copper lines and rectangular paths.

It's designed to electrically link components.

A technician places the circuit board on a track, which ferries it to the first computer-guided machine on the line.

The machine covers the board with a metal stencil.

The stencil has openings matching the locations where the electronic components will be mounted to the board.

The machine spreads a layer of lead-free tin alloy solder over the stencil.

This applies solder to the board only where the components go.

The next computer-guided machine on the line mounts the first of those components, the light emitting diodes, or l.e.d.s.

They're composed of a microchip coated with a chemical phosphor and come in different sizes, colors, and light outputs.

The factory programs the machine's chip shooter to pick the required l.e.d.s off supply reels and place them on the solder-coated locations on the circuit board.

The chip shooter works at an astonishing speed, placing up to 40,000 l.e.d.s per hour.

A camera trained on the board verifies that every l.e.d.'s position is dead-on.

The circuit board moves to a third computer-guided machine for the next electronic component, the terminals.

They receive the electric current to power the l.e.d. light tube.

The machine picks up one terminal at a time and places it on the circuit board.

The circuit board moves into the final machine on this line, a tunnel oven.

The temperature inside peaks at about 460 degrees fahrenheit.

The heat melts the solder, fusing the components to the board.

Solder is both adhesive and conductive.

The bond connects the components to the board's copper electrical network.

For the high light output tube they're making in this run, each board is comprised of eight strips.

Each strip has dual rows of l.e.d.s.

They snap them into 12-inch strips.

The tube length they're making requires four strips.

A technician slides one with a terminal and three without into an aluminum track.

He gives them a visible inspection, then solders the strips to each other.

Once soldered, the strips are electrically bridged so the terminal on the first one can power all of them.

The aluminum track is called the heat sink.

It's critical to the tube's performance.

It has deep fins on the bottom which dissipate heat, cooling the l.e.d.s.

This keeps the color of the light consistent and extends the tube's life.

Once the technician connects the strips, he plugs power into the terminal to test the l.e.d.s.

Next, he inserts wires into the terminal and locks them in with a compression tool.

The opposite ends of the wires connect to the power supply in the light fixture.

The technician snaps a transparent polycarbonate lens into grooves on the side of the heat sink.

He closes the tube by placing a cap on each end.

He aligns each cap's pins with slots on the press.

Then the press is activated, which forces the caps onto the tube, attaching them permanently.

The end with the terminal has slots enabling the wires to protrude.

The light tube is finished and ready to be shipped.

To install this energy-efficient l.e.d. tube, simply click the pins on the end caps into receiving slots in the light fixture.

Then connect the wires to the power supply and the fixture's wiring.

Thanks to those cooling fins on the heat sink, this l.e.d. tube will last for 100,000 hours and has a guaranteed 10-year life-span.

As any sweet tooth can attest, there's no end to the flavors you can pair with chocolate.

A classic combination is milk chocolate and peanut butter.

The saltiness of the peanut butter is the perfect foil to the sweetness of milk chocolate.

This bar features a thick layer of milk chocolate around a sweet, salty and crunchy peanut butter candy center.

Making that peanut butter candy center is the tricky part.

To make the candy part of it, the factory combines liquid sugar, corn syrup, coconut oil, and molasses.

They mix and heat these ingredients for about 8 minutes.

The cooked candy is poured into a large stainless steel bowl.

Next, they add leftovers from the previous batch of candy.

They call these leftovers "rework" because they rework them into this new batch.

Once the rework has mixed with the hot, new candy, they empty the bowl onto a cold stainless steel table.

They blend the candy until the two merge into a sweet, gooey mess.

Once the candy has cooled a bit, workers fold it up and carry it over to the pulling station.

There, they make a pocket in the center and fill it with vanilla extract.

They start up the pulling machine, which stretches the candy nonstop for about 5 minutes.

This infuses the candy with air so that its consistency resembles taffy rather than hard candy.

They transfer the candy to a belt that carries to it to the weaving machine.

The machine's rollers flatten the candy into a thin sheet.

Then a pump draws piping hot peanut butter from this tank...

And deposits it in a generous layer onto the candy sheet.

Workers roll up the sheet until it reaches a specific diameter.

At that point, they fold and place it on a sheet without peanut butter, called a blank sheet.

The next roller presses the folded roll flat onto the blank sheet.

Workers roll up the blank sheet, sealing the peanut butter candy inside.

This complex assembly is what forms the flaky layers in the chocolate bar center.

Workers round the sheet between two rollers and feed it to the rope sizer.

It stretches the peanut butter candy into a rope that's the exact diameter of the chocolate bar center.

The next machine makes a pinch mark every 5 inches, or the length of a chocolate bar.

The linked centers enter a cooling tunnel.

They exit 5 minutes later rigid.

The links separate as they drop to the next conveyor belt.

They pass through a second refrigerated tunnel, which finishes cooling them.

The centers move into lanes that feed the enrober, a machine that coats the centers with chocolate.

Workers make sure the centers are single file and properly spaced.

The enrober is like a confectionery car wash.

Centers pass through a hot rinse of milk chocolate first.

Then, an overhead dryer blows off any excess, leaving behind a 3-milliliter layer of chocolate.

The bars enter a final cooling tunnel to harden the chocolate.

Workers transfer the finished chocolate peanut butter bars to a conveyor belt for packaging.

As the bars approach the wrapping machine, the in-feeder arranges them in single file.

Rolls of printed plastic film unwind into the machine's forming box.

In the blink of an eye, the machine folds, wraps, and heat-seals the film around each passing bar.

A revolving knife slices the wrapper between bars.

Then, it's off to the packaging department, where workers pack them 24 to a box.

These chocolate peanut butter bars are ready to be devoured by anyone in the mood for a crunchy, sweet, and salty chocolate snack.

At some pharmacies, robotic systems are lending a helping hand behind the counter.

These machines can do it all.

They count pills, dispense them into vials, cap the vials and label them.

When it comes to handling a heavy workload, these robotic dispensers are just what the doctor ordered.

Input the prescription data, and this robotic medication dispenser goes to work.

It counts bottles and labels pills in just 30 to 40 seconds.

Making a robot starts with a retainer disk for the vial-capping system.

Computerized tools carve slots for the capping mechanism.

They measure the slots with an electronic probe.

Tools sculpt the rough plastic blank, transforming it into a platform for the pill vial during capping.

The part takes shape in minutes.

An assembler installs two computers in the dispenser frame.

One computer interfaces with the robotic system.

The other operates the drug inventory.

She installs a rack that holds a power strip above the computers.

She lowers a battery into place beside the computers and ties it to the framework.

This battery provides backup power in the event of an outage.

Next come the controls for the robotic arm.

She inserts them in the frame and plugs them in.

Another member of the team assembles plastic brackets to an aluminum manifold.

These brackets hold plastic cells filled with pills.

The manifold itself sends dispensing information to the cells.

It also delivers bursts of air to move the pills through the cells and into prescription vials.

She secures the brackets to the manifold with screws.

Then, she attaches a long row of circuit boards to the manifold.

These circuit boards send data between the cells and the dispensing computer.

She connects ribbon cable to the computer circuit board.

This cable will be linked to 18 other manifolds in the dispensing machine.

They're ready to mount all the manifolds to a large metal frame.

An employee slides the ends of each manifold into slots in the rack.

She stacks up the cell manifolds, creating a bank of 18.

Plastic dividers are attached to the brackets.

This creates compartments to hold the actual pill cells.

The dividers strengthen the entire dispensing machine's structure.

A technician now installs a vertical rail that's equipped with a robotic arm.

He fits the bottom of the rail into the grooves of a horizontal track and attaches the top of the rail to an upper track.

He connects one end of a long pole, called a link shaft, to the robot and the other end to the top track.

This shaft moves the robotic arm horizontally to collect pills in a vial.

The installer tests the shaft to confirm it moves the arm along the track with no obstructions.

He programs the robotic arm to move up, down, need around in order to collect pills during dispensing.

He attaches rubber flaps to the back of all the pill compartments.

They absorb the sound of the equipment to keep the noise level down.

He connects tanks full of compressed air to the grid.

The compressed air will be pumped through the manifolds to move pills through the cells.

A technician now assembles the exception carousel.

It captures medications that haven't been perfectly dispensed.

He inserts the motor assembly in the center cavity and snaps the top into place.

He screws a metal framework to the assembly and confirms that it revolves freely within the framework.

He scans the serial number for tracking purposes.

Stay tuned for more as they prepare this medication dispenser for the workplace.

A technological revolution is happening behind the pharmacy counter.

Robotic systems are proving to be fast and accurate pill counters.

These robotic dispensers bottle and label the medications.

In a busy pharmacy, these machines are a prescription for change.

The carousel that captures any prescriptions that are improperly dispensed is now complete.

A technician mounts it to the center of the machine.

He attaches touch screen controls above the carousel.

It's time to assemble the labeling system for the pill vials.

The first component is the device that spins the vials as the labels are applied.

