Robotic Hunting Decoys
Canned Tomatoes
Scoreboards
Lassos

The latest taxidermy trend is motion.

Today many museums and nature centers feature wildlife models that move.

These robotic replicas look so lifelike that hunters use them as decoys and game wardens set them out to catch poachers in the act.

Activated by remote control, the robotic decoy's head turns and its tail wags.

More elaborate models have additional moving body parts.

The decoys can be set up directly on the ground or installed on a track system, which moves it along as though it is walking.

At the decoy factory, they begin by waxing a two-part fiberglass body mold.

This one's for a deer.

Waxing the mold cavity will make it easy to extract the casting.

Next, they put steel reinforcement bars in the legs.

The bars stick out the bottom of the hoofs as stakes to prop the decoy on the ground.

They apply the other half of the mold and clamp around the perimeter to hold the two parts together.

They prepare the mold for the deer's head the same way, then pour in a bit of liquid casting material.

They pour about three quarts of it into the body mold...

And clamp on the head mold.

This casting material is expanding polyurethane foam.

It begins swelling immediately and within two minutes reaches full expansion, transforming from a liquid to a flexible solid.

Over the next hour and a half, the foam cures to a hard, inflexible state, at which point they remove the clamps and extract the casting.

Some foam seeped out between the two halves of the molds and between where the head meets the body, producing seams which workers now sand flat.

Using a round drill bit, they make one-inch sockets for eyes.

Then, with a miniature router bit, they drill out nostrils.

They glue a glass eye into each socket with a bit of wet clay.

When the clay dries, the eye is set securely in place.

No faux fur for these decoys.

Workers scrape any remnants of flesh off a real deer hide, then wash the hide and apply a preservative.

Then they slip the hide over the foam deer.

They fit the fur to the form snugly using a combination of staples, glue, and stitching.

Once the deer is fully dressed, it is put aside for four to six weeks.

This gives the preservative ample time to penetrate and do its job, which is to dry and harden the hide.

This is essential to ward off insects and prevent the hide from decomposing.

The taxidermy phase of production is now complete.

Now off with his head...

Because it is time to install the robotics, which will make the head move.

The first step is to drill out a cavity inside the neck.

This creates a pocket in which to install the plastic housing which contains the robotic components.

The first of those components is a compact motor.

It drives this hard plastic gear.

Next, the receiver for the remote control...

Then a aa battery pack that powers both the motor and the receiver.

All this goes into the neck pocket.

They drill out a cavity in the head and install a gear and shaft.

The final step is to mount the head on to the body, inserting the shaft into the gear on top of the motor.

So now when the motor runs, it rotates the gear, which turns the shaft, which moves the decoy's head.

Each moving body part has the identical mechanics, its receiver corresponding to a dedicated switch on the remote control.

The remote works for more than 3/10 of a mile away.

You can even program it to put the decoy through a pre-set motion routine.

Often considered to be a veggie, the tomato is actually a fruit.

It is developed from the ovary of the plant and it has seeds.

It is also the most popular one on the planet.

Mechanization of canning in the last century has made that possible, ensuring that tomatoes are preserved when they are ripe and ready.

All you need is a can opener to unlock the juicy flavor of the field tomato.

There are more than 2,000 varieties.

For canning purposes, they grow a type with a thick skin and firm consistency so machinery can pick and sort them without damaging the flesh.

Rotating clippers cut the vines as the harvester drives over the crop.

Once cut, the plants ride an elevator belt up into the harvester.

Inside the harvester, metal prongs shake the tomatoes to free them from the vines.

An electronic color sorter rejects the green ones.

A conveyor transfers the red, ripe tomatoes to a trailer traveling alongside the harvester.

Once they have a load of 24 tons, they deliver the tomatoes to the canning factory.

Here they fill the trailer with water to float the tomatoes out through a door at the side.

The tomatoes land on a slatted conveyor.

The water, dirty from residual soil, drains away through the slats.

The tomatoes land in a clean, water-filled channel, and here any rocks sink to the bottom and are removed.

The tomatoes float on into a big tank where jets churn up the water for more gentle cleansing action.

The tomatoes then head up to a sorting line.

They travel over metal bars and smaller tomatoes fall through the gaps.

They will be used to make tomato juice.

The others fly forward past 60 tiny cameras that detect pale or yellowish tomatoes.

Pneumatic fingers knock those tomatoes out of the batch.

It all happens in less than a second.

Looking for a damaged or broken fruit now, humans inspect the tomatoes.

They send any rejects to another part of the factory to be used to make juice.

The rest take the plunge into a very hot bath.

This scalds the tomatoes and loosens the skins.

The tomatoes then travel on a moving bed of rubber disks, and this gently pulls the skins away from the tomatoes.

A spray of water washes away the skins and they fall through the rubber disks so there is no mess to clean up after peeling.

The now-peeled tomatoes wash up on to another conveyor where sprayers give them another rinse.

This conveyor controls the flow of peeled tomatoes into the processing room by metering the produce as it moves forward.

Ahead, the dicer awaits.

It has three sets of cross-cutting blades for some serious slicing action.

The tomatoes tumble down a shoot into the dicer and are quickly chopped into small cubes.

The diced tomatoes ride by workers who pick out pieces that aren't perfectly red.

They also remove any core pieces.

Exiting a cleaning station, the cans cue up for a fill-up.

Ahead, the diced tomatoes flow into metal pockets.

This portions them out for the cans.

The pockets rotate forward to meet the cans now moving in sync below.

The bottoms of the pockets open to release the contents into the cans.

And it all happens with perfect timing.

They add hot tomato juice and flavorings...

And lids advance towards the open cans.

They land on top and a machine crimps the lids to the cans, creating a double seam for a complete seal.

Now in airtight cans, the tomatoes head into a hot oven for a quick cook.

This sterilizes them, eliminating the need to use preservatives.

The cans are now ready for labeling.

They spin across wheels that apply glue to the sides.

They roll over paper labels that adhere to the glue-covered cans.

Here is the labeling action slowed down for the camera.

The label contains brand and nutritional information as well as the exact time of production.

This means it can be traced if there is ever a quality issue.

It has taken about one hour for these field tomatoes to be harvested, canned, and labeled, preserving a taste of summer to be enjoyed year-round.

In every sport, fans need to know the score.

In the early days, scorekeepers climbed ladders to scrawl numbers on a chalkboard.

By the time they were done, the score might have changed, and it was time to start again.

Modern scoreboards serve up the numbers in an instant.

Today's digital scoreboards light up within seconds of a game change, delivering results fast and leaving fans cheering in the stands.

They start with the front of the board.

A computer program guides a plasma torch to cut out precisely-sized slots in a sheet of high-grade steel.

The slots will house the illuminated numerals and indicators like arrows.

A worker then feeds narrower strips of steel to a press that bends back the edges to create tabs.

These strips will serve as the sides of the scoreboard, and the tabs will be used to install them.

Using a special compressed air tool, a worker clinches the tabs to the back of the scoreboard.

This tool punches and stretches the steel to interlock it, joining the parts without using screws, rivets, or welds.

He fastens four strips to the back panel.

He then attaches the plasma-cut front panel to complete the basic structure of the scoreboard.

The next worker sprays a powder-paint coating on to the entire scoreboard.

Then it is into a giant convection oven for about 14 minutes to cure the powder paint.

The result is a tough powder-paint skin that will make it possible for the scoreboard metal to weather the elements.

They are now ready for working parts like l.e.d. light-studded digit boards, a data transmitter and receiver.

He connects the receiver to the power source and installs it inside the cabinet.

He pulls the antenna through a hole so it protrudes from the front, and he bends it out of the way for now.

There are several light-studded digit plates on a scoreboard.

Each can flash any number.

He wires them in a loop, interconnecting them in what's known as a daisy-chain configuration.

He also plugs in a ribbon-style cable to link the digits to the scoreboard's processing module.

He inserts the digits in the slots on the front and shields them with a sheet of transparent polycarbonate.

He screws a metal framework around each digit assembly to secure it.

He confirms that the wiring is good and that all the numbers light up.

He connects the wireless computer processing module to the numbers and also wires it to a power source.

He mounts the module to a panel that will then be installed through the back of the scoreboard cabinet.

An evening inkjet printer reproduces the company logo on adhesive-backed paper followed by some fierce-looking team graphics.

Later, a weatherproof coating will be applied to the paper graphics.

They also use vinyl decals.

The worker peels away the unwanted material from around the lettering.

This is called weeding.

After transferring the decals to applicator tape called the pre-mask, she carefully positions the grouping on the front of the scoreboard.

Satisfied that it's in the perfect spot, she tapes it at the top.

She then peels off the backing, and the letters cling to the pre-mask.

Using a squeegee, she presses the decals to the metal board, smoothing any messy-looking bubbles or buckles.

She removes the tape...

Then lifts the pre-mask very carefully so as not to lift any of the decals in the process.

With all the lettering now in place, the numbers on the board will mean something to the crowds in the stands.

They equip the scoreboard with a speaker and horn that will sound off in the event of a touchdown.

And no need to run cable from the scoreboard to the keyboard.

It is operated by remote control.

Using that system, a worker now tests all the functions of the scoreboard.

This test is thorough and takes about 20 minutes.

When it is done, he declares the scoreboard ready for game action.

Today's sports scoreboards come in any shape or design the customer desires.

When it comes to drumming up a little team spirit, a modern scoreboard can be a game-changer.

A lasso, also called a lariat, is a classic cowboy tool designed for catching running cattle.

On one end, there is a moving noose you throw over the animal's head.

This loop tightens around the neck or horns safely stopping the animal in its tracks.

Working a lasso requires tremendous skill...

So much so that rodeos typically hold roping contests and feature performances of jaw-dropping maneuvers.

The ropemaker starts by looping five nylon threads around a bushing mounted on a traveling box.

He ties the end onto the first of three spinning eyes...

Then runs the five threads around the bushing and the second spinning eye, then back to the bushing.

