John scrounges around, and finds a pair of empty welding tanks with hoses and a cart, sections of industrial pipes that are just bigger than the pumpkins, and a whole mess of bent square tubing, as well as a collection of pipes, fittings, valves, and parts of an old barbeque. And a stove.
He sets aside the barbeque. John, stop thinking with your stomach.
John takes the air compressor in the shop (for the air tools) and does a pressure test on the tanks, rubbing soapy water over the exterior to check for leaks or bubbles. Finding none, he rigs them up in tandom, connecting the pressure regulator valves of each to a Y fitting, and puts a quick-release butterfly shut off valve from an old gas cookstove, checking each fitting in turn with the soapy water trick while it's under pressure.
John scrounges some more, and finds an old engine hoist/cherry picker that's seen better days, with a bent arm, no wheels, but intact hydraulics. Well, sorta. Good news, though, is that he finds an actuator that works, and he makes the swap, positioning the actuator on a different point further down the arm, and welding it in place with a simple bracket that he quickly makes. Cutting off the arm at the bend point, John makes a cradle that will support the cannon-to-be and welds it all together.
John sighs. He knows that a fixed arm catapult design would probably be easier, but that cat Kawalsky took all the damn freeweights, and he didn't feel like putting an engine block on the end of a stick to throw a gourd.
No, air cannon's much better.
He's in luck! He finds a small old wood-floor flat trailer that's seen better days, and he wrestles the cherry picker cum cradle on to that. It holds for a minute, then falls through the rotting floor. John starts cursing, being very creative and questioning the parentage of whoever built the trailer, made it out of plywood, and let it here to rot.
He sighs again. He'd have to take the stupid thing off, reinforce it with more crosspieces, and try it again.
He tugs at the cradle, but the leg of the cherry picker is caught in some rusty metal and plywood that used to be the floor of the trailer.
"Uh," John says, a little sheepishly, "can I get some help over here?"
Re: Classwork
He sets aside the barbeque. John, stop thinking with your stomach.
John takes the air compressor in the shop (for the air tools) and does a pressure test on the tanks, rubbing soapy water over the exterior to check for leaks or bubbles. Finding none, he rigs them up in tandom, connecting the pressure regulator valves of each to a Y fitting, and puts a quick-release butterfly shut off valve from an old gas cookstove, checking each fitting in turn with the soapy water trick while it's under pressure.
John scrounges some more, and finds an old engine hoist/cherry picker that's seen better days, with a bent arm, no wheels, but intact hydraulics. Well, sorta. Good news, though, is that he finds an actuator that works, and he makes the swap, positioning the actuator on a different point further down the arm, and welding it in place with a simple bracket that he quickly makes. Cutting off the arm at the bend point, John makes a cradle that will support the cannon-to-be and welds it all together.
John sighs. He knows that a fixed arm catapult design would probably be easier, but that cat Kawalsky took all the damn freeweights, and he didn't feel like putting an engine block on the end of a stick to throw a gourd.
No, air cannon's much better.
He's in luck! He finds a small old wood-floor flat trailer that's seen better days, and he wrestles the cherry picker cum cradle on to that. It holds for a minute, then falls through the rotting floor. John starts cursing, being very creative and questioning the parentage of whoever built the trailer, made it out of plywood, and let it here to rot.
He sighs again. He'd have to take the stupid thing off, reinforce it with more crosspieces, and try it again.
He tugs at the cradle, but the leg of the cherry picker is caught in some rusty metal and plywood that used to be the floor of the trailer.
"Uh," John says, a little sheepishly, "can I get some help over here?"