She wires it to a motor, then places it in the housing.

She connects a sensor that will detect the presence of a vial.

She attaches the printer to a computer circuit board, then tucks the printer into the housing.

It's time for a test.

She loads a vial.

Then, the labeler takes it for a spin.

The system unwinds paper and prints the prescribing information.

Little arms wrap the sticky label around the spinning vial.

She inspects the label for accuracy and clarity.

If it meets standards, they install the labeler in the medication dispenser.

It's attached to the bottom of the robot's frame.

The technician mounts two vial storage units above the labeler.

One is for smaller vials, and the other is for larger ones.

Mechanical levers inside each unit hold vials until they're ready for labeling.

Vials travel down these plastic chutes to the printer.

Beside the vial storage and delivery system, he installs the capper that twists the tops onto the vials.

Next up are drop-off bins for the completed prescriptions.

Another technician encases the control screen and carousel below it with plastic framing.

He fits an emergency stop button to the switch above the control screen.

To protect the sensitive electronics, they attach plastic cabinetry to the front.

A technician now calibrates the cells that hold the pills.

He connects them one at a time to a computer, which communicates with the cell network.

He programs the number of pills to be counted and the amount of air pressure needed to move them through the throat of the cell.

After a pill cell is programmed, a technician places the cell in its slot at the back of the dispenser.

There are up to 228 uniquely programmed cells.

They'll hold the pharmacy's most commonly dispensed medications.

He now scans the bar codes on each cell to log the pill inventory.

The bar code is the serial number for the cell.

This robotic medication dispenser is ready to be put to the test.

He loads pill vials into the storage compartments at the front.

Caps are deposited in the compartment beside the vials.

Then, he stocks some of the cells with pills.

For the purpose of this test, the pills are plastic copies.

Sensors in the cells count the pills that are loaded.

The technician inputs the test prescription.

A vial drops, and the printer labels it.

The robotic arm takes the vial to the correct cell.

The robotic arm rotates and slides sideways, delivering the vial to the capping operation.

A second robotic arm then presses and twists the cap onto the vial.

The prescription is now filled.

From labeling to dispensing to capping, the process has taken mere seconds.

In the pharmacy, this robotic medication dispenser should prove to be indispensable.


Individual Transporters
Canoes
Electric Guitars

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

Individual transporters...

Cedar canoes...

And electric guitars.

It's the world's first self-balancing, electrically powered personal transportation device.

Built-in sensors and an onboard computer keep this $6,000 vehicle upright as it zooms around, up to three times faster than walking speed.

Perfect for large warehouses, delivery routes, or anyone who just wants a lift.

Tough, lightweight construction materials enable the transporter to safely take you almost anywhere you'd otherwise walk or run.

This aluminum chassis will house the vehicle's electronics.

It can withstand an impact force equivalent to the weight of three large cars.

Using a press, a worker attaches couplings to two motors.

These couplings will connect the motors to gearboxes later on.

For safety reasons, many of the transporter's components are doubled.

Normally, they'll share tasks equally, but any of the twin parts can do all the work if the other fails.

It's what the industry calls redundancy.

Using three screws on each side, she installs the motors into the chassis.

The worker then installs two controller boards in the top side of the chassis.

Microprocessors in these boards control the motors.

Then she adds what's called the balance-sensor assembly.

This includes five gyroscopes and two components called fluid-tilt sensors.

These instruments gauge the vehicle's position relative to the ground.

The controller boards check these instruments 100 times per second and adjust the vehicle by rolling the wheels forward or backward when the rider leans either way.

Next come wire clusters called harnesses.

They connect the vehicle's batteries to the control shaft.

The chassis cover doubles as a floor plate for the rider to stand on.

When you step on, your weight pushes four rubber buttons.

These disrupt an optical beam on the controller board, telling the transporter it has a rider.

The harnesses fit through holes in the cover, which attaches with eight screws.

Next, she connects the harnesses to a power converter in the base of the control shaft.

The power converter uses household electricity to recharge the batteries.

Inside the gearbox, four gears transfer power from the motor and turn the wheels.

The gears' teeth are cut on an angle so they engage gradually and more smoothly.

This keeps the vehicle's noise to a relatively low hum.

The worker tightly secures the gearboxes to the chassis with a mallet.

Then she opens a waterproof rubber seal and plugs in the machine's power cord.

She tests the electrical system to ensure that it's grounded and that there's no short circuit.

Next, she uses five screws to attach one of two plastic fenders.

A tapered metal hub connects each wheel to its gearbox.

The wheels are about the height of a small bicycle tire but three times wider.

A molded rubber and metal mat covers the floor plate and snaps into place on both fenders.

After flipping the chassis, a worker connects two batteries to the controller boards.

When you plug the batteries into a wall socket, they recharge in about eight hours.

The transporter runs as far as 23 miles on a single charge, depending on the terrain.

This machine tests the rider-detect buttons by applying pressure in a random pattern.

The rider and cargo must weigh at least 99 pounds but no more than 260 pounds.

The machine also tests the wheels and motors.

Next, the handlebar on the control shaft.

To steer, you turn the handgrip left or right.

The motor responds by spinning one wheel faster than the other.

You could also spin the wheels on opposite directions to make the vehicle pivot.

Ignition keys with computer chips in them restrict traveling speeds to either 5 1/2, 10, or 12 1/2 miles per hour.

The keys also instruct the vehicle to make slow, medium, or sharp turns.

Now the fun part-- taking each transporter for a test-drive.

The tester listens for unusual sounds and checks for vibrations coming from the gearboxes.

He feels how quickly and reliably the controls respond.

He runs the transporter up small inclines.

It's designed to conquer slopes of up to 20 degrees, depending on traction with the ground and the weight on board.

It goes down over a sidewalk curb just as easily.

Only after this thorough test-drive is the transporter ready for its first real trip.

Canoes are truly vessels of history, dating back as far as 10,000 years.

Native north americans made them with frames of wooden ribs covered with bark.

They used these boats to fish, travel, and trade.

Today's canoes blend traditional construction with some high-tech materials for even greater durability.

Most of this boat's made of white cedar, which is lightweight and weatherproof.

But for reinforcement, the rim and leading edges are made of ash, a heavier wood.

Construction starts with an upside-down template of the canoe that's 15 1/2 feet long.

A worker clamps two long strips of ash, called gunwales, to create the canoe's inner rim, then adds similar strips curbing along the two extremities.

He'll attach the rest of the skeleton to this rim.

Workers soften what will be the boat's cedar ribs in nearly boiling water for 45 minutes.

The ribs are 2 inches wide and almost a half-inch thick.

The hot water makes them relatively pliable.

Using a hammer for leverage, they simply bend the ribs over the template.

Steel guiding strips ensure the ribs are 1 3/4 of an inch apart.

With a pneumatic staple gun, workers fire two stainless-steel staples through each end of the ribs and into the gunwales.

Cement blocks weigh down some of the 43 ribs that workers secure over the entire canoe.

At this point, the ribs measure between 3 and 5 feet long, depending on the area they're covering.

The workers will later trim the ends to align them.

Next, workers mark the center line along the bottom of the boat with a chalk line.

This is where they'll put the first cedar plank to create the skin of the boat.

They lay 18 rows of planks on the boat and use a box cutter to shape the ends into a curve.

They secure the planks with brass tacks.

Brass because it's rust-resistant and its color blends well with the blond wood.

Since the planks are straight-angled, this process leaves some wedge-like spaces they'll cover separately.

They cut thin wedges of wood to cover the remaining spaces.

It takes 8 hours and 2,500 tacks to fit all the planks on the boat.

In total, it takes one person 30 hours to make one canoe.

Using a circular saw, a worker trims the excess from the ends of the ribs.

Then two workers lift the boat off the template, flip it right-side up, and set it down to rest on two sawhorses.

Here, a worker feels inside the boat for any protruding tacks.

He uses a hammer and metal block to flatten them.

Most were deflected earlier when they hit the metal guide strips on the template.

A worker tightens a nylon string between the gunwales, bringing the boats extremities together in points.

He joins the tips of the gunwales with a screw at both ends of the boat.

Then he installs triangular pieces of mahogany.

This hardwood stands out visually when stained and also reinforces the ends of the boat.

Workers then trim and close off the ends.

Next, they attach two more gunwales with 44 screws to create the outer rim of the boat.

To protect the wood and make its surface watertight, workers cover the bottom of the canoe with fiberglass cloth.

Then they seal it with three coats of clear epoxy resin, which will need up to two hours of drying time between coats.

Workers reinforce the front and back of the boat with more fiberglass and more resin.

They do this because these areas will hit rocks in the shore more often than other parts.

A worker fills holes he drilled through the bottom of the boat with silicone.

This helps attach the keel, the spine of the boat, as well as two long brass components on top of the keel.

Workers complete this step by flipping the canoe and attaching 37 screws through the silicone and into the keel.

After thawing frozen strips of rawhide leather in water, a worker cuts holes in them.

