The load that will not hold still — page 6
The corner that counts its crossings
As a load crosses a Vierendeel girder, the moment at a post's corner changes sign when the load passes that post. A static check reads the peak, and the peak says the posts beside the supports work twice as hard as the middle one. Fatigue reads the range, and the range says every interior post works the same. A haunch at the corner lowers the corner's range and moves the worst of it to the haunch's toe — so a deeper haunch soon buys nothing, a longer one keeps paying, and a toe two detail categories worse than the corner cancels the haunch outright.
The lever that moves the damper and not the band
A damper whose force goes as a low power of its speed is sized for the earthquake and locks in the wind. A toggle or scissor linkage multiplies its stroke, and it seemed it might move the band of amplitudes the damper serves down towards the wind. It cannot. Behind a lever of ratio f the same damper acts on the storey as one f to the power 1 + α larger, so its band moves up, not down; re-sized to the design amplitude, it gives the storey exactly the curve it had without the lever, and what has changed is the damper — a quarter of the size, a third of the force, three times the stroke. What would widen the band is a ratio that grows with the motion, and a toggle has one — until its links lie straight and it locks.
The hanger that cannot be made soft enough
A network arch's crossed hangers swing through nearly all their force as traffic passes, because they are the web of a truss. Make them softer — a spring at each anchorage — and the tie ought to take back some of the shear and the hangers' ranges ought to fall. They hardly do. A tenth of the stiffness takes 6 per cent off the worst range and adds a third to the tie's bending; a fiftieth takes 18 per cent off and multiplies the tie's bending by 3.7. The range belongs to the truss and leaves only when the truss does, which vertical hangers show at 194 kN against 678 and eleven times the bending. So the hanger is sized for its range, eight times the area its strength needs, and the stiffness that comes with it costs the range nothing.
The column that shortens on every cycle
A column hinge bent back and forth by an earthquake carries its share of the building's weight the whole time. In elastic–perfectly plastic steel an I-section at three tenths of its squash load, cycled to three times its first-yield curvature each way, comes back from every cycle shorter by eight yield strains, and goes on doing so: it never settles. The flange that yields in compression shortens, and the other flange, carrying its part of the column's load, never reaches yield in tension to pull it back. A rectangle of the same area shortens a fifth as fast, and the overturning that swings the column's load up and down hardly matters. The weight and the curvature make the ratchet between them.
The tank that is its own tower
A standpipe holds its water in its own shaft, so the water fills a height several times its width. Only a lens of it near the surface sloshes — 0.455ρπR³, 178 t of the 2,199 t in a steel standpipe 10 m across and 30 m tall — and that lens stops growing once the water is deeper than a radius, so its period is set by the width alone: 3.3 s, against the shaft's 0.38. The lens is 8% of the water but a quarter of the shaft's moving mass, because it sits where the shaft moves most. It is far too slow to be tuned as a damper, and a screen can do little with it; what it does instead is stay still while the shaft sways, which takes nearly a fifth off the drift a frozen-water calculation predicts.
The spring under the nut
Retightening a column base after every storm makes its bolts ratchet, because a storm can only live with 128 kN of preload and the spanner keeps putting back 150. A stack of disc springs under each nut changes what the storm can live with. Soft enough, the bolts never reach their yield: the compression side keeps its preload, the bed's resultant moves out to the plate's edge, and the moment rides on lever arm rather than on bolt force. A stack as stiff as the bolt itself keeps 150 kN through every storm. Much softer, and the storm the bolts no longer feel lands on the grout.
The floor that is level on one date
Each floor of a tall concrete building is set high by the amount its columns are predicted to drop against the core, so that it arrives level. Counted in time, the drop does not peak at mid-height and stop at the roof: the worst floor of a forty-storey building is level 31, the roof moves 24 mm, and half the movement is still to come when the floors are fitted out. Set high by all of the prediction, a floor is level on one date thirty years away and 16 mm high at handover. With the creep known to ±30 per cent, setting it high by about four fifths of the prediction makes the worst floor's error 11 mm instead of 16. And none of it changes what the partitions see.
The tank that must be shallow to be slow
A deep tank's sloshing period is set by its width alone, so a tank in a tall building's core ought to be tuned by choosing how wide to make it. It cannot be. A deep tank fast enough to fit is too fast for the building: 3.6 s for a core 10 m across, where a 5 s building would need a tank 19.5 m long and an 8 s one 50 m. The depth has to tune it, and only shallow water is slow — 1.73 m for 5 s, 0.63 m for 8. Shallow water is the efficient kind, with four fifths of it sloshing. But at the accelerations the tank exists to reduce, the wave it makes is a quarter of its depth on a 5 s building and seven tenths on an 8 s one, and the linear tuning it was designed by has stopped describing it.
The beam built towards its own middle
A continuous prestressed beam built one bay at a time from one end keeps about half the secondary moment a beam stressed at once would carry, and most of it at the end where it was finished. Built from both ends towards a closure bay, it is symmetric, and the closure's supports keep only a little more than the rest: 172 kN·m against 161. Built from the middle outwards, the first interior supports — the ones the load hogs hardest — keep 215, 63 per cent of the at-once value, for any length of beam. The order of construction is a design variable. Creep then takes back most of the choice.