He then hops on his cart and drives the traveling box to another traveling box, pulling the threads for this lasso to a length of 15 yards.

He transfers the threads from the bushing to a spinning eye on this second traveling box...

Then pulls the threads back to make the other half of the rope.

When he arrives at the starting point, he loops the threads through a third spinning eye.

Then he pulls all the threads to equal tension, cuts them from their spools, and ties them off.

This completes what's known as the stringing process.

Next comes the twisting process.

A motor turns the three spinning eyes, twisting the 10 threads on each one into a strand and the three strands together into a lasso rope that's around 2/10th's of an inch in diameter.

The twisting force pulls the two boxes toward each other.

The ropemaker puts a certain amount of weight in each box.

That determines the stiffness of the rope, which can range from extra soft to medium hard.

A rope this length takes about five minutes to twist.

The ropemaker now wraps the end with electrical tape so that the rope won't unravel when he cuts it loose.

He pulls the rope at the center to release some tension...

Then just beyond the taped end snips the strands free.

He knots them, then trims the ends with a hot blade that slices the nylon threads by melting them.

He lays the rope in piping-hot wax.

It seeps into the nooks and crannies, permeating the threads deep inside, setting the twist.

After suspending the rope for a while to let the excess wax drip off, he connects it to a pulling mechanism inside a heated room, or, in summertime, outdoors under the hot sun.

Stretching for a couple of days pulls out any waves, ensuring the rope lies perfectly straight.

Next, he cuts off the knot and unravels just enough rope to tie a knot for what's called a hondo.

That's the eye in the rope which lets him build the loop that catches the animal.

On the other end, he ties a different type of knot, one which will keep the rope from unraveling.

Using pliers and a vice, he pulls both knots tight...

Slices off excess with the hot blade of the rope cutter...

Then burns the ends with a propane torch to seal them.

Now, he ties the hondo.

The hondo slides along the rope, loosening and tightening the loop.

He hangs the hondo on a hook and, using a specially designed wheel, pulls it tight.

Then he sews a piece of rawhide into the eye of the hondo.

This piece of leather is called the burner.

It prevents the eye from burning through, meaning wearing out, as the rope slides through it.

He bangs it with a hammer to seat it in the rope grooves...

Then stamps the company name on it and marks the rope's stiffness.

Lassos come in various degrees of stiffness for different types of animals and purposes, such as roping cattle by the head or by the heels.


Having a multi-tool on hand is like having a toolbox in your pocket.

It contains anywhere from 5 to 21 basic implements, from screwdrivers and scissors to can openers and pliers.

They all fold in and out of the handles, forming a case that's compact enough to be carried in your pocket.

This multi-tool contains 14 different tools, including scissors, a knife, wire cutters, two types of pliers, three different screwdrivers, and much more.

Most of these tools and the handle into which they conveniently fold are made of stainless steel.

The strip of stainless steel winds off a reel and moves through a 300-ton punch press.

It works like a giant cookie cutter, striking a series of dies against the passing metal, progressively stamping out, in this case, one part of the multi-tool's two-part handle.

17 strikes later, it's fully formed and ready to go through a heat-treatment process to strengthen the stainless steel.

Next, a polishing robot runs the handle against a grinding wheel.

It does so with specific programmed movements which produce a delicate lined pattern on the metal surface.

Certain tools, like knife blades, are made of premium steel that is too hard for the press to punch through, so they have to be cut out by a computer-guided laser.

The laser's heat literally melts through the metal.

The knife blades go into a polishing machine, where they vibrate among ceramic stones for several hours.

This smoothes out the rough edges by abrasion.

A magnet then removes the blades from the machine.

The knife blades, still dull at this point, go onto a motorized table that runs them back and forth under a grinding wheel.

This finalizes the dimensions.

The two jaws that form the plier head are cast in steel.

Workers assemble them with a spring...

A pin...

And a rivet.

Then a robot performs a two-stage polishing, first against a grinding belt with the rough grit, then against one with a finer grit.

The plier head is at last ready to be assembled to the multi-tool's two-part handle.

They align the holes of the handle with holes of the plier head, slipping a spacer in between.

They put a pin and screw fastener through the aligned holes to connect handle to head.

Back to the knife blade now.

Until this point, the blade's cutting edge has been dull.

Now a robot sharpens it against two grinding wheels.

This is what the knife blade looks like before...

And after.

With the handle and all 14 tools formed, heat treated, and polished, and the pliers connected to the handles, final assembly can begin-- the remaining tools stacked together inside the two handles with the stainless-steel ring to fill up the excess width.

The assemblers thread a rod all the way through the holes of the base of the handle and tools to hold the alignment until they secure the setup with the stainless-steel pin and rivet.

They repeat this process in the other handle with the remaining tools, except for the knife blade and scissors, which go in later.

They apply a few drops of thread lock to immobilize the pins in each handle.

A bronze washer makes the handle housing the knife blade open smoothly to prevent injury.

They install a safety cover on that same handle to shield the sharp knife when it's not in use.

Now the knife blade itself.

They rivet the scissors to the other handle, and the assembly is finished.

This multi-tool, with its 14 different implements, is ready to be folded up and tucked in a pocket or unfolded, offering up the right tool for the task.

Jojoba oil isn't actually an oil.

It's a liquid wax from the seed of the jojoba plant, native to the sonoran desert areas in arizona, california, and mexico.

Jojoba oil is a common ingredient in soaps, shampoos, moisturizers, eye makeup, lip products, and color cosmetics.

Cosmetics manufacturers buy refined jojoba oil from a processing facility.

Jojoba in its natural state is golden and has a slightly nutty odor.

Once refined, it can be rendered colorless and odorless.

The jojoba farm takes selected cuttings from mature jojoba shrubs, roots and grows them for 18 months to 2 years in a greenhouse, then transplants them into the fields.

The wind carries pollen from the male plants to fertilize female plants, after which the female seed starts developing.

Each seed is housed inside a hull that gradually dries out and separates, dropping the seed to the ground.

The fallen seeds are mature for harvest.

The mechanical harvester works like a giant vacuum cleaner, sucking the seeds off the ground, along with a lot of sand, twigs, and rocks.

The harvester then dumps its collection into a large hopper that feeds an elaborate seed-cleaning machine.

In it, the seeds and debris move from conveyor to conveyor through a series of vibrating screens, each made of increasingly smaller mesh.

The process gradually sifts out smaller and smaller bits of debris...

Until only the seeds are left.

They go into huge polyethylene bags, then off to the processing plant where workers empty the bags into a holding area called a seed pit.

From here, conveyors take the seeds to the presses.

The liquid wax is contained within the hard, white flesh, called the cotyledon.

They expel the liquid wax with conventional expeller press.

A long screw conveyor feeds the seeds into the press, then crushes them against a shaft.

This forces out the liquid wax that makes up about half a seed's weight.

The mashed seed-solids, called cake, are put to good use.

Some are used for compost.

Some will be processed into exfoliates-- abrasives used in face and body products to remove dead skin cells.

Meanwhile, a second screw conveyor moves the expelled liquid wax into a holding container, and from there, a pump pushes it through a filter press.

This press consists of several plates and frames, each one covered with a filter cloth.

As the liquid wax passes through, the cloth catches the last remaining solids.

This buildup of seed particles and other minute debris is biodegradable waste.

To make exfoliates, machines grind the cake into particles, then vibrating sifters divide the particles by size.

What's too big or small goes back to the farm for compost.

The extracted liquid wax isn't yet fully refined.

It's still cloudy and yellowish, so workers add natural powdered absorbents, then filter them out.

This clarifies the jojoba oil to its finished state.

The company lab runs extensive quality tests on every batch.

Technicians analyze several criteria, including color, odor, and chemical composition, ensuring the oil meets strict product specifications.

As the jojoba oil flows from storage tanks into shipping drums, it passes through a final ultra-sensitive cartridge filter that removes any minute particles that might have slipped through the filter press.

This processor makes two varieties of refined jojoba oil-- one golden, with a mild, nutty aroma, the other, colorless and odorless.

The texture and consistency are identical.

Manufacturers buy whichever variety better suits their product.

String puppets, also known as marionettes, are an ancient form of performance.

It's not known exactly when or where the first string puppets made an appearance, but it was thousands of years ago.

Today, they've still got what it takes to entertain audiences worldwide.

digitized characters may rule in the movies, but onstage, there's no doubt that string-animated ones can still dazzle audiences.

A few movements of the puppeteer's hands, and some fantastical characters are brought to life.

Behind the scenes, making these marionettes is a major production.

Each one is painstakingly hand-crafted in a process that takes weeks.

It all starts with an idea.

The puppet maker draws several sketches of the character, tweaking the features until he's satisfied.

He then draws a full-scale version of the marionette.

Referring to that scaled drawing, he sculpts the head in clay, building it into a wooden framework known as the armature.

The clay is oil-based.

It doesn't dry out as fast as the water-based kind, so there's time to tweak the sculpture and perfect it.

Lines drawn for reference make it easier to position the nose, eyes, and mouth.

He defines the mouth a little more to give it a petulant expression.

He smoothes the top of the clay head, using a looped sculpting tool and his thumb.

With a caliper tool, he constantly compares the dimensions of the sketch to the sculpture to ensure the head won't end up too large or too small.

Once the lips and other features have been smoothed out, he prepares to make a plaster mold of the sculpture.

He divides the head into four sections, and he outlines a trap door at the back of the head for easy access later.

He now inserts metal shims along the dividing lines.

He's essentially building walls to contain molding plaster.

The shims will also ensure that the plaster, once hardened, can be removed from the clay sculpture in four intact pieces.

The plaster has been mixed to the consistency of cake batter.

He scoops a generous amount into a walled-in section of the clay sculpture.

The plaster generates heat as it hardens and sets.

It then cools for about half an hour.

He removes the shims that surround it.

He then uses those shims to wall-in the next section.

He adds more plaster to build up this part of the mold.