These holes enable her to weave the strips together to cover the canoe's two ash-wood seats.

It takes her about an hour to weave the required 65 feet of rawhide.

The pattern is similar to what you see on traditional snowshoes.

It takes two days for the leather strips to dry out and tighten.

Workers then protect and strengthen them with marine varnish.

Then they install the seats inside the boat with four brass bolts.

Next comes the yoke, a bar running across the width of the boat.

It's designed to fit on your shoulders when you carry the boat upside down.

The other bar is for securing gear safely while you're out paddling on the water.

Bon voyage.

The electric guitar dates back to the 1920s.

The original idea was to amplify the sound of the acoustic guitar.

The first commercially successful model came out in 1932.

By the 1950s, though, the instrument underwent a radical change, its body evolving from the traditional hollow shape to a thin, solid block of wood.

Guitar bodies are usually made of mahogany, poplar, or certain maple species-- lightweight woods that are flexible enough to produce the right balance of treble, midrange, and bass vibrations.

Workers first saw a plank of wood into specific widths.

They plane the pieces to a specific thickness, usually in the range of 2 to 4 inches.

Then they mark them with the same number so they'll end up in the same guitar.

Mixing pieces from different planks would combine different wood densities and make the body vibrate unevenly.

Damp wood tends to warp, so the pieces have to go into a heated room until their moisture content drops to less than 6%.

This takes about two months.

Once the wood dries out, workers glue and clamp the pieces together, setting them in a vise for three hours until the glue dries.

The water-based glue re-wets part of the wood, so the block has to go back into the drying room for another two months.

When it comes out, it goes onto a holding device.

Then a computer-guided cutting machine uses eight different heads, one after another, to gradually carve the body shape.

This is a semi-acoustic model, so the body has some hollowed-out areas.

After a fine sanding to smooth the surface, they trim the contour at a 45-degree angle using a small stainless-steel blade.

Then they sand again.

By this point, they've also inserted round metal fixtures to hold the bolts that will attach the body and neck.

To construct the neck, they slice a piece of mahogany or hard-rock maple in two using a diamond-edged saw for a perfect cut.

Then they glue a .

05-inch-thick sheet of maple veneer onto one piece.

This will be the front surface of the neck.

Now they flip the piece over and glue it to the other one.

Flipping inverts the wood grain.

This strengthens the neck, enabling it to withstand the tension of the guitar strings.

The maple veneer hides and reinforces the joint.

They clamp the components in a vise for three hours until the glue sets.

A computer-guided cutting machine contours the neck shape and cuts a groove down the middle for a steel bar called the truss rod.

When the neck bows from tension created by heavy-gauge strings, you straighten it by adjusting the protruding end of the truss rod.

Next, the fingerboard-- the surface against which you press the strings to produce different notes and chords.

It's made of maple, ebony, or rosewood.

After gluing the fingerboard over the truss rod, they place the neck into a vacuum press.

The press sucks out all the air, compressing the components into one solid unit.

Once the glue dries, the neck goes onto a computer-guided carving machine.

Its 12 different cutting heads finalize the shape.

Next, a 22-blade saw simultaneously cuts very precise slots for 22 fret wires, the metal lines on the fingerboard.

A worker rounds off and smoothes the back of the neck against a belt sander...

Then installs the fret wires.

The wires are made of nickel and lead.

They have teeth on the bottom that grab the wood.

That's why it's essential that the slots be a very precise width and depth.

Finally, they run the sides of the neck against the sanding belt.

This trims off the excess fret wire and rounds off the edges of the fingerboard.

Back to the body now.

A worker puts it in a silk-screen printer to apply the company name.

The ink dries in just seconds under ultraviolet light.

After applying a sealant to block the wood's pores, they spray on up to 22 coats of wood stain and lacquer.

This protects the wood and gives it a semi- or high-gloss finish.

Now onto the mechanics.

An electric guitar works like this.

A magnet-and-coil assembly called a pickup works like a mini-microphone.

It picks up the sound vibrations of the strings and sends them to an amplifier which sends them to a speaker which emits that trademark electric-guitar sound.

Before installing the electronic components, though, a few final steps.

After a 6-week curing period, they wet-sand the painted and lacquered wood, then buff until the surface is so glossy it produces a mirror finish.

Then they polish it with wax.

If the frets aren't level, the guitar will buzz, so workers color the top of each fret with a marker, then run a sheet of fine sandpaper down the fingerboard.

The ink rubs off on any frets that are higher than the rest and have to be filed down.

The filings flatten the fret's edges, so workers round them off using a special curved file.

Then, with very fine sandpaper, they buff away the filing marks.

They clean the fingerboard with mineral oil.

This also nourishes the rosewood so it won't dry out and crack.

Now they turn an allen key in the truss rod to straighten out the neck.

This gauge measures the curve.

When the needle hits zero, the neck is perfectly straight.

Now the six tuning keys-- one for each string.

Depending on the model, these steel keys are plated with either gold or nickel or painted black.

You turn the black acrylic peg to tighten or loosen the string for tuning.

Workers use a digital gauge to measure the height of the nut-- a thin piece of either bone or very hard plastic with six slots to space the strings.

If it isn't in precisely the right position, tuning will be off and the strings will buzz.

Now the neck is ready to join the body, courtesy of four bolts driven from the back of the instrument.

They fit into those round metal fixtures we saw in the previous segment.

And now the electronic components.

Workers begin by soldering control knobs for the volume and tone to the pickup selector switch-- the switch that activates any of the pickups-- sets of magnets with wire coiled around them.

Like miniature microphones, they pick up the sound vibrations entering their magnetic field, transform them into electronic signals, which then go out to the amplifier and speaker.

One pickup will be just above the bridge-- a brass piece that anchors the other end of the strings.

The pickup has one magnet and wire coil for each string.

Standard electric guitars don't have a pickup at the bridge, but this model has one to enable the instrument to also sound like an acoustic guitar.

You can even use the electric and acoustic sounds together.

Workers drill holes in the body for installing the bridge, using a template as a guide.

They attach the bridge with screws...

Then install the bridge pickup just above it and the body and neck pickups above that.

Then they flip it over and hook up what's called the tremolo, a lever-activated set of steel springs that temporarily loosen the guitar strings.

The musician uses the tremolo on select notes and chords to create a quivering effect-- that distinctive electric-guitar sound.

The volume and tone knobs come next, tucked into a cavity in the back, then secured to the front with a nut.

Now the pickup selector switch.

It also comes through the back to the front of the instrument.

Then they add the last electronic component-- a jack for the cable going to the amplifier.

They plug in the cable, and flicking the selector switch, do a tap test on each pick up.

Now it's time to string the guitar.

They pull the steel strings from the back through the bridge in the front, then wind them onto the tuning keys using a drill with a special adaptor.

Then it's into a soundproof booth to tune the guitar with the help of a digital tuner.

And then it's played for the first time.


Tea
Roof Finials
Artificial Flowers
Alloy Wheels

After water, tea is the most consumed beverage in the world.

The different types are determined by the degree to which the producer lets the harvested leaves oxidize before drying them.

Green tea, for example, is barely fermented, whereas black tea is greatly fermented.

Oolong falls somewhere in between.

In chinese, oolong means "black dragon".

It's a semi-oxidized tea fermented more than green tea, yet less than black tea.

Its taste, aroma, and color, from light yellow to dark red, vary according to how the tea leaves are processed.

This amber oolong produced in thailand has a rich, smooth roasted taste.

Like most teas, oolong is made from the leaves of a flowering plant species called camellia sinensis.

Harvest time is during the plant's peak growing season, which, in thailand, is from may to november.

Workers handpick what's known as the flush, a grouping of two young leaves and a bud, which grows out the top of the plant.

At this time of year, the plant produces a new flush every 7 to 15 days.

An experienced tea master directs every phase of the processing, the first step of which is called solar withering.

Workers bring the leaves into a glass-roofed building, then spread them out in the sun for 15 to 20 minutes.

This kick-starts the oxidization fermentation process as the chlorophyll enzymes inside the wilting leaves start breaking down.

At the same time, the moisture inside begins evaporating.

Workers keep moving the leaves around to ensure a thorough exposure to the sun.

Then they gather up the leaves for step two-- indoor withering.

The leaves lie on bamboo trays for six to eight hours, where, gently stirred every two hours, they oxidize further.

Step three-- disruption.

The leaves go into a rotating drum.

As they tumble, they bruise and tear.

This breaks down the cell structures, enabling oxygen to penetrate deep inside, greatly accelerating fermentation.

This also releases the leaf juices, which help draw out the taste of the tea.

When the tea master determines the leaves have sufficiently oxidized, they stop the oxidation process by tumbling the leaves in a gas-heated dryer for 10 to 15 minutes.

This fourth step of the process is called fixation because it fixes the oxidization at the desired level, which can be anywhere from 8% to 85%, depending on the variety of oolong in production.

This is the most critical part of the process because it determines the tea's taste, aroma, and color.

