We’ve always been fascinated by things that perform complex electronic functions merely by virtue of their shapes. Waveguides come to mind, but so do active elements like filters made from nothing but PCB traces, which is the subject of this interesting video by [FesZ].

Of course, it’s not quite that simple. A PCB is more than just copper, of course, and the properties of the substrate have to be taken into account when designing these elements. To demonstrate this, [FesZ] used an online tool to design a bandpass filter for ADSB signals. He designed two filters, one using standard FR4 substrate and the other using the more exotic PTFE.

He put both filters to the test, first on the spectrum analyzer. The center frequencies were a bit off, but he took care of that by shortening the traces slightly with a knife. The thing that really stood out to us was the difference in insertion loss between the two substrates, with the PTFE being much less lossy. The PTFE filter was also much more selective, with a tighter pass band than the FR4. PTFE was also much more thermostable than FR4, which had a larger shift in center frequency and increased loss after heating than the PTFE. [FesZ] also did a more real-world test and found that both filters did a good job damping down RF signals across the spectrum, even the tricky and pervasive FM broadcast signals that bedevil ADSB experimenters.

Although we would have liked a better explanation of design details such as via stitching and trace finish selection, we always enjoy these lessons by [FesZ]. He has a knack for explaining abstract concepts through concrete examples; anyone who can make coax stubs and cavity filters understandable has our seal of approval.

Seeing the unseen is one of the great things about using an infrared (IR) camera, and even the cheap-ish ones that plug into a smartphone can dramatically improve your hardware debugging game. But even fancy and expensive IR cameras have their limits, and may miss subtle temperature changes that indicate a problem. Luckily, there’s a trick that improves the thermal resolution of even the lowliest IR camera, and all it takes is a little tweak to the device under test and some simple math.

According to [Dmytro], “lock-in thermography” is so simple that his exploration of the topic was just a side quest in a larger project that delved into the innards of a Xinfrared Xtherm II T2S+ camera. The idea is to periodically modulate the heat produced by the device under test, typically by ramping the power supply voltage up and down. IR images are taken in synch with the modulation, with each frame having a sine and cosine scaling factor applied to each pixel. The frames are averaged together over an integration period to create both in-phase and out-of-phase images, which can reveal thermal details that were previously unseen.

With some primary literature in hand, [Dmytro] cobbled together some simple code to automate the entire lock-in process. His first test subject was a de-capped AD9042 ADC, with power to the chip modulated by a MOSFET attached to a Raspberry Pi Pico. Integrating the images over just ten seconds provided remarkably detailed images of the die of the chip, far more detailed than the live view. He also pointed the camera at the Pico itself, programmed it to blink the LED slowly, and was clearly able to see heating in the LED and onboard DC-DC converter.

The potential of lock-in thermography for die-level debugging is pretty exciting, especially given how accessible it seems to be. The process reminds us a little of other “seeing the unseeable” techniques, like those neat acoustic cameras that make diagnosing machine vibrations easier, or even measuring blood pressure by watching the subtle change in color of someone’s skin as the capillaries fill.

Problem solved? If the problem is supplying enough lithium to build batteries for all the electric vehicles that will be needed by 2030, then a new lithium deposit in Arkansas might be a resounding “Yes!” The discovery involves the Smackover Formation — and we’ll be honest here that half the reason we chose to feature this story was to be able to write “Smackover Formation” — which is a limestone aquifer covering a vast arc from the Rio Grande River in Texas through to the western tip of the Florida panhandle. Parts of the aquifer, including the bit that bulges up into southern Arkansas, bear a brine rich in lithium salts, far more so than any of the brines currently commercially exploited for lithium metal production elsewhere in the world. Given the measured concentration and estimated volume of brine in the formation, there could be between 5 million and 19 million tons of lithium in the formation; even at the lower end of the range, that’s enough to build nine times the number of EV batteries needed.

There are still a lot of unknowns, not least of which is whether any of the lithium in the brine is recoverable, and there are surely technical and regulatory hurdles aplenty. But the mere existence of a brine deposit that rich in lithium that covers such a vast area is encouraging; surely there’s somewhere within the formation where it’ll be possible to extract and concentrate the brine in an environmentally sensitive manner. And, once again just for fun, Smackover Formation.