When all four sections are complete, he gently chisels them at the seams to separate them.

He opens the mold and removes the sculpture.

Its image has been transferred to the inside of the mold.

The sculpture is no longer needed, and he's ready to cast the puppet head, using the mold.

For that, he uses plastic-infused cloth squares, softened by solvent.

He transfers the squares to the mold sections and layers them papier-mâché style.

A release agent applied to the mold keeps the squares from sticking to it as they begin to adhere to each other, and, in the process, conform to the mold's curves and crevices.

With squares now applied to all four sections, he puts the mold back together and joins them at the seams.

After 10 hours, it's time for the big reveal.

All those little squares are now one solid marionette head.

The casting looks pretty rough at this point, so he covers the entire surface with plastic wood.

What a difference sanding the plastic wood makes.

He then paints the head and cuts holes for the eyes and mouth.

From the inside of the puppet head, he attaches springs to enable the mouth and eyes to open and close.

Over in the paint department, with every stroke of the brush, the puppet becomes a more colorful character.

Coming up next, the marionette gets its moving parts, and, of course, they come with strings attached.

With their string-operated limbs, marionettes can imitate almost every human or animal gesture.

The more joints and strings the puppet has, the wider the range of movement and the more lifelike the character becomes.

Before the head of the penguin puppet can be attached to the body, it just needs a few more dramatic touches, like curly fur.

Yes, in the fantasy world of puppetry, anything is possible--  even fur on a penguin.

He traces the pattern on the reverse side of the furry fabric and cuts it out from that side, too, to prevent any snipping of the fur on the front.

He stitches the darts together to conform to the shape of the penguin head.

This process must be repeated for each fur-covered part.

He checks out the fit and confirms that it achieves the desired effect.

Satisfied with the results, he moves on to the eyelashes.

He traces the pattern onto rubber and cuts the lashes out.

To accentuate the eyes, the lashes are substantial.

He inserts a pair of lashes into slits in each wooden eyeball.

From head to toe, no detail is overlooked.

Here, he glues rhinestones to shoes for some serious onstage bling.

He's now ready to build the torso and limbs of the marionette.

He traces the pattern of those parts onto blocks of poplar wood and then carefully cuts them out with a band saw.

This particular part is a hand for the penguin character.

The initial cut is rough and needs fine-tuning, so he chisels away at it to remove excess wood and define the shape.

He files it with a rasp to round the profile.

It takes about five hours to produce just one puppet hand.

The other parts receive an equal amount of attention, because with ball-and-socket-style joints, each limb must fit smoothly to the next.

He attaches the two limb segments with a hinge made from a kind of fiber board-- the same material used to make steamer trunks.

He confirms that the joints will move freely under the costume.

When the marionette body has all its moving parts, it's time to stretch those limbs.

So they suit him up and thread the strings from the puppet to the correct spot on the controls.

The control bars are shaped like an airplane.

They're known in the world of puppetry as an airplane control.

The thread they use is fishing line because of its strength.

They run nine strings or more, depending on the complexity of the marionette.

Some of these strings are for support, some for movement, and others for effects like nose growing or ear wiggling.

Of course, the string placement is crucial for proper movement.

With the strings strung and well knotted, the marionette body comes to life.

And now the defining moment.

They attach the head to the body.

It's a good fit.

This new character is almost ready to meet his audience.

All that's left is to run the strings for controlling his head and facial expressions.

And a little accessorizing.

They now manipulate the strings to check his limb dexterity and the movement of his mouth, eyes, and eyebrows.

This marionette is now ready for the stage.

Between shows, he reclines.

After all, you can't always be on.

Incredibly, it takes up to 1,500 hours to create each one of these marionettes.

After all that work, they're ready to cue the talent.


Police Badges
Muffins
Car Washes
Pressure Gauges

Ever since the days of the american wild west, badges have been a way to tell the good guys from the bad.

Sheriffs don't raise posses to maintain law and order anymore, but a badge continues to be a powerful symbol, and simply flashing one can still stop a suspect cold.

The badge comes with the uniform.

It identifies the officer's rank and unit.

So it's an accessory that makes a statement.

Each one is custom-made.

The client spells out the specifications on an order form, right down to the metal finish and the color of the lettering.

This machine delivers a powerful punch to cut sheriff star shapes from a coiled sheet of brass.

They place a star shape in the steel mold of a press.

It applies about 170,000 pounds per square centimeter to make an impression on the badge.

A punch press trims the ragged edges to make it look neater.

A mechanical stamper then inscribes the company name on the back of the badge.

This computerized engraver then marks the rank and other information on the front.

They apply a couple of dabs of silver solder to the back of the badge.

It's the substance that will hold the catch and pin joint in place.

They blast the back of the badge with a torch, and it reaches a temperature of over 1,400 degrees fahrenheit.

This causes the solder to melt, fusing the parts to the badge.

They then position the badge under a hydraulic press.

Like a steel fist, it punches the badge to give it the correct curvature.

Here they spray a mix of water and tiny glass beads onto the back.

This is called wet blasting, and it makes the finish cleaner and more textured.

A technician now hooks the pin in the joint that was soldered onto the badge.

He slides the assembly onto a rivet automatically served up by this machine.

The machine applies pressure to expand the rivet and lock everything in place.

The pin now fits in the catch, which will enable the badge to be fastened onto the police officer's uniform.

Next, they brush enamel into the engraved lettering.

The enamel is a mix of glass and water, which comes from an ancient metalworking technique called cloisonné.

They fire the badge in a kiln, and the glass enamel melts into the lettering.

After it hardens, they grind the enameled sections against a stone to expose the inscriptions.

They then polish the badge to a mirror finish.

This automated rack immerses the badges in a electroplating solution to give the brass a protective layer of nickel.

They plate some badges with 24-karat gold.

Now they apply a strong adhesive to the back of a medallion...

Then attach it to the center of the badge.

The medallion has an official emblem.

It's specific to the police force's jurisdiction.

They adjust the catch and its hardware to ensure it moves freely and is in good working order.

After all, no officer wants to lose his or her badge.

They give it a shine and check for surface imperfections.

And now it's ready to report for duty.

It takes three weeks to make one of these police badges, and they should be good for a lifetime of service.

The word "muffin" appeared in britain around the 11th century.

In victorian times, muffins were bought in the street from the muffin man, made famous in the popular children's nursery rhyme.

In america, cooks began to experiment with english muffin recipes, and the modern muffin was born.

These muffins are a lot like homemade, except to make this many, you need some pretty big equipment and a heap of ingredients.

At this commercial bakery, they make them with flour, then add salt, baking powder, and a prepared mixture of dry ingredients.

Finally, they add vanilla flavor and start up the barrel mixer.

It's a big one-- large enough to hold a ton of batter at least.

Next, they add oil and water, then vegetable shortening.

Now here come the blueberries.

They go into the mix once they're thawed.

Berries are delicate, so workers take care to pour them out slowly, weighing each bucket to add just the right amount.

Down below, workers pour out close to a ton of batter from the mixer.

That's a whole lot of batter.

Just one batch makes about 7,000 muffins.

They cover the trough to protect the batter until it goes on to fill baking pans like these that can hold 54 muffins, each with its own paper liner.

A conveyor advances the pans towards a machine called a batter depositor.

Prepared batter pumps in from the trough and into the pans as they pass below it.

The depositor fills the pans one row at a time, measuring out the batter by weight.

At the next station, blueberries pass through a funnel equipped with a turning gear and drop right onto the muffin tops.

A bar placed across the conveyor blows filtered air to remove any stray berries from the pans as they advance to the gas oven.

A metal arm pushes them right in to bake for about 30 minutes.

The oven, open on both sides, has dampers to keep in the heat.

The muffins come out of the oven baked a golden brown.

The pans cool for a few minutes and then continue on to a custom-designed machine that's pretty handy.

It removes the muffins from the pan and packages them all automatically.

Suction cups seize cardboard flats two at a time and push them onto a tray former.

The forming head pushes down on the preglued cardboard and voilà--  out comes a perfectly square box that falls right onto the conveyor belt.

Pans full of baked muffins follow alongside on another conveyor.

At the next stop, suction cups lift the muffins out of their pans.

With military precision, they set them down into neat rows in the cardboard boxes that wait on the back conveyor.

The conveyor carries the filled boxes to a station where they're covered, top and bottom, with a sheet of clear plastic.

Heated blades cut and seal the plastic at both ends.

Then the boxes pass through a heat tunnel that shrinks the plastic snugly over the trays.

They're now ready for shipping to customers in the food-service industry.

On another line, preprinted plastic film wraps the individual muffins as they flow along the conveyor.

Rotating brushes keep them moving forward while blades come down to separate the continuous roll into individually wrapped muffins ready for retail sale.

Blueberry, bran, pecan strudel, lemon poppy.

With so many flavors to choose from, why not try some of each?

The best car washes tackle everything from road grime and dead bugs to bird droppings that eat away at the paint and metal of your vehicle.

Car washes help you preserve your investment and increase its resale value.

They save you time and help you feel proud about the vehicle you're driving.

A state-of-the-art car wash can be an eye-opening experience.

Assorted soaps and waxes clean and pamper every part of the vehicle like never before.

This effective, yet gentle, cleaning power is made possible using the latest car-cleaning technology.

It starts with welding together the steel frame that travels inside the bay of the car wash, then adding the steel and fiberglass walls.

Using a milling machine, the worker then makes the wheels on which the frame travels.

The machine first prepares the center hole where the axle goes, then makes a groove in the wheel so it can ride on a track.

Before long, a steel blank becomes a finished drive wheel.

He then welds the wheel onto a drive shaft.

He places the wheel assembly in the bottom of the steel frame and bolts it in place.

He then connects a hydraulic motor to the end of the wheel assembly and makes sure it couples together perfectly.

Here a worker puts together the brush assembly that cleans the sides of the vehicle.

The brushes are made of material called poly-flex.