The next step forms the tea leaves into tiny pellets.

First, workers shake the leaves on a sieve to filter out the dust-like particles.

Then they bag the leaves in a cotton cloth and place them first in a kneading machine, then afterward in a rolling press.

Kneading and rolling the bag twists the leaves inside into tiny pellets.

Forming these pellet shapes intensifies the flavor of the tea, and, when the tea is steeped in hot water, releases that flavor slowly.

They repeat the sieving, kneading, and rolling cycle up to 35 times until the tea master is satisfied with the result.

Then and only then does the final step begin-- firing.

They transfer the tea to an oven, in which it undergoes three drying cycles of 20 minutes each at a temperature of approximately 210 degrees fahrenheit.

This dries the damp tea, reducing the moisture content to the target level of less than 5%.

The firing also brings out the fragrance.

The traditional way to brew oolong is in a clay teapot, using about 2 teaspoons of tea per cup.

Ideally, the water should be 190 to 210 degrees fahrenheit.

Steeping time is from 3 to 10 minutes, and you can brew the same leaves up to five times.

Originally crafted from stone by the greeks, finials are still on top.

Perched on peaks and gables, these roof ornaments are a crowning touch to any structure.

They can make even an ordinary home look a little more grand, and after all, every home is someone's castle.

On many structures, finials still rule the roof and give people a reason to look up.

The design of these roof ornaments usually reflects the style of the building and the owner's taste.

They're often custom made for the client and entirely hand crafted.

To make a copper finial, the artisan first draws the design on paper.

Like many finials, this one will have a point, a central orb, and skirting.

Once the design has been approved by the client, he draws larger versions of it onto poster board.

They'll serve as templates for the copper parts.

Here, he draws the patterns for the elaborate scroll work.

To execute the design, he gets creative.

He uses copper refrigerator tubing to make the scrollwork.

It's malleable and can easily be shaped.

He positions a pipe cutter device at the cut line.

The device grips the tubing, but can still be turned to cut the pipe cleanly at the desired location.

He flattens one end with a sledgehammer so it can be tucked into a groove in this large pvc plumbing pipe.

With the end secured, he physically bends the copper tubing around this pipe to give it the desired curvature.

He compares the curvature to that of the pattern and makes adjustments.

He continues shaping the pipe, now using only the scrollwork pattern as a guide.

He'll make several of these copper scrollwork parts for one roof ornament.

With an etching tool, he now traces the shape of the skirting pattern onto copper roof sheeting.

He cuts reference points for the bends and removes the pattern.

He then extends the bend lines with the etching tool.

He now cuts out the skirting part with standard hand shears following the etched outline.

One last trim along the edge, and the skirting is ready for the sheet metal bending machine.

He clamps it into place and pulls a handle to apply hydraulic pressure and bend the part along the etched lines.

He repositions the skirting and bends it at the next etched marking point.

He continues until there are six evenly spaced folds in the copper.

This transforms it into a hexagonal pyramid.

To seal it where the ends meet, he prepares the surface.

He applies an acid called flux to clean the copper.

He ignites the torch and melts solder into the seam.

The solder is half-lead and half-tin and provides a good seal.

He sands the soldered seam against a fine, abrasive belt to blend it with the copper.

The finial skirting is now complete.

He now drills holes into a hollow copper orb.

He slides the orb onto a long copper spike that's been installed in the base.

He cleans the copper where the two parts meet and solders them together.

He adds a second smaller orb and the extravagant scrollwork.

He now solders the spiked cap to the finial.

This adds height and drama to the rooftop ornament.

This finial is now complete and ready for high places.

Making one has truly been a pinnacle achievement.

Artificial flowers have been used as decorations for hundreds of years.

Initially, silk flowers made in china were displayed in homes and not commercially sold.

As far back as the 12th century, italian flower makers using dye-colored silkworm cocoons were the first to sell their floral arrangements.

Modern imitations of natural flowering plants are endless in variety, stunning in color, with realism so impressive, they can look and feel like the real thing.

Since the '70s, most are made of polyester fabrics.

A worker places an iron cutter blade on top of non-woven polyester and then applies several tons of hydraulic pressure to complete the cuts.

The result is 20 layers of flower petals.

The worker wraps piles of 100 petals in elastic bands and sets them aside.

Another worker places petals into a heated mold to give the fabric texture.

Using a glue gun, a worker completes the flower's petal structure by assembling two different shapes of non-woven polyester petals.

This is part of the flower head.

In the coloring department, a worker paints the pieces of non-woven polyester using watercolor.

She paints the edges of the flower heads in bundles of 100 at a time.

The painted flower heads go into a microwave for two to five minutes.

The dried flower heads now undergo silk screening one at a time using acrylic paint.

Customers can choose among more than 50 different color patterns.

The flower heads have been pressed to simulate natural curving.

Using a glue gun, a worker connects the flower head to the petals of this phalaenopsis orchid.

The goal is not only to make the flowers look as real as possible.

It's also to make them feel as real as possible, which takes us to the next stage.

An employee puts two flowers together...

Lines them up, then adds a stick, which will be held in the next part of the process.

She encircles them tightly with an elastic band.

Another worker dips the two flowers in polymer, which helps make them feel real to the touch.

She spins the flowers to remove as much excess polymer as possible.

Workers then brush excess polymer from the petals.

A worker attaches flower buds to the stem using green floral tape.

She attaches the petals and flower head and continues to wrap the stem in floral tape until the entire length is covered.

To make the leaves feel real to the touch, a worker dips them in polymer and wipes off any excess with her fingers.

After one hour of drying, the worker dips the same leaves in green polymer.

Again, she removes any excess and sets the leaves aside for another hour of drying.

Once they're dry, another worker gives the leaves a final coat of polymer paint.

She removes the excess and sets the leaves aside for yet another hour of drying.

All the drying is done at room temperature.

Now coated with several layers of polymer, the leaves stick to each other.

To fix that, a worker applies a thin coating of talcum powder with a sponge.

The coating solves the problem of sticky leaves.

With its many components fully assembled, this finished flower is a rather dazzling recreation of the cymbidium orchid.

Shipping these flowers requires careful packaging.

They wrap the glass vase in clear plastic...

And place it securely inside a polystyrene base.

The flower is lowered into the box upside down.

The base is snug enough to keep the flower from moving inside the box, which the worker then seals shut for shipping.

Authentic looking and feeling, these striking flowers are sure to make any decor blossom.

Higher-end cars typically come with alloy wheels rather than basic steel wheels covered with a hubcap.

Called mag wheels, because when they first came out, they were made of an alloy of magnesium.

Today's alloy wheels are made of an aluminum alloy, which is far more durable.

Aluminum alloy wheels are not only more attractive than standard wheels.

They're also a fraction of the weight, and therefore require less energy to rotate.

This contributes to greater fuel efficiency as well as better handling, acceleration, and braking.

Manufacturing them begins with high-grade aluminum alloy containing 97% aluminum.

A furnace heats the ingots to over 1,300 degrees fahrenheit.

They liquify in about 25 minutes.

The molten aluminum then flows directly to a mixer in which they inject argon gas, which enables them to remove the hydrogen.

This increases the density, making the aluminum less porous when solidified.

After adding powdered titanium, magnesium, and other metallic elements to further strengthen the aluminum, they blend in flux, a chemical which draws aluminum oxide to the surface.

They skim off this impurity along with the flux, and the liquid aluminum is ready for casting.

The wheel mold is made of high-strength steel.

It's actually a set of three molds-- the upper mold, which forms the inside face of the wheel, the 4-part side mold, which forms the wheel's edge, and the lower mold, which forms the outer face.

That's the side with the design, so this is the most intricate mold.

It takes three to four weeks to produce a mold.

Computer simulations check the flow and temperature of the liquid aluminum, factors critical for preventing casting defects.

The casting machine is designed to fill the mold from the bottom by pressurized injection.

Injecting upward through the bottom, rather than pouring downward into the top, reduces the risk of air bubbles, which cause defects.

Right before casting, the molten metal flows through a filter sheet made of high-temperature-resistant ceramic.

This traps additional aluminum oxide.

Once cast, the aluminum takes about 7 to 10 minutes to solidify.

Then the mold automatically opens, releasing the newly cast wheel.

Workers submerge it in lukewarm water for a few minutes.

This cools it down enough to be handled.

The wheel undergoes a complex heat treatment process that takes 12 hours from start to finish.

First, they heat the wheel to 900 degrees fahrenheit.

This rearranges the molecular structure, strengthening the metal.

Next, what's known as quenching.

They submerge the wheel in 80-degree water for 30 seconds.

This locks in that new strength.

Then they reheat the wheel, this time to 180 degrees for nine hours to further stabilize the metal.

The wheel doesn't come out of the mold in perfect condition.

The edges are rough, due to some excess metal that has to be trimmed off.

So they mount the wheel on a computer-guided lathe.

It precision-machines the sides, refining them to within 0.05 millimeters of the measurements specified in the technical drawings.

