The load must go somewhere — page 19
The drain that is mostly blocked
A roof's ponding check is made with its primary drains blocked, and a drain is seldom blocked outright: leaves and gravel choke it to a fraction of its flow. A fraction turns out to be nearly enough. On a 12 by 9 m bay sized to L/240, a drain passing a seventh of its clear flow still takes the whole of a 150 mm/h storm, because the water standing over it at the bottom of the sag is the bay's own deflection plus the level. A softer roof's drain works harder still. Only near complete blockage does the scupper take over, and only there does stiffness help.
The filler that is used up before the worst
A crushable filler between two buildings is sized for the hardest collision it might meet, meeting it new. An earthquake does not oblige: the hardest contact arrives after a dozen middling ones, and each has taken some of the depth. Through a record of six cycles, a filler half of whose strength follows its crushing speed is dense before the worst contact arrives, and a uniform one has five millimetres left. A graded filler still has twelve. Yet the graded filler meets the worst contact at 56 MN and the spent rate-sensitive one at 39. Keeping depth is not the same as being gentle, and the order of the contacts barely matters.
The seasons that stop reaching the wall
A ground-floor slab that has shrunk away from the basement wall it propped moves with the seasons as well, a few tenths of a millimetre at each end every year. It looks like a ratchet waiting to happen: each winter the slab presses the stem back into its fill, and each push might lock a little more pressure in. On a 30 m slab it never gets the chance — the seasons ride on a shrinkage ten times larger, and the slab last touches the wall sixteen months after the fill is finished. On a 10 m slab it touches every year for good, and the stem still loses most of its prop.
The footing that hangs from its column
A footing under a bracing bay's column is pressed hard when the wind pushes one way and pulled when it swings back, and if the pull is larger than the footing's weight it hangs from the column, clear of the ground, for part of every storm. It looks like a footing free to come down somewhere new each time, and walk. It does not walk. The ground under it keeps the memory of every press, and a footing that is not touching the ground cannot change that memory; it comes back down into its own bowl, leans once towards its harder press, and stops within three storms.
The pier's share is cut into the members
A truss continuous over a middle support has one reaction that statics cannot find, and the lengths its members are cut to decide it. Cambered to land level under its dead load on three bearings, a two-span truss puts 572 kN on its pier; cambered span by span, as two simple trusses, the same members on the same bearings put 480 kN there and carry the dead load with no moment over the pier at all. The list chooses the moment diagram. And a millimetre of shop tolerance on every member moves the pier's share as much as a bearing set fourteen millimetres out of level, so a reaction the design depends on has to be set by a jack rather than by a drawing.
The building held down by its pump
A basement whose water table has risen above its design level is often given back its design head by a pump under the slab, and from then on it is safe while the pump runs. When the pump stops the water comes back on the ground's own clock, and the checks the pump was protecting are lost in an order the building's weight decides. Under eight storeys only the slab's cracks were ever at risk; under five, the building's flotation check goes first, four and three-quarter hours after the pump stops, and the slab's strength is never in question at all. A structure that was safe by its weight has become one that is safe by a machine, and the machine's reliability is now one of its loads.
The slip that peaks where the moment turns
A simply supported composite beam slips most at its supports, and its studs are crowded there. Make the same beam continuous over a middle support and the slip peaks twice: at the end support, and again, just as hard and the other way, at the point of contraflexure — not over the middle support, where the shear is largest but the slip falls to nothing. Studs graded toward the supports, as a simple span's would be, miss the second peak and buy a tenth; graded to the slip they buy more than a third. And the hogging region cannot give its studs away to the span, because its edge is where the second peak is.
The beam that pays the fire back in sag
A steel beam held at its ends and kept straight through a fire yields short on the way up and pulls on its connections with its plastic shortening on the way down. A beam carrying a floor does not stay straight. Squeezed by its own expansion, it forms a hinge at about 500 °C and bows out of the way, hangs as a catenary while still hot, and keeps a metre of sag when it cools — length it no longer has to be pulled for. It ends the fire pulling a third as hard as the straight beam, nearly whatever holds it, and the hard pull comes earlier instead: at 800 °C, on connections that are as hot as it is.
The bracing nobody took out
The light truss that closes a steel tub girder while its deck is poured is usually left in once the deck has hardened, because taking it out from under a finished slab is more trouble than it is worth. Over most of a span that is harmless: the deck lifts the neutral axis to the top flanges and takes ninety-nine per cent of the shear round the top, and a passing lorry puts five newtons per square millimetre in a diagonal. Over an interior support, where the deck is cracked to its bars, the same diagonals sit six hundred millimetres from the axis and are handed a share of the torque, and each heavy lorry puts forty in them — the shortest-lived connections in the girder, on members nobody designed for anything after the day the concrete went off.