It comes cut to various lengths so that it gets into those hard-to-clean places.

Poly-flex won't trap in dirt particles.

It's smooth and very gentle on the vehicle.

The finished side-brush assembly consists of seven alternating columns of poly-flex.

A worker puts together the pneumatic regulators and gauges that control many aspects of the car wash, including the brush assemblies and the distribution of soaps and waxes.

He then bolts the hydraulic pump to the frame.

He screws on the system's hydraulic filter...

Then connects the hydraulic pressure line and makes certain it's secure.

The hydraulic power system moves the car-wash frame and rotates the brushes, but a computer controls everything.

He hooks up the system wires that connect to the computer.

The computer makes it possible for the car wash to run without an operator.

Workers then install the rack that supports an overhead curtain.

A worker attaches a shaft to the rack...

Then a heavy-duty bearing.

When the bearing assembly is in place, he secures the rack to the frame.

He tests the rack to make sure its computer-controlled pneumatic cylinders manipulate the overhead curtain correctly.

He tests the oscillating high-pressure nozzles.

Then he makes sure the wheels move the frame properly.

He turns on all the brush assemblies that clean and polish the car and makes sure they spin and oscillate in perfect harmony.

The definitive test, of course, is an actual car wash that proves the system works flawlessly and that every part of the vehicle gets the best washing and waxing possible.

After a quick drying, this vehicle drives out of the car wash sparkling clean.

Life without pressure gauges would be pretty rough.

Figuring out everyday things like oil pressure, air pressure, and blood pressure would be almost impossible.

Without pressure gauges, we'd even have trouble taking a proper shower because getting the correct water pressure in our homes would be a hit-and-miss affair.

For a pressure gauge to be trustworthy, whether it's measuring gases or liquids, it must be exceptionally well-made and accurate.

To start, a worker loads an aluminum faceplate into a printing press.

It applies a colored scale used for measuring pressure in pounds per square inch.

The type of scale it prints depends on the measuring unit being used.

Then a worker puts a copper tube into a bending machine that bends, cuts, and flattens sections of the tube.

The amount of flattening and bending determines the pressure range the gauge can measure.

Each piece becomes a pressure-sensing tube known as a bourdon tube.

Then a worker cuts lengths of brass that he machines into connectors.

They will link the bourdon tube to an inlet pipe.

He melts zinc solder in the connector's receptacle, and he mounts the bourdon tube in the correct position.

He fills the gap between the connector and the bourdon tube with solder.

Then he flushes the heated piece with water to cool it down, sealing the tube in place.

He puts the cooled piece on a mounting fixture and solders the other end of the bourdon tube to the gauge's internal mechanism.

He seals the gap and cools it down.

Then he puts the finished pieces, or pressure-system assemblies, as they're now called, into a cleaning machine.

Its hot, soapy water washes away any dirt and loose solder particles.

The pressure-system assemblies then go on to a leak-testing machine that pushes air into the tubes.

A stable pressure reading indicates there is no leakage.

Another worker takes a gear mechanism, which controls the mechanical movement inside the gauge, and places it on the connector.

A machine screws the gear mechanism in place.

He then takes the gear's connecting link and rivets it to the pressure-system assembly.

He fits the pressure-system assembly inside a protective stainless-steel housing.

A machine screws it all together.

Next, a worker calibrates the assembly.

She loosens up the connecting link slightly to prevent friction, puts on the indicator needle, and runs a test.

After a bit more adjusting, she puts the faceplate and the indicator needle back on.

She ensures the gauge reads accurately at three key positions and then screws the faceplate onto the gauge.

A final test confirms it is calibrated properly.

Then she puts a glass cover over the faceplate and adds a steel ring to hold it in place.

A crimping machine evenly folds the ring's edge until it makes a perfect seal.

Now she fills the gauge with glycerin.

Glycerin lubricates the internal mechanical parts and increases the lifetime of the gauge.

Glycerin also absorbs vibration well, which helps the indicator needle remain stable during operation.

A worker completes the pressure gauge by sealing off the fill hole with a rubber plug.

But, of course, not all gauges are built the same way.

As accurate and dependable as a swiss watch, a trustworthy pressure gauge also has a pretty face.


Pasta Dies
Blueberries
Composting Toilets
Surge Arresters

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

Pasta dies.

Blueberries.

Composting toilets.

And surge arresters.

Industrial pasta machines produce noodles by extruding dough through a die.

The die has holes in it, which are shaped to produce a specific type of pasta.

As the dough comes through the holes in a continuous stream, a knife cuts the pasta to the correct length.

This industrial pasta die produces fusilli, up to one and a half tons of it per hour.

And this is just a midsize die.

The largest ones can produce four tons of pasta per hour.

The die block is made of a bronze-aluminum alloy.

A computer-guided machine drills holes for inserts through which the pasta dough will be extruded.

The front of the block is then chrome plated to protect against the sharp knife that cuts the extruded pasta off the die.

The next step is to make inserts that go in the holes in the block.

An insert is comprised of male and female parts and a nonstick plastic lining.

A computer-guided mill cuts the linings from a plate of nonstick plastic.

Another computer-guided mill machines the female part of the inserts in a more than quarter of an inch-thick brass plate.

Then a worker places a lining in each female part.

He taps it into position with a mallet and punch.

The plate then goes back on the mill, which cuts an extrusion slot in the lining.

The slot shape determines the pasta shape.

A mill machines the male part of the inserts in another brass plate.

A worker detaches the male parts from the plate with a punch and mallet.

He detaches the lined female parts the same way.

Then he assembles the male and female parts by forcing one onto the other with the help of a steel punch.

He finishes the die insert by cutting off the protruding excess plastic with a blade so that the lining is flush with the top.

The factory makes die inserts in thousands of different shapes-- some standard, others in the client's custom-made pasta shape.

This computer-guided lathe makes brass locking rings which will secure the inserts in the block.

Now, final assembly begins.

A worker places the block face-down, and from the back drops an insert top-first into each hole.

Next, he places a locking ring in each hole.

Then, with a hydraulic press and punch, he forces down each locking ring to within approximately 1 millimeter of the insert underneath.

In this position, the ring holds the insert in the hole but doesn't prevent it from spinning within the hole.

The next step is to adjust the inserts to make their orientation uniform.

He inserts a pin into each insert slot.

Then he rotates the pin to rotate the insert.

Once the insert orientation is correct, he forces the locking ring down all the way to immobilize the insert.

Once he has all the inserts oriented the same way, he sands the chrome-plated front of the die, first with a medium-grit disk, then with a fine-grit sandpaper.

The die surface must be smooth as silk for the knife to slice off the extruded pasta cleanly.

He verifies the width of every extrusion slot with a gauge.

This ensures every piece of pasta will be the correct thickness.

Then on the back of the finished die, he stamps the manufacturer's name.

The die is ready to be mounted on an industrial machine that extrudes dough into perfectly shaped, ready-to-boil pasta.

Blueberries are one of nature's healthiest foods.

They're low in calories, packed with vitamin c, and full of antioxidants.

And freezing blueberries doesn't compromise any of that nutritional value.

North and south america grow most of the world's blueberries.

The length of the harvest varies by climate.

In the south, it spans april to september.

Further north, mid-june to mid-august.

At this state-of-the-art blueberry farm, a mechanical harvester straddles the row of blueberry plants and shakes the leaves with vibrating fingers.

The berries fall to a sloped floor below and roll down into side conveyor belts.

The belts dump the berries into onboard bins which trucks transport from the field to the on-site packing plant.

The plant has two separate production lines-- one for berries to be shipped out fresh, and this one for berries to be shipped out frozen.

Workers empty the bins into a hopper, which feeds the berries onto a conveyor belt.

A vibrating conveyor belt then ferries the berries under a blower that suctions up loose leaves and twigs.

Then the blueberries tumble down a waterfall.

Stones and debris settle in the ledges.

The berries land in a wash tank.

Most of the ripe ones sink to the bottom while most of the unripe ones float on top where workers can easily scoop them out.

The berries exit the wash tank with fewer unripe ones among them.

The mesh belt vibrates to gently shake off water.

Then it runs the berries through the first of two color sorters.

The machine's camera is preset to ignore the color blue and detect only green and red.

Whenever a green or red berry passes, the camera sends a signal to the computer identifying its exact location so that one of the 136 air jets blows it off the belt to a collection trough below.

The ripe blueberries fly over the top onto a conveyor belt that takes them to the freezer tunnel.

The temperature inside is minus 29 degrees fahrenheit.

Five to 7 minutes later, the berries exit the tunnel frozen solid.

Workers perform a final visual inspection.

After passing through a metal detector, the berries drop into a preprogrammed scale that weighs out the specific quantity being packaged.

Meanwhile, in an on-site lab, government-trained inspectors pull samples off the line every 20 minutes for grading, which they determine by assessing factors such as color, aroma, and defects.

The frozen berries go into a freezer until shipped out by freezer truck.

The fresh berry production line is similar to the frozen line, minus the wash tank and, of course, the freeze tunnel.

However, the color sorters on this line are even more high-tech.

Not only are they set to detect red and green berries, but they also have a firmness detector, which by bouncing each berry on a pad can identify blue ones too soft to have at least a 12-day refrigerated shelf life.

Air jets blow those soft berries off the conveyor so they can be transferred to the frozen-berry line.

The rest continue to a final visual inspection.

The fresh berries are ready for packaging.

This electronic fill machine is preset to weigh out the specific quantity they're packaging, in this case, nearly 2-pound containers.

It drops that quantity of berries into an awaiting plastic container.

The final stop on the packaging line is the flat-seal machine.

It applies a printed plastic film to the top of the container, melting and bonding it to the perimeter without a touch of heat.

The film has ventilation holes because fresh berries require air.

From here, the containers go off to a refrigerated warehouse to await shipping to the store by refrigerated truck.

And provided they remain refrigerated, the blueberries remain fresh and juicy for 10 to 12 days.