As for the more intricate base of the wheel, a worker manually trims the edges with a blade.

The shape now finalized, it's time to test the wheel to make sure it's airtight.

While pumping air into the wheel, they submerge it in water.

Should any air bubbles appear, it would mean there's a pinhole in the metal or some shrinkage, in which case, the wheel would fail inspection.

No air bubbles.

The wheel proceeds to the automated painting line.

First, a base coat, then a coat of color, which can be anything from classic silver or black to a flashier shade.

Then a clear coat to protect the paint and prevent corrosion.

From every 1,500 or so wheels, the factory randomly selects two or three to test for performance and wear.

Workers install the decorative cap that covers the center hub.

It typically bears the specific brand's logo.

Then a final cosmetic inspection to make sure these aluminum alloy wheels look as good as they perform.


Fiberglass Insulation
Wooden Ducks
Gumball Machines
Exhaust Systems

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

Chains...

Bagels...

And vinyl records.

Chains are as indispensable today as they were thousands of years ago.

Ancient historians refer to the use of metal chains for jewelry, shackles, and construction.

Today, chains are used for those very same purposes and many more.

Chains are used to tie things down, hold things together, and pull things along, and their many sizes reflect the varied uses.

To make a chain, a turning drum uncoils this wire rod and pulls it through a steel guide ring to a steel draw box.

Grease inside the box lubricates the wire.

On its way out of the box, the wire goes through a die, such as the one being demonstrated here.

The die has a smaller diameter than the wire, and as the turning drum pulls it through, the wire narrows, hardens, and becomes stronger.

Now electrically driven tools move in from all sides.

This is a forming machine.

A tool called a jaw propels the wire forward, while another jaw pushes on the wire, bending it around a steel pin.

It forms a "c" shape.

Another forming tool closes the "c," completing one link in the chain, and then another jaw makes the next link.

This machine is making jack chain, which is usually used to hang lights.

Another forming machine makes a chain that can haul a heavier load.

A grip pulls the wire onto rollers that straighten it out.

Steel cutters now make notches on both sides of the wire.

These notches mark the place where the wire is to be sliced into link-sized pieces.

A mechanized knife makes the final cut at the notches.

Next, roller arms loop a cut piece of wire around a steel finger.

The roller arms make it look easy, but they're actually exerting tons of pressure in order to shape this wire.

After the rollers form the link, a pliers-like tool grabs it and turns it around.

This positions the completed link so that it can connect with the next link as it's shaped.

As each link is added, the chain drops into a pile below the machine.

There are dozens of forming machines in most chain factories.

Each machine makes 50 to 60 links per minute.

That's about 250 feet of chain per machine hour.

To put that into perspective, one machine could make a chain as long as the empire state building is high in just under six hours.

After the chain is formed, it will need to be strengthened.

So it's on to the welding machine.

Hammers to the left and right push the link in, then two copper blocks move in from the sides.

They act as electrodes and zap both sides of the link with an electrical current.

The current ripples through the gap in the link, while the hammers push it in.

The link reaches a scorching 1,700 degrees fahrenheit.

The wire melts and the link fuses together.

Now a pulley system drops the freshly welded chain into a heat-treating coil.

An electrical current runs through the copper coil, heating the chain inside until it's orange-hot-- 1,724 degrees fahrenheit.

The pulleys lower the chain into a tub of water to cool.

The extreme temperature change alters the molecular structure of the steel, making it much harder.

But the experience leaves the chain a bit brittle.

So it goes into a second heat coil that's not as hot as the first one and then into another cool bath.

This takes away the brittleness and gives the steel a bit of stretch.

Now the ultimate strength test-- this is the chain calibrator.

Pulleys run the chain into a groove that's been cut into a block of steel.

A clamp on the left holds it in place, while the hydraulically powered block of steel pulls the chain to the right.

Will it break or will it hold?

And can it handle the load?

After all, the chain is only as strong as the weakest link.

The first bagels were created in eastern europe during the 1600s.

Exactly why is debatable, but one account is that they were a tribute to the king of poland.

The king was a military hero and a great horseman, so a baker shaped the dough to resemble a stirrup.

The austrian word for "stirrup" sounds like "bagel".

You used to get bagels in just two varieties-- sesame seed or poppy seed.

Today they come in a rainbow of flavors, from nine-grain to blueberry to cinnamon-raisin to whole-wheat sesame.

Commercial bakeries make them like this.

The first step is to blend all the ingredients in a huge mixer.

These include molasses, salt, yeast, flour, sugar, malt flour, ascorbic acid, and enzymes.

If needed, workers also add the special flavorings.

Raisins or blueberries go in when the mixing's nearly done to avoid pulverizing them.

One batch of dough weighs 750 pounds and makes about 3,200 bagels.

They slowly add about 26 gallons of water as the ingredients blend for 10 minutes.

They monitor the water and air temperatures so that the dough reaches 78 degrees fahrenheit.

That's when yeast activates, enabling the dough to rise later on.

Worker uses a thermometer to take the dough's temperature.

Too warm, the dough will rise too quickly.

Too cold and the dough won't rise enough.

Here, workers cut large chunks of dough for raisin bagels into smaller blocks.

They'll put these blocks into a machine called a divider.

The machine squeezes the dough through small openings to create doughballs that weigh 3.7 ounces, which will each become one bagel.

The divider also distributes the balls into four single files as they emerge from the machine and move along plastic conveyor belts.

They're plastic so workers can clean them easily and often.

Next, a machine called a bagel former flattens the balls into strips.

This way, the strips can be curved into rings.

The curved conveyor belt guides the dough through a tight circular opening with a stainless-steel rod at its center.

The rod forces the two ends of the strip to join in a circle.

This process happens in less than two seconds, before the dough has a chance to dry out.

It's the moisture in the dough that enables the ends of the strips to stick together.

The bagel rings emerge from the bagel former onto another conveyor.

Workers then visually inspect the rings to ensure they came out right.

After placing the bagels onto ungreased trays, workers put them in a large room called a proofer for 90 minutes to rise.

The proofer is kept at 109 degrees fahrenheit with 80% humidity.

Next a worker places the trays onto a metal conveyor belt.

This conveyor moves the bagels into a huge steam oven about the size of a school bus.

Steam makes the bagels chewy and shiny.

To ensure the dough develops properly, they maintain air temperature in the bakery at a constant 68 degrees fahrenheit.

And there's no air-conditioning to ensure the right humidity level.

After baking for exactly 13 minutes at precisely 450 degrees fahrenheit, the bagels come out of the steam oven.

They lost moisture during the baking process, so they now weigh around a half-ounce less than before.

To cool down, the bagels move along a winding conveyor belt that snakes through 6 floors of this 1.5-square-mile bakery.

Bagel-making ranges from large commercial operations like this one to small neighborhood bakeries that still make them the old-fashioned way-- rolling and shaping the dough by hand and baking them in a brick oven.

During the 50-minute journey, their temperatures drop to about 98 degrees fahrenheit, cool enough to package in plastic bags later on.

Here, a worker inspects the bagels for shape, color, height, and shine.

To help the consumer, a machine preslices the bagels almost in half.

It leaves a portion uncut so the bagel sections stick together and stay fresh.

Next, workers separate the bagels into groups of six, placing them along another conveyor lined with tiny brushes.

These brushes keep the bagels upright as they head off for packaging.

A mechanical arm scoops the bagels along, and another blows open the bags and inserts the bagels.

This bakery prepares up to 3,000 half-dozen packages an hour for shipping, fast enough to have a fresh bagel land on your breakfast plate as soon as 12 hours later.

Vinyl records have an ever-increasing following among audiophiles, collectors, and deejays.

Some say they sound better than digital cds and mp3s.

To cater to this market, some record companies are releasing more music on vinyl, a manufacturing process that's interesting and fun to watch.

The first step is to cut a master record.

This flat disk is made of aluminum, and it will be the core of the master.

The surface has a gritty texture early on, but they sand it down and polish it smooth.

They place the aluminum disks on a conveyor belt, and they ride towards a device that will coat them with a veneer of lacquer.

The disk enters the curtain coater.

Nitrocellulose lacquer-- a similar substance to nail polish-- oozes out of a long, thin opening, forming a veil, or curtain.

As the disk passes through the curtain, it's slathered with the lacquer.

Rollers with scrapers catch the runoff.

The excess lacquer they collect is reused.

The lacquer starts to dry immediately.

The solvents evaporate, and the veneer hardens into a nail-polish-like finish.

But like any manicure job, there are often flaws.

At this inspection station, workers scrutinize each lacquered disk for pits, bumps, or dirt.

Even a minor imperfection won't be tolerated, so the rejection rate is high--  about 50%.

They recycle the rejects.

They rim the good masters with plastic edging.

It will stop the disks from rubbing together during stacking and damaging the finish.

Next, a worker holds the disk under a hydraulic puncher that cuts a hole in the center.