The notch that trades stress for strain
A notch with an elastic factor of three triples the stress at its root only while the root stays elastic, which in a mild steel is up to a nominal stress of about 84 N/mm². Past that the root's stress and strain part company: at a nominal 200 the root carries 293 N/mm², not 600, and strains 0.61 per cent, twice what the elastic factor implies. Neuber's rule and Glinka's bracket the truth a factor apart, and in the low-cycle range that factor is a factor of two in life. The trade has two gifts in it: one overload leaves the root in compression, and a mean stress mostly yields itself away.
The beam the haulier holds
A pretensioned beam leaves the yard on a trailer, carried on a turntable and a bogie the haulier places, and bounced on them at road speed. The bounce works both ways: a wheel rising adds to the beam's weight over its overhangs, and a wheel falling away takes weight off — and with it the sag that was relieving the beam's top fibre between its supports. On the yard's own bearers a bounce of 30 per cent takes as much from that fibre as a stack placed 100 mm out of line. A rear overhang of 2.5 m takes five times as much. With the yard's schedule, a trailer may hold this beam only within half a metre and three quarters of a metre of its ends.
The arm that is reset by hand
An outrigger connected to a concrete building at topping out collects the core's and the columns' differential creep for fifty years, 3.48 MN in each arm against a design wind of 5.80. A damper lets the creep through and stops the wind, but it is a machine. The older answer is a joint closed with shims and opened every few years to take the creep out. Three visits, at one, three and ten years, hold the arm below 1.40 MN, and spaced like the creep they do it with roughly equal thicknesses of shim each time. Evenly spaced, the same three visits hold 2.48. And a visit that is missed costs exactly the creep it was there to remove.
The forging that cushions the blow
A forge hammer's foundation is usually designed for a blow treated as a fixed impulse: the tup's momentum, multiplied by a factor for its rebound. The blow is not fixed. Between the tup and the anvil lies a hot forging, a plastic body that flows under the tup, stretches the blow to 48 milliseconds and absorbs nearly all of its 49 kJ, so that the anvil's pad feels 0.46 MN. As the part cools it flows less, the blow shortens, the tup rebounds, and the pad force climbs to 5.86 MN when the dies meet with nothing between them. The foundation is designed by the blow that does no work.
The joint poured twice over the pier
A continuity joint over a pier can be cast in two stages — the diaphragm and the beams' bottom connection first, the slab weeks later — in the hope that the early pour catches the beams' creep and the late one leaves the slab's shrinkage little to do. It does neither. From the slab's day on the composite section holds exactly what a single pour on that day would have held, and the first stage adds only its own small account, of either sign. It trims a year-old slab's hog by a fifth, and it asks a joint with half the cracking moment to carry the beams through the months between.
The footing a prevailing wind leans
A footing rocked by storms that reverse evenly settles into a symmetric bowl and stops. A footing under a frame in a prevailing wind is pushed harder one way than the other, and its ground keeps the difference. It leans — and then it stops leaning, within three storms, at a tilt set by how unequal the storms are and how large the largest has been. Fifty years of storms lean it further only in the years when a storm beats every one before it, and between those years nothing that happens to the footing moves it at all.
The post sized by what it must survive
A Vierendeel girder's posts are usually all one section, and a crossing load gives them peaks that differ by a factor of two and ranges that barely differ at all. Size each post to its peak and the steel falls by a quarter — and the middle post, lightened to two-fifths of the chords, sweeps twice the stress range the whole girder used to, and lasts a seventh as long. Size each post to its range instead and the girder needs less steel than the uniform one, not more, because the posts that can be lightened are the ones at the ends.
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 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 roof that makes the wind worse every storm
A portal frame's shakedown check is made on its elastic moments, and the elastic moments a heavy roof sways are larger than first-order analysis says: each storm's wind is amplified by 1/(1 − N/Ncr), on its way out and on its way back. On pinned bases under a 1,000 kN roof that takes the wind at which the knees start to alternate from 110 kN down to 90, and the shakedown load down by 4.8 per cent where gravity leads and 8.4 where the wind does. Fixed bases are worth more under a heavy roof than without one, but by half again, not twice.
The convoy that keeps the deck's time
A deck shaken by traffic is shaken by vehicles, and vehicles arrive with a rhythm of their own. The same lorries that, arriving at random, move a stay's deck by 7 mm rms and ask the stay for six hundredths of a per cent of damping, move it by 20 mm and ask for a whole per cent if they arrive every four deck periods exactly. But the rhythm is fragile in a precise way: scatter the headways by two per cent and half the danger has gone, and the timing that has to be kept is a tenth of the deck's period whatever the headway and however damped the deck. Ordinary traffic is counted by a stay, not timed; a convoy driven by a machine might not be.
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 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 row that is pushed as often as it is pulled
A row of leaning screws in a shear wall is loaded one way by the wind and then the other, and a screw that leans is pulled along its axis one way and pushed the other. Pulled, its axial force clamps the joint and friction helps it; pushed, it prises the joint open and the friction goes. So the row has a weaker side, and under a reversing load it settles exactly as it settles under a repeated one — the reversal does not start the ratchet again — but at a ceiling the pushed side sets, 0.79 of the pulled peak against 0.97. And it settles with a gap in the middle that every reversal crosses carrying nothing.