There's a new john in town.

Composting toilets are the greatest thing since indoor plumbing.

In fact, they don't need any plumbing at all.

So they can go where traditional toilets do not.

They are little waste treatment machines.

They turn the unpleasant business of sewage into something more agreeable-- garden fertilizer.

This composting toilet works a bit of magic with sewage.

It transforms the solids into compost and makes the liquids disappear.

Making these toilets starts with a composting tank.

A worker sprays fiberglass into a mold of the tank.

Then he and another member of the team press out air trapped between the fiberglass and mold surface.

Once the part cures, a blast of compressed air loosens it from the mold.

And he lifts it out.

It's a bit ragged around the rim.

So they do a basic trim.

He drills holes in the tank for installing fittings.

Using a pneumatic circular blade, he slices a hole for the compost drawer.

And he grinds the rim to precise measurements.

He screws two overflow fittings into a threaded hole on the back of the tank.

He seals the fittings with epoxy from the other side of the tank wall.

This epoxy seal will prevent leaks.

Moving down the line, another worker sprays adhesive on the bottom of the composting tank.

He presses an aluminum panel to it.

This panel will radiate heat from a heating element he installs over it.

It will heat the evaporation chamber in the tank to dissipate liquids.

He places fiberglass insulation over the heater and encases it with a molded fiberglass cover.

He wires the heater and installs a thermostat that will regulate the heat and also shut off the system if the temperature drops below or exceeds the threshold.

He turns the composting toilet tank right-side-up to await further assembly.

Meanwhile, another worker assembles the fan for exhausting the evaporated fluids and any odors.

He inserts the motor shaft in a hole in the fan door so that it protrudes inside.

He then screws the motor to the outside of the door.

Next, he assembles the centrifugal blower to the motor shaft.

He installs a plastic shroud.

It surrounds the fan, protecting the blades' interacting airflow.

At the next station, a worker prepares the drum in which solid waste will be converted to compost by aerobic decomposition.

He fastens a stainless steel screen to an opening in the drum.

Liquid waste will drain through this screen and into the evaporation chamber.

Once evaporated, the fan will expel it through the vent stack.

He now places the drum in the tank, bearings elevated, so it sits just above the evaporation chamber.

He fits a plastic top to the tank and screws the two components together.

He inserts a metal shaft with gears, engaging them with grooves on the outside of the drum.

He inserts the fan into an opening at the back and secures it.

He wires the fan to the power source.

He installs a cover to protect the wiring.

And he connects the shaft to a handle at the front.

It rotates the drum to mix the contents and introduce air so that the aerobic microorganisms will thrive.

After electrical and other tests, a worker installs the drawer for the finished compost.

She fastens the seat to the base with nylon nuts and bolts with caps.

She inserts a plastic liner in the bowl.

And this completes the composting toilet.

By turning human waste into compost, things will eventually end up smelling like roses.

Electrical systems are vulnerable to voltage spikes from lightning or switching surges.

Surge arresters take over in these high-voltage situations.

When lightning strikes, surge arresters handle the fallout.

They divert the ensuing power surges to the earth, where they won't cause damage.

At their core are discs that act as switches.

They turn on and off to divert voltage spikes.

The discs are known as m.o.v.s, which is short for metal oxide varistors.

A worker loops fiberglass strapping onto aluminum endcaps to prepare the casing for the m.o.v.s.

He places a spacer on one end of the end caps.

He then packs numerous m.o.v.s on top, equipping this arrester to divert a 60,000-volt power surge.

He adds more spacers to fill in any gaps because the m.o.v. stack has to sit tight within the casing.

With the stack complete, he loops more fiberglass strapping around the m.o.v.s to complete the casing.

He torques the set screw to compress the stack.

The set screw also pushes back the end caps.

This pulls the fiberglass strapping tighter.

He now clamps the surge arrester assembly between two mandrels.

He ties a resin-reinforced thread around the fiberglass loop at one end.

He lowers a guard as a safety precaution.

The mandrels then spin the surge arrester module as a computer-programmed dispenser winds the thread around it to strengthen it.

It creates gaps between the windings.

This will allow sparks and fumes to escape in the event of a power overload.

With the winding complete, he cuts the end and tucks it under the last winding.

He hangs the module on a rack conveyer, which takes it into a chamber.

Here, a tank filled with an adhesive-promoting solution rises up and immerses the module.

This leaves a coating that will help silicone rubber housing bond to the module later.

He removes the hook used to hang the module on the rack conveyer and installs mandrels at both ends to be used at a later stage of processing.

He sets the module between the rungs of a chain-driven conveyer.

It takes it through an oven set at 302 degrees fahrenheit.

This cures the resin in the thread, causing it to harden around the fiberglass strapping.

It also preheats the surge arrester module in preparation for the next process-- the molding of the outer housing.

Using the mandrels, he locks two of the surge arrester modules in a platform and slides it under a mold press.

A lift takes it to the press.

It injects silicone rubber into the mold.

And using pressure and heat, it forms insulating jackets around the arrester modules.

The primer coating enhances the adhesion of the silicone rubber to the modules.

He clips off unwanted bits of silicone rubber from the molded housing and cleans up the ends with a wire brush.

Surge arresters come in a range of voltage ratings for different electrical systems.

He now lubricates the threaded bolt holes in one end.

He aligns those holes with the ones on a terminal connector.

He bolts the connector to the surge arrester.

He installs a base on the other end.

This base will allow the arrester to be mounted to the ground to send excess voltages to the earth.

He now puts the surge arrester to the test.

He connects electrodes to the terminal connector and to the base.

He runs different voltages of electricity through the arrester and confirms that it adequately discharges them.

This surge arrester is now ready to join others on the grid, forming a defense against lightning strikes and power spikes.


NASCAR Car Bodies
Hurley Sticks
Tube Power Amplifiers
Thermal Coffee Pots

The first stock cars were souped-up family sedans.

But today, they're custom-built for the racetrack.

Each car body must match the contours of templates set by nascar, the national association of stock car auto racing.

On the racetrack, the shape of a car can give it an aerodynamic edge over the competition, so in nascar races, car bodies must have uniform curves.

The regulations put the focus on driver skill and make the race a fair one.

They mold some of the car's body parts from a carbon fiber and kevlar material.

First, a technician applies a release agent to a mold for the car's front end.

Then he sprays a paint undercoat into it.

This undercoat will eventually transfer to the completed panel.

A computerized cutter slices the carbon fiber and kevlar fabric into strips.

It produces 22 pieces, each one cut to fit a different section of the mold.

The technician rolls epoxy resin onto the fabric one strip at a time.

Once the strip has been completely coated, he transfers it to the mold.

He tucks the fabric into the contours and smooths out any big wrinkles.

He layers the strips three deep in a crisscross configuration for structural integrity.

A co-worker covers the carbon fiber with perforated plastic.

They add layers of absorbent polyester and thick plastic, which they glue to the edge of the mold.

They insert a fitting and connect a vacuum, which sucks out air and excess epoxy resin.

The polyester material soaks up the resin as it flows through the holes in the first plastic layer.

This both smooths and compacts the carbon-fiber layers.

Then it's into a hot oven to bake for three hours.

This activates the epoxy and combines the layers of carbon fiber and kevlar fabric.

An employee removes the completed stock-car panel and inspects it.

Then it's over to a weigh station.

At just under 8 pounds, the part is lightweight yet virtually shatterproof.

Meanwhile, at another factory, work begins on the stock-car chassis.

They build it from square steel tubing that's super strong.

An employee welds the pieces together to create a support structure for the car.

At the next station, a worker forces narrow steel tubing against a spiral bit to carve notches in it.

This tubing is for the roll cage, the structure that protects the driver if there's an accident.

The notches will help form better joints.

He grinds the rough edges, creating a smooth surface to weld the tube to the rest of the roll cage.

Once complete, the team transfers the roll cage to the main frame of the chassis.

They tack-weld it before doing the final welds.

The next part is called the rear clip.

It holds the fuel tank and has mounts for the rear suspension.

With the car framework now complete, a technician scans it using a digital measuring probe.

The scan confirms that the dimensions are correct.

They now assemble the various steel and carbon-fiber body parts to the stock-car framework.

They measure the completed car body by laying template grids on it.

The biggest one sits over the center of the car.

They pull a gauge through the gaps between the templates and the car body.

The gap cannot exceed the tolerances set by nascar.

They often must tweak the shape of a body part to meet regulations.

Once the car has been painted, they apply headlight decals where the real ones usually are.

Real headlights would add too much weight and pose a safety risk if they shattered.

It's taken three weeks of intensive work, but this stock-car body is now ready for the mechanics.

Things are about to pick up speed.

The game of hurling has been played in ireland for at least 2,000 years.

Players swing a stick called a hurley to hit a ball the size of a hockey puck into a net.

Winning takes skill, quick reflexes, and, of course, the luck of the irish.

Pass the ball and pass on the tradition.

Hurling is a game that's older than the recorded history of ireland.

In ireland, hurleys are still made the old-fashioned way-- by hand in small shops.

Ash is the wood of choice.

They use only the part of the tree near the root because the grain flows in a natural curve there, making the stick less likely to break during play.

The hurley maker slices the trunk into planks that are one inch thick.

He'll make one hurley from each plank.

He stacks the planks and then picks through them to select one for shaping.

He scrutinizes the curve of the grain on the boards.

It needs to be suitable for the size of the hurley he'll be making.

His selection made, he places a see-through plastic pattern on the board.

The transparency allows him to find the curve of the grain and position it within the striking surface of the hurley.

He draws an outline around it with a pencil.

After a rough cut and some initial shaping, he re-pencils the pattern and cuts it with a band saw.

The striking surface of the hurley is called the bas.

It's the most substantial part of the stick.

He sculpts the stick to various thicknesses with a planer.

He keeps it thick at the bas and thins it at the stem to give the stick some elasticity when striking the ball.

This will allow the player to hit the ball farther.