Then, handling it carefully so he doesn't disturb the finish, he places it on a spindle.

A robotic arm slides a plastic ring down the spindle, depositing it around the center hole of the disk.

Like the plastic edging, the ring will also space the disks apart.

Now the master disks are ready to take a trip to the studio.

The lacquer disk is about to be cut.

The engineer places it on the recording machine called a lathe.

He peels the protective ribbing away from the rim.

He places a vacuum line at the center, which suctions to the underside of the disk and holds it in place.

The engineer now moves the cutter and a microscope above the disk.

He lowers the cutter onto the outer edge of the disk and it does a test cut.

He positions a microscope just above the test groove and then peers into it to get a good look at the cut.

He makes adjustments to the cut, and then he's ready to record.

The lathe cuts the lead-in groove and the music begins.

The sapphire-tipped cutter etches the sound into the surface of the disk.

From start to finish, the recording will be one continuous groove in the record.

A computer monitors the cutting and adjusts the spacing between the grooves where needed.

A little vacuum draws up scrap, as the cutter carves the groove.

Some believe this sound is warmer and has more depth than digital recordings.

But making music fit on an analog disk is sometimes challenging.

To reproduce bass, the cutter has to make big, wide grooves that take up a lot of space.

And although the grooves can touch, they can't cut across one another.

At the end of the recording, the cutter lifts and the master disk is ready for inspection.

If it's acceptable, the engineer places a sliding platform on it and scribes a unique serial number into the lacquer.

Soon, this master disk will be used to make more records.

The master disk has just been cut, but the lacquer surface is far too delicate to play.

It's been produced solely to act as a mold.

It will literally be pressed into service to make tougher versions of the recorded grooves.

And this will enable the manufacturers to make many copies from just one.

In the next step, they wash the lacquer disk with soap and water.

They spray it with tin chloride and liquid silver.

The tin chloride is a sensitizer that helps the silver stick to the lacquer.

They wash away little bits of silver that don't stick.

In seconds, one side of the lacquer has become a stunning silver disk with the grooves intact.

But next, they'll add a duller metal to the silvered side in order to really stiffen the disk.

They fasten it to a spindle on the underside of a tank lid.

The disk spins, and they rinse it one more time.

The water in the tank below is green because these nickel nuggets are dissolving into it.

They lower the lid and the spinning disk is immersed in the solution.

An electric charge fuses the nickel to the silver...

And the nickel settles neatly into the grooves.

Now they remove it from the tank and pry the metal layer away from the original lacquer disk.

This metal layer is a stamper that will be used to press vinyl records.

And the lacquer disk, which has served as its mold, is discarded.

Now they look for the exact center of the stamper.

A worker places it under the microscope, which is part of an optical centering punch.

As the stamper disk spins, he aligns the grooves with a guide in the viewfinder.

When he finds the center, he punches a hole there.

Next, they clamp the stamper disk into a trimming machine.

The disk turns and a cutting wheel trims the edge, cutting the stamper disk to a diameter of 12 1/2 inches.

Now the stampers are ready to make their mark.

But first the labels must be prepared.

A punch bores into the center of a stack of them, making holes.

Then they place the labels on a mini-press.

It rises to another cutter, which rounds them out.

They pour black polyvinyl chloride pellets into a hopper.

The pellets fall into an extruder, which turns them into hot rubbery paddies called biscuits.

Hoists above and below push labels to each side of the biscuit.

Suction cups hold them there while a carriage moves the biscuit forward then drops the biscuit and labels in the press.

Two stampers mounted in the press apply 100 tons of pressure.

The stampers are a searing 380 degrees fahrenheit.

They melt and mold the biscuit into a record.

A quick cooling cycle hardens it and bonds the labels to the vinyl.

A carriage then transports it to a trimming table.

The table spins the record against a knife as it cuts away the ragged edges.

Then, the table takes the trimmed record to the finished stack.

And the process begins again.

This is really a well-choreographed musical production.

As one record is lifted out of the press, the next one goes in.

The pressing and trimming of a vinyl record takes just 28 seconds.

But it's sure to get hours of play by enthusiasts who refuse to buy into the digital revolution and still believe that vinyl is a cut above.


Retractable Cords
Wood Frame Sports Cars
Sushi

Retractile cords were invented for telephone handsets in the late 1930s, and ever since, these coiled cords have been making a lot of great connections, from medical equipment to construction tools to industrial machinery.

They keep in a lot of things plugged in, in a very neat way.

Retractile cords stretch when needed and spring back into a tight coil afterwards, and that means no tangled knots and wiring snarl-ups, which saves time that would otherwise be spent straightening things out.

Production begins with thermoplastic coloring.

The color selected indicates the electrical function of each wire in the cord.

It takes just a small amount to tint a batch of white plastic pellets a vivid hue as they melt in an extruder.

Tin-plated copper wire feeds into that extruder, and the colored molten plastic coats the wire to provide an insulating wrap.

As it exits the extruder, the plastic casing is still warm and soft, but cool water solidifies it.

A spool then takes up the insulated wiring.

Next, several wires unwind simultaneously over guide rollers and into a spreader plate.

The plate precisely aligns the wires as they feed into a die.

This die draws them down to the correct diameter, while a mechanism further down the production line twists the wires into one cord.

The cord continues to twist as rollers wrap polyester-backed foil around it.

This foil is a shield to protect the wires from electrical interference and is an optional feature.

The cord then passes through the twisting mechanism and onto a take-up reel.

Next, standard unshielded cord travels through beads of electrodes as thousands of volts of electricity are applied to them.

The energized electrodes detect any faults in the wires.

If they find none, the cord moves forward.

The next machine gives the cord a paper wrap.

That's followed by the final layer, a thermoplastic jacket.

It also takes a trip through a cooling station to solidify.

An ink-jet printer applies technical and other information.

The plastic casings of some cords have been treated with fire-retardant chemicals.

Now they put that treatment to the test.

The cord doesn't catch fire, confirming that it's flame-resistant.

So it's now ready to be coiled.

This worker gets the process started by manually winding it around a rod.

Then he presses a button, and the automated winder does the rest.

This establishes the spiraling profile of the retractile cord.

But at this point, the coil won't hold.

Simply pulling out the rod would cause it to unravel.

The plastic sheathing around the wires has no memory, so it won't retain the shape.

They wheel the cords, still on rods, into an industrial oven and bake them at 200 degrees fahrenheit.

This gives the cord's plastic casing the necessary memory so that when the operator pulls out the rod, the coil is intact.

But it still doesn't have the necessary snap.

That is now achieved by reversing the direction of the coil.

The equipment used for that is proprietary, so this worker demonstrates the basic concept with a drill.

The drill turns the cord counterclockwise for an impressive rewind.

The effect ripples all the way down to the end.

Reversing the direction of the coil transforms it.

The process tightens the spiral so that after the cord is stretched, it retracts to its original shape.

The difference is very apparent.

The top coil in this shot hasn't been reversed, while the bottom one has, and it's clearly much tighter.

So these retractile cords are now ready to be stretched to the max and snap right back again.

Being behind the wheel of a traditional-style british sports car will surely get you noticed.

These vehicles combine modern performance with classic styling that dates back to the turn of the last century.

Even the inner construction is traditional, with the car's body frame handcrafted out of wood.

The first models, in the early 1900s, were three-wheelers with motorcycle engines.

It wasn't until the mid-1930s that these hip sports cars acquired a fourth wheel and a four-cylinder automotive engine.

But one thing hasn't changed in more than a century-- the wood-frame construction.

In the factory's woodshop, workers glue together 2/10"-thick ash panels to produce a 3-ply lamination with which to make the frame's curved components.

To make each wheel arch, they clamp a lamination into a rounded jig for a couple of hours.

The glue dries, locking the curve in the wood.

They make the frame's front section out of three solid pieces of ash.

Triangular wood jigs align the frame, while workers screw in a solid ash rail on each side.

These rails connect to back framing and form the bottom of the car's door openings.

Two vertical rails form the side of the openings on which the door will hinge.

Using a spoke shave, workers fine-tune each doorframe so that it fits perfectly into the openings they have just constructed.

Then they mount the doorframe with strong steel hinges.

They submerge the finished frame in wood preservative, giving the chemical plenty of time to thoroughly penetrate the pores of the wood.

This will prevent the frame from rotting.

In another part of the factory, workers assemble the engine, transmission, and drive shaft to the car's galvanized-steel chassis, then mount the front and rear axles and wheels.

They'll switch the brass wheel nuts for fancy chrome ones later on.

Back to the bodywork now.

They cut an aluminum panel to the shape of the doorframe, only wider all around, clamp it on to the doorframe, hammer down this door skin, as it's called, over the frame edge all around.

They remove the clamps, then peel off the panel's protective covering.

After paneling the rest of the wood frame in aluminum, they re-install the door, gently tapping the hinge pin in place.

Now they lower the paneled body onto the chassis.

The only wooden parts not covered with metal are the rear wheel wells.