The slab that catches what the joints let go
When an interior column is lost, the beams that crossed over it sag into cables and the slab over the four bays round it sags with them, into a membrane hanging from the floor that did not lose anything. Whether the floor's robustness belongs to its steelwork or to its concrete turns on one number with no span in it: the slab's mesh only starts to carry its full tension when the beams' ends have turned through about 0.09 radians, more than any ordinary joint can follow. So the membrane arrives after the joints have gone. And then it catches the floor — a metre down, alone — and with an ordinary mesh it holds half as much again as the beams could.
The check that cannot see the beams
The unit load that finds a frame's sway may be carried on any structure that can carry it, and in a frame of four bays and ten storeys it can be carried down one line of columns alone. Then the roof sway is that line's real moments against the unit load's, a few dozen products by hand — exact for the frame as drawn, for its beams cracked to a third of their stiffness, for its joints made springs and for its bases made springs, the last only once the bases' rotation is given its own term. It is exact because the unit load never enters a beam. Which makes it a check on the analysis's arithmetic that cannot say anything about the analysis's beams.
The weight that lands somewhere else
A beam that yields under a falling weight takes a permanent set from every drop, and if the weight always lands in the same place the set grows by the same amount every time. Let the weight land somewhere different each time — rocks on a canopy, crates on a deck — and the set still grows: the weight's energy fixes how much plastic work every drop does, wherever it lands. What the landing point decides is where the work goes. Half of every drop's hinge rotation goes under the weight and half to the supports, so wandering drops spread the first half along the span and leave the second half where it always was: the worst hinge turns half as fast, and it is at a support.
The release the rope cannot slow
A crane whose counterweight knows the payload balances only a third of it, because a payload can be let go and the crane is then thrown backwards by whatever the counterweight was holding, and half as much again in the rebound. Slow the release and the rebound goes, so the hope was that a device on the rope could slow it. Nothing on the rope can: the rope holds only what the hook holds. How fast a load goes belongs to the payload, and what the crane owns is how fast it answers — its period and its damping. And with no rebound at all, the counterweight still should not balance more than 0.6 of the payload, because the payload's own moment is still let go.
The joint stronger than its beam
A full-strength joint never reaches its own resistance: the beam beside it hinges first. But an end plate softens from two thirds of its resistance, and a joint only a little stronger than its beam is already on the soft part of its curve before the beam yields. The softening sheds moment from the beam's end into its span, so it delays the first hinge — by 8 per cent for a joint at 1.2 times the beam's strength, 18 for one at exactly the beam's, and not at all from 1.5 on. It never moves the collapse. And too much shedding hands the first hinge to the span, so the first hinge comes latest at the stiffness where the end and the span yield together.
The floor that cannot keep up with the column
A column whose hinges ratchet under an earthquake shortens every cycle, and in a frame it does not shorten alone: the floors it carries bend down towards it and lift its load onto the columns beside it. That ought to slow it and speed them, until every column shortens together. It does — over hundreds of cycles. Over the ten or twenty of an earthquake, the floors of a six-storey frame lift an eighth of the load off the interior column, it shortens nine tenths as far as it would alone, and the floors carry the whole difference as bending. The frame equalises its columns eventually, and pays for it in its floors.
The flange bent hardest where it curls least
A curved I-beam's flange curls towards its web and is bent across its own width at the root, by a stress that rises with the curling parameter λ. A portal knee's flange is cut from plate and usually tapers, and a taper changes λ along the curve. So the obvious guess is that the transverse stress peaks where λ is largest. For a flange that only narrows, or only thins, it does. Taper it both ways and the guess fails: λ is smallest at the narrow, thin end, and that is where the flange is bent hardest, because the same force is carried there on half the steel. The force the changing width hands to the web, meanwhile, is a few newtons a square millimetre.
The wrench that reads the rust
The obvious check on a preloaded joint that has been in service for years is a wrench on the nut, and it measures the wrong thing. The nut holds against the bolt's tension times a friction bracket, and twenty years of rust raise the bracket until a bolt with half its preload passes four times in five. The washer that could have said more remembers only the day it was crushed.
The shelter that stops at the interface
Piles in a group shelter one another, and practice counts the shelter as a factor on each row's soil, calibrated on groups in uniform ground. Put the same group in soft ground over stiff and the calibration has to be read one of two ways — the shelter at every depth, or only where the ground is soft — and the two readings disagree about which row works hardest. The first gives the leading pile 17 per cent more moment at the cap; the second gives the last pile 24 per cent more in the ground.