He sands the edges to make them more even.

He tapers the bas to the very end, creating a sloped surface so the ball can be picked up easily.

He then switches to a finer grid abrasive belt and sands the handle and the rest of the stick until it's super smooth.

Next, he cuts steel banding to a length that's a little more than twice the diameter of the bas.

He loops the band around the end of the bas and clamps it snugly to it.

He drives large nails into the band to puncture it.

He hammers smaller nails into those holes and all the way through the wood.

He clips the protruding nails.

He then flattens the cut ends to turn the nails into rivets.

He folds the ends of the looped band together at the rim of the bas and nails them to the wood.

Now securely attached, the steel band will reinforce the hurley at its most vulnerable point--  the end of the striking surface.

Not every player wants their hurley banded.

This is an optional feature.

He now winds rubber tape just under the handle for better gripping.

He continues to twist it partway down the stick because players sometimes grip it there with both hands.

He finishes the wrap at both ends with electrical tape, which has stronger adhesive backing.

It will prevent unraveling of the rubber tape.

It's taken about 20 minutes to craft this hurley stick.

How long it will last is anyone's guess.

There's no warranty on hurleys, and it's sure to break at some point because hurling is a rough game.

Some players go through several hurleys in one season.

It doesn't matter if you lose a stick as long as you win the game.

In an audio system, the amplifier is the component which makes the sound louder and sends it to the speakers.

While most amps on the market are powered by transistors, many audiophiles swear by tube amplifiers, which use older vacuum-tube technology.

many believe that tube amplifiers produce a warmer, more natural sound.

This factory makes the amp's main chassis from a sheet of polished stainless steel.

A computer-guided punch press cuts openings for the power switches, control knobs, and other components.

The press prepares eight chassis per sheet.

Workers separate them with a few strikes of a mallet.

Then they place them one at a time in a bending machine called a press break.

Once they position the sheet with the help of metal guides, they activate a foot pedal, releasing 90 tons of pressure to bend the edge of the sheet.

Then they remove the adhesive film which has been protecting the mirror-finish surface of the chassis.

They clean off any remaining adhesive residue with alcohol.

Then they put the chassis into an offset press.

Using a silk-screen printing process, it labels the controls and connections.

Next are the speaker terminals, which connect the speaker wires to the amp.

These connectors are made of gold-plated brass, which are nonmagnetic metals.

Magnetic ones would react to the electric current and cause distortion.

The terminal's circuit board, installed next, carries the amplified signal from the main circuit board to the speaker terminals.

They install and connect the power switch and the circuit board for the vacuum-tube illumination.

This indicates the tube's status.

Meanwhile, this machine winds strands of copper wire around plastic bobbins to begin making the amp's output transformers.

Output transformers match the amp's circuitry to the electronic specifications of different types of speakers.

The number of wires, their different gauges, and the number of revolutions around the bobbin create this unique compatibility.

After taping the wires to prevent unraveling, they join, then solder the ends to additional wiring.

They will later connect to the amp's main board.

A fiberglass sleeve insulates the connection.

They place the bobbin in a lamination machine.

Laminations are thin plates of carbon steel.

The machine stacks them all around the bobbin.

Then workers put a bolt in each corner to hold them together.

They place the laminated bobbin in an aluminum housing and pour in hot black tar.

This immobilizes the laminations so they won't rattle when the amp is amplifying low frequencies.

Then workers install the two output transformers into the chassis, along with a third transformer to power the amp.

They take the amp's main circuit board, plug in ceramic sockets for the vacuum tubes...

And solder the sockets' leads to the board.

Then, after feeding the transformer leads, they mount the main board in the chassis, screwing it to posts to hold it in place.

Then they connect the transformer leads.

They plug the vacuum tubes one by one into the sockets.

The tubes are made of glass with a heat-resistant base.

The interior contains a combination of metals but no air, hence the term vacuum tube.

The amp has 11 tubes in all-- seven small ones to power input signals from a source such as a cd player and four big ones to power output to the speakers.

Then they attach the chassis' ventilated bottom cover made of painted steel.

They affix decals to differentiate the output transformers from the power transformer.

L.e.d. lights turn green when the amp is powered up and ready to deliver that warm, natural sound that many believe only traditional vacuum tubes can produce.

People generally like their coffee either hot or iced, hence the need for the thermal coffee pot.

Pour in hot coffee, and the pot holds in heat, keeping the coffee at that temperature for a good half-hour.

The trick to a thermal coffee pot is in the construction.

Both the body and lid have a double wall, two layers of stainless steel.

Between them is a tiny gap just 5 to 6 millimeters.

The air in this gap insulates the inner wall, trapping the heat inside the pot.

They start with a stainless-steel sheet just 1.2 millimeters thick.

The first step is to cut it into smaller pieces on a mechanical press.

To make the coffee pot's body, they cut it into strips, then each strip into squares measuring 8x8 inches.

Then they put each square in another mechanical press.

It stamps the square onto a circular die, which cuts it into a disk.

They'll now use this disk to make the outer wall.

They run the disk through a lubricator that coats the surface with oil to aid the next step on a machine called a hydraulic deep drawing press.

The machine's molders draw the flat disk into a three-dimensional shape.

This stretches the stainless-steel fibers to a very fragile state.

They strengthen the piece by what's called thermic normalization, heating the metal to 1,800 degrees fahrenheit, then letting it cool to room temperature.

This process restores the original molecular structure of the stainless steel so it can be shaped further without breaking.

But first, they even out the jagged rim with a trimmer.

Then they return the wall to the deep drawing press outfitted with a differently shaped molder.

The second drawing tapers the wall to a more rounded shape and forms a base to make the bottom perfectly flat.

Then it's back to the trimmer, outfitted with a different tool this time, to smooth the rim.

They repeat the same steps to make the coffee pot's inner wall.

The deep drawing press pulls the stainless-steel disk into a slightly different shape with a lip protruding to one side.

They heat the wall in the induction oven to restore the molecular structure before shaping the metal further.

Then they place the wall in a mold and release a press.

This shapes the protruding lip into a spout.

Then they transfer the wall to another press, which stamps it with a die, cutting off excess metal.

They check to make sure that the inner and outer walls fit together properly.

If everything is fine, they polish both walls inside and out.

A little polishing paste applied with a sisal brush on the polishing wheel has the surfaces glistening in no time.

The surface is now perfectly smooth and ready for welding.

The first part they weld is the coffee pot's stainless-steel handle.

They shape it with two strikes of a press, then polish.

They use a spot welder to fuse the handle to the pot's outer wall.

Then they turn the wall upside down to stamp the manufacturer's logo into the bottom.

Now the assembly.

They place the inner wall on a fixture, then the outer wall over it.

A press pushes the inner to the correct depth.

Then they weld along the rim of the outer wall, fusing it to the inner one.

The coffee pot's lid also has double walls for insulation.

They weld a hinged lever to the lid and the adjoining part of the hinge to the coffee-pot body.

Then they gently hammer a pin through the hinge, riveting the ends of the pin so that it can't fall out.

After a thorough cleaning in a dishwasher, the coffee pot is ready to use.


Wood Garage Doors
Sand and Salt Spreaders
Animatronic Dinosaurs

A garage door is more than just a functional component of a house.

It's part of the curb appeal, especially when the garage is prominently located at the front of the home.

Garage doors are made from a variety of materials, wood being the high-end option.

A wood garage door is pricier than standard steel, aluminum, or vinyl panel doors.

But they offer the most design flexibility.

Wood can be customized to any style and painted or stained any color.

Western red cedar, mahogany, and hemlock are popular choices because they hold up particularly well outdoors.

Garage doors start with the core structure.

For the core surface, they use exterior-grade plywood so that the indoor-facing side of the core can be stained to match the decorative wood on the outdoor side.

They build the core's internal structure out of finger-jointed yellow pine.

Finger-jointed means each piece is made of several short, connected pieces.

It is structurally stronger and less prone to twisting and bowing than a solid piece of wood.

They build a core for each section of the garage door.

The core structures can be designed to accommodate windows or other unique features.

They insulate every core structure with pieces of polystyrene.

This helps keep the garage warmer in the winter and cooler in the summer.

Now they run two sheets of exterior-grade plywood through a machine that coats the top and bottom with glue.

They lay the sheets onto a core structure and place a second core structure on top of the first.

They repeat this process until they've stacked up enough core structures required for the door they are making.

They put the stack into a press for a half-hour.

The press applies 130,000 pounds while the glue cures.

Then they load each section onto a machine, which cuts it to the width required.

The machine also makes a lip to direct rain away from the door so that water doesn't run back into the garage.

When a core section has windows, they cut the openings for them with a router.

Using a template as a guide, they drill holes through the front of the core.

With a countersink tool, they cut a wide opening around each hole.

They insert "t" nuts into the holes.

This enables hardware to be mounted on the inside of the garage door.

At this point, the connected core sections can function as a structurally sound garage door.

However, there's still aesthetic work left to do.

The plywood on the front of the door serves as a blank canvas.

They glue decorative wood trim to the front door to produce the design specified in the customer's order.

For this door, they're using african mahogany.

They've already cut pieces to the required dimensions, with tongue-and-groove edges that enable adjoining pieces to connect.

Once the glue dries, they cut off the excess wood with a router.

Then they sand the surface and prepare the wood to be stained or painted.

They line up the remaining core section and glue on the corresponding wood trim.

They secure the wood trim to the core with nails.

After cutting off the last pieces of excess wood, they install the glass for the windows.

The dealer will install the hardware upon delivery.

Prior to installation, either the dealer or the customer will stain or paint the wood the desired color.

Sand-and-salt spreaders were developed in the united states in the middle of the 20th century.

Before that, crews kept winter roads safe by shoveling sand and salt from trucks.

Things got easier when mechanical spreaders took over the heavy lifting.

Winter storm brewing?

Sand-and-salt spreaders have it covered.

They distribute salt to melt the ice and sand for traction.