Unlike the rest of the body frame, these are made of water-resistant plywood.

Two bonnets form the car's hood.

To make each one, a craftsman feeds aluminum through rollers to curve it.

Then he massages it over an old log that this factory's been using for this purpose since the 1930s.

They put each panel through a press that cuts louver holes.

In the old days, the purpose of louvers was to ventilate the engine, but now they're mostly for style.

The two finished bonnet panels go on either side of a central hinge, forming a car hood that opens like butterfly wings.

The body gets a paint job.

Then they trim the car's interior with genuine leather, cutting and stitching every piece by hand and affixing it to the wood frame.

They make door seals by wrapping leather around rubber tubing.

And finally they re-fit the wings, now painted, over the front and back wheels.

The front wings have shells which house the car's headlights.

Workers install the radiator at the front and top it with a cover called a cowl.

Then the electronic-dashboard instruments, gearshift, windshield, mirrors, and, of course, the steering wheel.

They also attach the hood-- handcrafted from either vinyl or mohair-- to a tubular frame.

After installing the leather-trimmed seats, they take the vehicle out for a test drive, then, upon return, put it through a meticulous inspection, inside and out.

After a wax polishing, this fancy fusion of technology and tradition finally gets the green light.

Sushi is a meal that appeals to the discriminating palate.

But it had very rudimentary beginnings.

The first sushi was actually a form of food preservation.

Salted fish was covered in cooked rice and left to ferment for months and even years.

The rice was then thrown away and the fish consumed.

A fresh approach came about a century ago, when the japanese began combining raw fish with pressed mounds of cooked rice.

It was a mouth-watering combination and brought something entirely new to the table.

Rice is now an essential part of sushi.

Sushi chefs use short or medium grain because it sticks together better than longer grain.

The rice undergoes a thorough washing.

First the chef swishes it around in water to rinse off impurities.

This also begins to remove the rice bran, which has an undesirable flavor and aroma.

He drains the rice and adds clean water.

Next, he scrubs it with his palm fairly vigorously to remove more of the rice bran.

When the water becomes cloudy from the bran, he changes it again.

By now, the water has softened the rice, which makes the grains prone to breakage.

So he scrubs them more gently this time to keep the rice grains whole.

Finally, he rinses the rice under a running faucet until the water drains clear.

This rice is now thoroughly washed and ready to cook, so he adds an equal amount of water and a splash of sake and plugs in the rice cooker.

The previous day, he seasoned rice vinegar with a strip of dried kombu seaweed and left it to soak up the flavors.

The flavored vinegar is key to making good sushi rice.

It's what makes the rice sticky.

He pours the sushi vinegar into the cooked rice and evenly distributes it with a gentle folding motion to keep each grain intact.

He fans the rice and grains dry, to a nice sheen.

With the rice prepared, it's time for all the raw details.

Each fish must be assessed for spoilage or damage.

The chef lifts the gills to confirm that the flesh underneath is red and translucent--  essentially fresh-looking.

He also examines the eyes of the fish.

They should be bright and clear.

He then prods the skin of this sea bream fish to establish it's firm.

Once he's satisfied, he prepares the fish, first scraping away the unpalatable and messy scale with a rasp.

Next, he uses the thin edge of a one-sided blade to fillet the fish.

Razor-sharp, this knife cuts cleanly through the fragile flesh.

He slices off and discards the head.

He then carves the flesh from the backbone.

Now, firmly grasping the tail of the fillet, he cuts the skin from the flesh, using a zigzag motion to pull it away.

This technique leaves no flesh on the skin at all so that not a morsel goes to waste.

Using fish-bone tweezers, he extracts all the little bones.

He now slices the fish on an angle across the grain, using one long stroke that doesn't tear the fibers the way a sawing motion would.

The result is a shiny, smooth piece of sea bream.

Next he peels away the transparent outer skin of a marinated mackerel to expose the silvery subskin.

The gorgeous subskin is a feature that adds presentation value to the sushi, and it's also tasty.

Next, he carves tuna that's been frozen within hours of being caught.

This locks in freshness so that, when thawed, it's suitable for sushi.

And the freezing also kills any parasites in the fish.

He chops spring onions into thin rings.

They'll be used to offset the strong taste of mackerel sushi.

He then mixes water and wasabi powder to create wasabi paste-- the pungent condiment that adds kick to sushi.

And with all the ingredients prepared, it's time to start rolling, so stay tuned.

Once a simple food sold by japanese street vendors, sushi has gone uptown.

Today, skilled chefs produce bite-sized morsels with gastronomic artistry.

A blend of color, texture, and taste, sushi appeals to the eye as well as the palate.

The chef moistens his hands to keep the rice from adhering to them as he works.

He dabs wasabi and places a ball of rice on one of the tuna slices.

He pokes a hole in the center of the ball to introduce air.

This keeps the rice from compacting as he shapes the fish around it to make a type of sushi called nigiri sushi.

To form nigiri, the chef works swiftly to minimize the fish's exposure to his touch.

Human body temperature is much higher than room temperature, and prolonged exposure to it would compromise the fresh taste of the sushi.

A little pickled ginger to cleanse the palate, and this sushi is ready to serve.

To make cucumber rolls--  or kappamaki-- he carves the outer part of the cucumber into a long, wide ribbon, stopping at the soft core.

He slices the ribbon in two and layers the pieces.

He then chops the cucumber into uniformly thin sticks.

This exposes more of the vegetable's fiber, to maximize the taste.

This is roasted seaweed, called nori.

He places it, shiny side down, on a bamboo rolling mat.

He lightly presses rice into a ball so the grains stick together as he transfers it to the nori.

He spreads the rice evenly, leaving a margin of nori at the top.

And now he's ready for those expertly sliced cucumber sticks.

He groups several in the center of the bed of rice.

Then, gripping the mat on one side, he folds the nori around the fillings.

As he squeezes the pack, some rice spills into the margin of nori at the top.

But there's still enough space to create an overlap and seal the ends of the nori around the fillings.

Using a wet cloth, he tucks in the overflow at both ends.

He slices the roll in half.

He aligns the halves and slices three times to create six pieces, each piece approximately the same height, for an attractive lineup.

Next, he makes uramaki, a kind of sushi with rice on the outside, which is why they're also called inside-out rolls.

He spreads rice evenly over the nori and flips it around to the shiny side.

He dips a finger in wasabi and spreads it on the nori at midpoint.

He arranges tuna on the wasabi-coated section.

The raw red fish is then paired with slices of avocado for a tantalizing contrast.

He folds the rice-coated nori over the fillings and tucks it around them.

He continues rolling until he reaches the edge.

He garnishes the rice with toasted sesame seeds for visual interest and tasty crunch.

He covers the roll with plastic to protect it from the grooves of the sushi mat as he shapes it into a tighter pack.

He then removes the mat and carves the inside-out roll into bite-sized pieces.

Inside-out sushi was invented in the 20th century to appeal to westerners who preferred not to see the nori.

The final thing on the menu is the hand roll, also known as temaki sushi.

He presses soft rice into the crispy nori and layers the next ingredients diagonally over the rice-- wasabi, a japanese herb called shiso, and two pieces of tuna.

He folds the nori around the fillings to contain them in a seaweed cone.

Now all that's left is the presentation, and when it comes to sushi, less is more.

Overgarnishing can detract from the main event-- the fish.

A simple, artful arrangement puts the focus on its raw appeal.


Escalators
Kevlar Canoes
Goat Cheese
Disc Music Boxes

Every day, millions of people around the world use escalators in places like shopping malls and airports.

Escalators can move 100 or more people just as easily as 1.

Driven by a motor, these moving stairways make it very convenient for people to get around.

Riding an escalator is easy, but building the smoothest and most quiet ride possible takes expertise.

It starts with workers welding together the structural framework of the escalator.

Like the chassis of a car, the track system and all other components will be bolted to this frame.

A worker puts together the main drive gear, which hooks up to a motor with a chain.

It will pull the steps and the handrails.

He puts on an emergency-brake device and uses bolts to secure it in place.

He attaches side frames to the gear to make what is called the transition assembly.

This assembly includes a drive gear for the handrail and allows the steps to loop back at both ends of the escalator.

He then lowers the completed transition assembly into the truss-- the hollow structure of the escalator.

With the transition assembly in place, workers then install a comb plate-- the last part of the escalator a person steps on before getting onto the moving steps.

A worker makes the steps using aluminum ingots, which he puts into a crucible.

They then apply a release agent to the mold used to make the steps.

Spraying more lubricant on the mold ensures the aluminum stair will release properly from the die-cast machine, which automatically receives the exact amount of molten aluminum needed to make one step.

A robot then takes the one-piece step from the die-cast machine and carries it to the trimming department.

Here, a trim press removes some residual aluminum.

The excess material goes back to the crucible to be recycled.

Once the robot finishes a general trimming of the step, it sends it to the finishing department.

There, finishing robots then file off the sharp edges.

The robot also files in between the teeth that go across the step.