They start with two big sheets of stainless steel.

Computer-driven plasma torches carve the steel into the four panels that will be used to build the hopper.

Next, the operator transfers the panels to another computerized machine.

This one has numerous punch tools.

They cut holes for nuts, bolts, bearings, and other components.

Then it's over to a hydraulic press brake.

It bends the bottom of the hopper panel to create a wide rim.

This wide rim adds rigidity to the part.

The team flips the hopper panel around so the press brake can bend the top.

Computerized stops control the location of each bend.

A worker clamps the hopper panel in a fixture to prop it up while he welds ribbed supports to the outside.

He adds two or three ribs to each side panel, depending on the size of the spreader.

Once all the ribs have been welded, a team joins the four hopper panels together.

They clamp a bar across one end to square up the structure.

Once it's aligned, they weld the spreader hopper at the seams.

These tight seams create a rugged structure that will hold up under the burden of heavy road salt or sand.

Now a worker builds the steel chute that the sand or salt will flow through.

He attaches several brackets to the inside and outside of the chute.

These brackets are for the adjustable steel flaps that direct the flow of salt onto the highway.

Here he installs the adjuster bar for one of the flaps.

He swings the flap to confirm it moves freely.

A pin is inserted in the adjuster bar to set the flap at the desired spacing.

He attaches a bearing to each side of the chute.

He slides a long steel shaft through the bearings until it protrudes from the bottom.

He secures the shaft to the bearings...

And mounts a flexible plastic spinner to the protruding shaft.

This spinner will spread the road salt or sand evenly across the road.

Customers on tighter budgets sometimes choose salt spreaders made of mild steel instead of stainless.

They spray a dry powder coat onto these units.

Then they roll the part into an oven to bake it on.

This durable finish will protect the hoppers from corrosion and general wear.

Now back to the stainless-steel spreader.

The team fastens a gearbox to the side of the hopper.

It will drive the conveyer that delivers salt or sand to the chute.

A worker temporarily powers the gearbox with a drill to assist in the installation of the conveyer.

He pushes the conveyor forward until the gearbox takes over.

He installs a feed gate at the opening and screws the lever to the side of the hopper.

They stockpile hoppers, chutes, and motors separately until an order is placed.

This allows the customer to choose individual components before the final assembly.

For example, the customer way want a specific gas motor, or they may choose a hydraulic one.

Once they've bolted the chute to the hopper, this sand-and-salt spreader is ready for an icy highway.

It can spread material thick or thin, depending on the road conditions.

Dinosaurs have long been extinct.

But animatronics make models look, sound, and move like the real thing.

Developed by walt disney in the 1960s, this technique is a combination of art and technology.

The slit eyes, rows of sharp fangs, and a long, purposeful snout all look stunningly real.

With his razor-sharp claws, this velociraptor figure looks ready to leap right at you.

First, a designer uses 3-d sculpting software to create a detailed digital model of the raptor.

Key features, such as the size, shape, and number of the teeth are thoroughly documented.

The art director approves a small-scale 3-d printed model of the figure before an industrial robotic arm sculpts the full-size figure in four-pound foam.

The density of the foam allows for very precise styling.

An artist adds details by hand.

He uses precision sculpting tools to draw wrinkles and lines.

He brushes melted clay on top of the foam to bring out details and give more realism to the sculpture.

The clay needs to solidify before the sculpture can be molded.

A figure finisher prepares a mixture of monomer and polymer that is commonly used to make acrylic teeth.

He pours the mixture into a mold shaped like the jaw of the raptor.

He places the mold in a vacuum chamber.

He seals the vacuum-chamber lid and starts the vacuum pump.

The vacuum pump will lower the pressure inside, forcing air bubbles out from the acrylic mixture.

This process makes for an even and consistent casting.

These are sharp and strong velociraptor fangs.

The figure finisher separates the teeth by hand, then takes a dremel tool to file down the excess around the base.

The acrylic teeth accurately reproduce the shape of the predator's fangs.

The figure finisher places the teeth back in the jaw mold.

Massive teeth up to an inch long fill the reptile's ferocious mouth.

The figure finisher covers the teeth with flesh-colored dental acrylic to form the gums and palate of the creature.

Once the mold is filled with acrylic, he puts it in a vacuum chamber, where the gums and palate cure.

During the vacuuming process, the gums and teeth bond together to form a complete velociraptor denture.

To make the reptile's eyeballs, he places a transparent sheet in a vacuum thermoforming system.

The vacuformer heats the plastic to make it malleable.

The figure finisher pushes the sheet down on an eyeball shape and activates a vacuum pump.

Thermoformed eyeballs come in various shapes and sizes.

Now a plastics technician prepares the fiberglass mold.

He uses a chopper gun to cover the inside of the plastic mold with flexible fiberglass strands.

The technician bonds the strands together with resin.

Once the resin has cured, the hard fiberglass shell takes the shape of the initial foam sculpture.

Using a jigsaw, a worker cuts the shell at various articulation points.

This will allow the figure to move seamlessly once it's assembled on its animated mechanical structure.

The technician applies a primer coat with a spray gun.

This shell will house the mechanical components, animating the dinosaur's long tail, its strong upper body and neck, the birdlike head, the handlike front limb, and its powerful hind legs.

An encounter with a life-size animated dinosaur is quite an experience.

An elaborate range of advanced special-effects techniques and animatronic technology brings them to life.

A technician covers the fiberglass inner shell with a ripstop fabric lining.

It will support and reinforce the silicone skin.

She installs zippers on the liner to easily take off or put on the skin.

The liner fits tightly over the fiberglass and takes the shape of the inner shell.

Technicians use liquid-silicone rubber to make the figure's skin.

One technician connects a tube to the shell's mold-injection port while the other technician operates a high-pressure injector.

The machine pumps silicone into the mold.

The silicone cures inside the mold for a few hours.

Then a technician unfastens the bolts that are holding the shell tightly closed.

Technicians take the silicone skin out of the injection shell mold.

They inspect the skin to make sure there are no defects and that it mimics the features of the initial foam sculpture.

They take the skin off the inner shell for manual touch-ups.

A technician cleans up the edges of the skin by trimming off small silicone strips called flashing.

With small precision scissors, she meticulously trims off all the flashing to make clean, seamless joints.

A figure finisher inserts the molded acrylic denture to check its fit in the lower jaw skin.

He checks the fit of the thermoformed eyeball between the skin and the shell.

A character painter uses an airbrush to paint the skin with silicone paint.

He adds multiple layers of paint, giving the finish much more detail and realism.

A machinist mills a mechanical part for the metal frame.

Thousands of stainless-steel and aluminum pieces need machining.

He bores out holes for bearings inside each shaft.

Each piece can be customized to suit virtually any design and assembly requirement.

An electronics engineer tests a control card.

Each animated component of the figure is controlled by a card like this one.

The electronics engineer connects the card to an oscillator tester to verify that the cylinder responds accurately to the electronic-input signal.

A program on the card allows precise control over the motion of the cylinder.

The cylinders create motion, while the aluminum frame functions as the skeleton supporting the movement.

An animator assembles various parts into the mechanical assembly.

He connects a cylinder to the metal frame.

Each cylinder is dedicated to a specific function in the mechanical assembly.

This cylinder activates a finger in the hand assembly, allowing it to curl up in a smooth, seamless motion.

The animator attaches the hand assembly to the arm, bolts it on at the elbow, and screws claws on the tip of each finger.

The full frame of the figure is assembled on a test bench.

A hydraulics-and-plumbing engineer opens the compressed-air valve, which powers the pneumatic cylinders.

The show controller runs random programs to test the response of the animatronic dinosaur.

They check air-pressure variations in the hydraulic-cylinder tubes, as well as electronic direction and amplitude commands.

A creative director finally puts his seal of approval on the figure.

A lot of effort goes into making such a complex machine look like a living creature.


Car Tires
Silk
Art Conservation
Scuba Tanks

Historically, wheels were made of metal or wood.

With the invention of air filled car tires in the early part of the 20th century, the ride was revolutionized.

The inflated rubber tires could better absorb the bumps on the road and the addition of tread gave the invention serious traction.

Car tires have come a long way in the last century.

The modern summer tire is made of 10 to 15 different components, which include natural and synthetic rubber, chemical additives, and carbon black-- a pigment.

Giant blenders mix these ingredients under heat and tremendous pressure.

There are various formulations for different parts of the tire.

In each case, the result is gummy rubber dough, which machinery then rolls into sheets to await further kneading and processing.

Polyester fabric unrolls into a machine called a calender.

The calender is equipped with rollers that apply warm rubber to both sides of the fabric.

This produces a rubberized fabric that will be used to reinforce the tire.

This fabric ply is needed because rubber alone isn't sturdy enough to make a tire.

Numerous cotton cords now spin off bobbins simultaneously.

Machinery pulls them onto the warm, rubberized fabric.

They land on a bit of an angle and adhere.

This cording creates channels that provide pathways for venting air during the actual tire building.

Making rubber for tread requires three different rubber formulations.

Extruders shape the three streams of rubber and then they enter a die that forms them into one.

Mini paint rollers apply different colored stripes.

It's a coding system for identification of the ingredients during processing.

To avoid tension, the system creates slack in the feed.

A blade slices the tread rubber to length.

Next, many steel cables uncoil at once to make the bead-- the part of the tire that gives it the strength it needs to stay on the wheel rim.

Machinery arranges the cables in the desired configuration and encases them in rubber.

More equipment rolls the bead material into hoops sized to fit the wheel rim.

They're now ready to build the tire.

Using a special rotating drum, a worker arranges the two bead hoops on it.

Next up is an airtight piece of rubber that will act as an inner tube followed by the corded ply.

Inflated bladders roll the rubber around the bead on both sides and then retract.

A server applies side walls to the beads.

Little rollers fold the side walls over the beads.

This completes the inner part, or skeleton, of the tire.

They assemble the outer layer separately beginning with strips of rubber embedded with steel cord.