Then it passes the step over a belt sander, making it smooth to the touch.

Transformed from solid aluminum to a casting that is painted and assembled, the step is now ready to be installed.

A worker rolls out a chain of rollers called a step chain.

He greases all the pins.

Then they place all the steps into position.

Workers then connect the axles on the steps to the pins in the step chain and then lock them together using a spring clip.

They feed the required length of chain and steps into the unit.

A worker then attaches a turnaround track.

The turnaround track allows the length of steps to make a continuous loop from one end of the escalator to the other.

The escalator runs for about five hours to ensure it operates quietly and properly.

During this testing period, it goes through up to 250 quality-control checks.

After passing all the tests, workers wrap the unit in heat-shrink plastic.

The escalator is now ready to load on a flatbed truck for delivery to the customer.

Your canoe may well be made of the same material they use to make bulletproof vests.

That's right.

Many canoes today are made of woven aramid fibers, better known by the trade name "kevlar".

For canoes, though, they use a lesser density, since, presumably, no one will be shooting at you.

A kevlar canoe weighs about half as much as a wooden or aluminum canoe, and it's virtually maintenance-free.

They build these canoes from several layers of kevlar fabric glued together to create a solid laminate material.

It all begins with a fiberglass mold of the canoe's hull.

The first step is to spread resin over its interior.

Once that's done, they spread a sheet of kevlar over the resin and rub it against the mold to push out any air bubbles.

Then they trim off the excess fabric.

Using a squeegee, they force out any excess resin and stretch the fabric until it's taut.

This step ensures the laminate will turn out strong and smooth.

They repeat this entire process with a second layer of kevlar, then run a roller over everything to expel any excess resin and press the layers tightly together.

Now for some structural components.

Pieces of thin high-density foam go along the bottom of the hull.

Glue bonds them to each other and to the bottom of the hull.

Using a machine called a hot box, they begin heating strips of foam to curve them.

These curved pieces are called ribs.

They reinforce the sides, adhering with resin.

With the structural core of the canoe complete, they now encase it in a third layer of kevlar.

Once that's down, they prepare to bond everything together with vacuum pressure.

They lay down a sheet of white fabric impregnated with a nonstick coating to prevent the vacuum bag from sticking to the surface.

This mesh, called scrim, goes on next.

It helps stimulate airflow during that vacuum process.

Now they tape a plastic vacuum bag around the mold, sealing everything inside.

Then they connect one end of a hose to the bag and the other end to a vacuum machine.

The vacuum steadily draws out the air from within the bag, pulling the layers of kevlar tightly together.

After 8 to 10 hours under vacuum, the bag comes off.

If a canoe flips over, flotation tanks in the corners keep it afloat.

Workers build each tank out of two pieces of low-density foam.

After sanding them to the right shape, they lay a sheet of fiberglass mat over them and coat it with resin.

This strengthens the foam and seals the two pieces into one unit.

After the resin cures for an hour, they extract the canoe from the mold.

The factory's quality-control inspector checks it over and, if everything's okay, applies a protective coat of resin.

Once that's dry, they cap the edges with aluminum strips called gunwales, which keep the hull from folding inward...

Then an aluminum crossbeam and a nylon end cap on each end...

A wooden yoke for carrying the canoe upside down on land and a wooden seat with nylon webbing.

Workers rivet all these components to the gunwales, then rivet the gunwales securely to the kevlar laminate.

This factory puts every canoe it produces on a digital scale to ensure it meets weight specifications.

If all is well, the finishing touch is a decal displaying the manufacturer's name.

Kevlar canoes, like those made of other materials, vary in size, shape, and design.

A canoe intended for fishing or hunting, for example, is quite different than one designed for long expeditions or for a two-person racing team or for a solo canoeist.

Goat cheese tastes tarter than cheese made from cow's milk because goat's milk has a higher proportion of certain fatty acids, which sharpen the flavor.

There are hard and soft varieties of goat cheese.

The soft ones are usually sold in logs or disks and often have a coating of peppercorns, chopped herbs, or other flavorings.

The texture of soft goat cheese makes it ideal for spreading on crackers or crumbling over pasta or salads.

Goat cheese is also called "chèvre," the french word for "goat".

Farmers start breeding goats when the animals are a year old.

Their gestation period lasts five months, meaning milk production begins at the age of about a year and a half.

The goats go for a milking every 12 hours or so.

The first step is to manually squirt some milk into a cup to check the quality.

If it looks good, they wipe the teats with disinfectant to remove surface bacteria.

Then they hook up the automated milk extractor.

A milking takes just two or three minutes.

It typically yields 2 to 3 quarts.

At the cheese factory, the goat's milk goes into a steam-heated pasteurization tank.

An agitator stirs the milk nonstop to keep it from cooking.

They heat the milk to 66 degrees celsius, which kills off any bacteria.

With the milk now pasteurized, they add bacterial cultures.

These kick-start the fermentation.

Then they add rennet.

Diluted in water, rennet is an extract from calf stomachs.

It contains enzymes which curdle milk.

With the cultures and rennet in, workers now let the milk ferment for 18 hours.

The result-- cheese curds and a watery liquid called whey.

They ladle out the curds and put them in a cheesecloth bag to strain them.

As they lift the bag, the sheer weight of the curds forces out much of the remaining whey.

They tie up the bag and let the curds sit for another 18 hours, after which time workers strain them again.

The goat cheese is finally ready.

They weigh it and mix in just the right proportion of salt-- 0.6%-- to slow down the aging process.

One of the formats this factory produces is 175-gram packages, so workers weigh out 175-gram blobs of cheese...

Then hand-roll each blob into a ball then flatten each ball into a disk.

The disk goes into refrigeration until packaging time.

The fridge temperature is 3 degrees celsius-- just above freezing.

Some goat cheeses go for a roll in special flavorings.

These are chives.

Then it's into cellophane wrap and a plastic container.

On the product label, they stamp a "best before" date.

Unopened, goat cheese has a two-month shelf life...

Once opened, about a week.

Another format is log-shaped.

They roll this particular variety in a five-pepper seasoning.

Workers also hand-roll goat-cheese balls.

They go into a container with spices, sun-dried tomatoes, and olive oil.

Goat cheese is a healthy food.

It has twice the protein of cow's-milk cream cheese yet half the fat and cholesterol and 1/3 fewer calories.

Ipods may rule in this digital age, but there's nothing quite like a melody that's mechanically generated by a music box.

It's why, more than a century after its heyday, the music box still holds a special appeal.

Its musical chimes take us back to another time.

a revolving disk, swirling dolls, and luxurious cabinetry-- the music box is the original home-entertainment system.

Today, they make these authentic replicas with computerized tools.

They contour a gear for this spring-wound motor and then carve teeth into it.

This gear is similar to the type used in clockworks.

It's a windup device.

Next, they coil a 20-foot-long strip of steel into a little cast-iron barrel.

This is called a spring barrel, and it's the device that stores the wound-up mechanical energy.

Once the clutch is installed, it will be ready to spring into action.

This circular blade now sculpts the weights that extend from the base teeth of the musical comb.

The weights are called leads, and they help produce the low notes.

To tune the base, a technician snips the ends of the leads.

She plucks a tooth to produce a note, then measures its pitch with an electronic-tuning machine.

She adjusts it by clipping off a bit more.

This process is critical.

It ensures each of the 76 teeth on the musical comb will hit all the right notes.

There's a damper for each tooth to quell its vibration.

They install these dampers on a rail next to the star wheels-- the part that plucks the teeth of the comb to produce notes.

The technician aligns the dampers to the star wheels and bolts everything to a cast-iron plate called the bedplate.

Using a pincers-like tool, he checks the tension of the dampers and makes adjustments.

Now he secures the upper comb to the bedplate and turns it around to install the lower comb.

Music boxes with two combs instead of one have a richer sound.

The technician makes more adjustments to the dampers to ensure a proper gap between them and the teeth of the musical comb.

He installs the bar that holds down the music disk while it plays, then he bolts the motor frame to the side of the cabinet, followed by the winding and disk-drive gears.

He attaches the spring barrel to the gears.

Here, he installs a speed-control mechanism for the winding gears.

It's called the "governor" because it governs the speed.

He winds the motor to power it up for a test run...

And then checks all its parts to confirm the motor operates smoothly.

When he's satisfied that it does, it's time to install the musical components, beginning with the soundboard, which amplifies the notes.

Next, the bedplate, with its double-comb assembly, is mounted onto the soundboard.

He screws support brackets to the box.

They'll prop up the musical disk.

He checks the setup with a dummy disk.

On a real disk, music is printed in the form of perforations.

This master disk serves as a template to punch holes in a copper-plated disk below.

The punctures form curls in the underside of the disk, and it's these metal curls that will set the music in motion.

as the windup motor turns the disk, those curls snag the star wheels.

the star wheels, in turn, pluck the teeth of the musical comb.

The music isn't digital, but it's truly magical.

The music box is one technology that stands the test of time.