The system wraps this rubber around a second tire-building drum.

Next up are narrow strips of rubber ply.

The computerized system winds them with just the right amount of tension for a graduated effect.

They're now ready for the last layer-- the tread rubber.

Machinery applies it to the ply.

It's time for the two tire fabrications to become one.

A transfer ring collects the assembly and transfers it to the inner part.

Compressed air inflates the tire to shape it and all the sticky layers adhere together.

The machine rolls the edge of the tread rubber over the side walls.

They now have what's known in the industry as a green tire-- an uncured tire without tread pattern.

Next, it's into a mold to bake and shape the tire.

The two parts of the mold come together like a waffle iron.

Inside, hot steamy bladders expand to shape the tire and transfer the tread pattern to it.

This specific tread pattern is designed for summer tires.

This cutout of a car tire demonstrates how all the layers have been fused together.

The time in the hot, pressurized mold has caused the rubber to vulcanize-- a chemical reaction that transforms it from a weak and sticky substance to one that's strong and elastic.

A worker trims excess rubber.

After final inspections confirm the tire shape is uniform and geometrically correct, the tire is ready for shipment.

It's time for the rubber to hit the road.

Silk fabric originated in china at least 5,000 years ago and became a coveted luxury.

Silk thread is produced by silkworms when they make their cocoons.

Sericulture, or commercially breeding silkworms for silk production, is practiced in several asian countries.

From home goods to accessories and clothing, there are few textiles as elegant and luxurious, or as prized throughout the ages, as silk.

It's hard to believe this beautiful fabric comes from worms.

The female silkworm lays up to 400 eggs in one shot then promptly dies.

Each egg, about two weeks later, hatches into a larva.

The larva feeds on fresh mulberry leaves continuously, increasing its body weight 10,000 fold and growing to a length of about three inches.

Then, as it enters the pupa phase of its life cycle, it excretes liquid raw silk from salivary glands in its mouth.

When that liquid silk contacts with the air, it hardens into a single thread.

Pupating larva winds that thread around itself into a thick, cozy cocoon.

Normally, the pupa inside becomes a moth and the cocoon breaks as it emerges.

However, this severs the continuous silk thread.

So to keep the thread intact, they boil the cocoon for about three minutes to kill the pupa inside before it transforms into a moth.

Boiling the cocoons also makes the wound thread easier to unravel by melting away most of the sericin-- the gelatinous protein that binds it.

To harvest the silk, they take threads from 30 to 50 cocoons at a time.

They feed them all together through a hole in the bamboo stick onto a hand-operated reel.

Then, slowly and carefully, they turn the reel, unraveling the cocoons.

As the thread passes together through the stick, the remaining sericin glues them together forming a single, thicker thread.

The silk threads coming together are so fine-- only about one one-hundredth of a millimeter in diameter-- that it takes 2,000 to 3,000 cocoons to produce a pound of silk thread.

Unraveling cocoons is a time-consuming process, because a single thread can be as long as nine professional soccer fields.

To make this feather-like silk thread easier to handle, they weigh it down with sand before rolling it into a bundle.

Next, they wash away the sand and remaining sericin, then bleach the thread so it will uniformly absorb the synthetic dye.

It's critical to monitor the ratio of dye to hot water, as well as water temperature and soaking time, as all these factors combined effect the quality of the color.

After rinsing away the excess dye with lukewarm water, they hang the thread to dry.

They mount the bundles of dry, dyed silk thread on a big machine, which transfers them to smaller rollers.

Those rollers then go on an automated machine, which transfers the thread to small bobbins.

To craft silk fabric, weavers will pass bobbins of thread horizontally between vertical threads on a traditional, hand-operated loom.

Another machine, meanwhile, winds thread around spools.

A worker then installs a set number of spool threads on a mechanism, which aligns them vertically on the loom parallel to each other.

Fabric that's about three feet wide typically requires 4,000 vertical threads.

By stepping on the loom's foot pedal, the weaver repeatedly raises every second vertical thread, and with a tug of a cord, passes a shuttle containing a bobbin of thread horizontally in between.

This intertwining of horizontal and vertical threads weaves the silk fabric.

To create a pattern, the weaver uses multiple shuttles containing threads of different colors, thicknesses, and textures.

Some patters, such as an intricate weave called brocade, are so intricate that even the most experienced weavers produce just two to six inches of fabric per day.

Now, that's wearable art.

A centuries-old painting is actually easier to restore than a decades-old painting.

For hundreds of years, artists used pure oil paints, but by the 20th century, artists began using different types of paint, making restoration more challenging.

A traditional painting is typically oil on canvas, protected with a layer of natural resin varnish.

Over time, a linen canvas can become brittle, distort, and sometimes tear.

Varnish yellows and dirt and dust accumulate, rendering the once-vibrant painting dark and dull and in dire need of professional conservation.

The conservation process is multi-faceted.

They have to strip away any previous restoration, then perform a new restoration, yet make it entirely reversible to allow for future restoration.

The conservators begin with spot tests to observe how different colors in the painting react to cleaning.

They dip a cotton swap in mild detergent and rub gently, testing for discolored varnish and any previous restoration.

When all that's done, they swab on some solvent to neutralize the detergent residue.

Next, they spray the back of the canvas with water and lie the painting on a vacuum hot table.

The heat turns the moisture to steam, which relaxes the paint and linen as the vacuum pulls the bumps and puckers flat.

If the canvas isn't structurally sound, they apply adhesive, a synthetic backing, then a new linen canvas.

With thermometers monitoring the temperature, the heat activates the adhesive and the vacuum draws everything taut against the hot table, bonding old linen to new.

And the conservators can turn their attention to the artwork.

They begin by mixing a cleaning solution-- 1% chemical-grade ammonia, 20% strong detergent, and 79% water.

They dip a swab in the cleaning solution and another in the solvent.

Working a small area at a time, they gently glide the cleaning-solution swab over the surface.

It's critical not to rub, as any abrasion could harm the painting.

Next, they gently roll the solvent swab over the same area to neutralize the cleaning-solution residue.

They repeat the solution-solvent procedure area by area until they've removed surface dirt from the entire painting.

Then they start all over again, this time removing old, yellowed varnish, embedded dirt, and previous restoration.

The cleaning completed, they can now address the tears and damages.

Using a small pallet knife, they fill the cavities of the tear with gesso, material that's used as a background for paintings.

This gesso is reversible, meaning it can easily be removed, if required, during a future restoration.

Once the gesso dries, they wipe away the excess with a damp cloth, leaving a repair that's flush with the surrounding surface.

Then they seal the gesso with varnish.

This creates a barrier between the existing paint layer and the one they're about to add, making it removable for future restoration.

They retouch the repaired area, expertly matching colors to the original and blending them seamlessly with the surrounding area.

This process, called inpainting, is where the conservators' fine-art training is put to the test.

Rather than use oil paints, they mix pigments with acrylic resin.

This produces paint that looks just like oils but is removable with mild solvents in the event of a future restoration.

They brush varnish over the inpainting so that the sheen matches that of the surrounding area.

And now, the final step.

They spray the entire painting with a light coat of removable synthetic varnish that doesn't yellow over time.

This evens out and protects the surface.

Once the varnish cures, the painting goes back into its frame, just the way the artist intended.

Underwater exploration was a shallow experience until scuba tanks were developed in the middle of the 20th century.

Filled with compressed air and attached to a breathing regulator, scuba tanks enable divers to stay underwater longer.

This invention took diving to a whole new level.

Scuba tanks are a way to bottle the air we breathe and take it with us underwater.

To make aluminum scuba tanks, they start with solid, cylindrical chunks called slugs.

The aluminum-alloy slugs tumble around in a perforated, rotating drum, which takes them through a series of chemical baths.

The baths clean and treat the surface of the aluminum to prepare the slugs for forming.

The operator loads the slugs into a feeder system that serves them up one at a time to a hydraulic extrusion press.

An extrusion piston forces the slug into a die inside the press.

It hollows and stretches the slug into the shape of a scuba tank.

It takes about 1,300 tons of force to transform a solid, short chunk of aluminum into a longer, hollow cylinder.

The shaping process itself generates heat, making the aluminum softer and more malleable.

The press establishes the outer diameter of the tank, the inner one, and the base.

The process takes just 20 seconds.

The freshly formed cylinder now spins as a roller applies a lubricant to the open end.

The machine ejects the cylinder.

Then it's over to the hydraulic neck press.

This press forces the opening of the tank into a die to narrow it substantially.

This establishes the basic shape of the scuba-tank neck.

It still needs more work, but first, the tank shape must be firmed up.

They heat treat and then quench the scuba tanks in cool water.

The shock of the rapid cooling hardens the aluminum.

Back to the neck now.

A spinning, computerized cutter shortens it.

Then, another cutter moves in.

Filings fly as it carves excess metal from the outside of the scuba-tank neck.

A computerized drill widens the neck hole and cuts a pocket for an o ring seal.

The next tool carves a thread into the inside wall of the neck.

The threaded profile will allow for connections to an air-fill-up valve and to a breathing regulator.

Every scuba tank undergoes a test to measure tank expansion under pressure.

They fill each scuba tank with water and place it in a test jacket that's also filled with water.

Testing equipment increases the pressure in the scuba tank, and the tank expands, placing water from the test jacket.

By measuring the displaced water, they determine the rate of tank expansion, and if it's acceptable, the tank moves on.

A scuba tank now spins against a sanding belt.

This sanding gives the exterior a brushed finish, which some divers prefer.

They etch the serial number and other information onto the upper part of the tank.

For a more colorful look, the factory applies a vibrant, translucent powder coat to the brushed finish.

The finish is purely aesthetic.

Aluminum doesn't rust, so a natural finish would weather underwater conditions as well as the powder coat.

They bake on the powder coat, giving the tanks a glossy look.

These aluminum scuba tanks are now ready to take the pressure.

Life is sure to be one underwater adventure after another.