While not ones to cheer for interstellar catastrophes, we can’t say that we haven’t been rooting for Betelgeuse to go supernova these last few years. Ever since the red supergiant star that sits on Orion’s shoulder started its peculiar dimming a while back, talk among astronomy buffs was that the activity presaged an imminent explosion of the star, one that could make Betelgeuse the brightest object in the night sky for a few months, and possibly make it visible in the daytime as well. As thrilling — and foreboding, at least by ancient astronomy standards — as that sounds, it seems as if the unusual dimming recently observed has a more prosaic explanation: a “Betelbuddy” star. According to astronomers who pored over observations, after ruling out all the other possibilities to explain the dimming, it seems like there must be a smaller star orbiting Betelgeuse that’s periodically plowing a clear spot through the cloud of dust surrounding the dying star. That would explain the periodic dimming and brightening, but why have we not seen this Betelbuddy before? It could be that the smaller star is lost in the giant’s glare, hiding in its halo of incandescent gas. So, don’t hold your breath on seeing a supernova anytime soon.

Do you find password rules annoying? We sure do, and even using a password manager with a generator that can handle all sorts of restrictions like password length and special characters, being told how to generate a password seems silly, especially since the information on what characters a valid password would have seems like valuable clues to potential crackers. But if for some reason you haven’t had enough password pestering, try out the password game. You start by entering a password — we, of course, started with correct horse battery staple — and then deal with the consequences of your obviously poor choices. You’ll be asked to do all the silly stuff that only decreases the entropy of your password, which only makes it harder to remember and easier to guess. We haven’t played it through — it’s way too annoying — but we assume that if you ever actually manage to compose a suitable password, you’ll be asked to change it every 90 days.

And finally, we’ve managed to live long enough now to have cycled completely through all the major music recording modalities except wax cylinders. Having heard them all, we’ve got to agree with the hipsters: vinyl is the best. That’s especially true after watching this fascinating look at the LP record production process, which covers everything from mastering to packaging. The painstaking steps at the beginning are perhaps the most interesting, but anyone who doesn’t appreciate the hot vinyl squeezing out from the press is a cold, heartless monster. The video is only 15 minutes long and mercifully free of narration, so enjoy.

Usually when we present a project on these pages, it’s pretty cut and dried — here’s what was done, these are the technologies used, this was the result. But sometimes we run across projects that raise far more questions than they answer, such as with this printed circuit board that’s actually printed rather than made using any of the traditional methods.

Right up front we’ll admit that this video from [Bad Obsession Motorsport] is long, and what’s more, it’s part of a lengthy series of videos that document the restoration of an Austin Mini GT-Four. We haven’t watched the entire video much less any of the others in the series, so jumping into this in the middle bears some risk. We gather that the instrument cluster in the car is in need of a tune-up, prompting our users to build a PCB to hold all the instruments and indicators. Normally that’s pretty standard stuff, but jumping to the 14:00 minute mark on the video, you’ll see that these blokes took the long way around.

Starting with a naked sheet of FR4 substrate, they drilled out all the holes needed for their PCB layout. Most of these holes were filled with rivets of various sizes, some to accept through-hole leads, others to act as vias to the other side of the board. Fine traces of solder were then applied to the FR4 using a modified CNC mill with the hot-end and extruder of a 3D printer added to the quill. Components were soldered to the board in more or less the typical fashion.

It looks like a brilliant piece of work, but it leaves us with a few questions. We wonder about the mechanics of this; how is the solder adhering to the FR4 well enough to be stable? Especially in a high-vibration environment like a car, it seems like the traces would peel right off the board. Indeed, at one point (27:40) they easily peel the traces back to solder in some SMD LEDs.

Also, how do you solder to solder? They seem to be using a low-temp solder and a higher temperature solder, and getting right in between the melting points. We’re used to seeing solder wet into the copper traces and flow until the joint is complete, but in our experience, without the capillary action of the copper, the surface tension of the molten solder would just form a big blob. They do mention a special “no-flux 96S solder” at 24:20; could that be the secret?

We love the idea of additive PCB manufacturing, and the process is very satisfying to watch. But we’re begging for more detail. Let us know what you think, and if you know anything more about this process, in the comments below.

Thanks to [dennis1a4] and about half a dozen other readers for the nearly simultaneous tips.

From the earliest days of warfare, it’s never been enough to be able to build a deadlier weapon than your enemy can. Making a sharper spear, an arrow that flies farther and straighter, or a more accurate rifle are all important, but if you can’t make a lot of those spears, arrows, or guns, their quality doesn’t matter. As the saying goes, quantity has a quality of its own.

That was the problem faced by Britain in the run-up to World War II. In the 1930s, Rolls-Royce had developed one of the finest pieces of engineering ever conceived: the Merlin engine. Planners knew they had something special in the supercharged V-12 engine, which would go on to power fighters such as the Supermarine Spitfire, and bombers like the Avro Lancaster and Hawker Hurricane. But, the engine would be needed in such numbers that an entire system would need to be built to produce enough of them to make a difference.

“Contribution to Victory,” a film that appears to date from the early 1950s, documents the expansive efforts of the Rolls-Royce corporation to ramp up Merlin engine production for World War II. Compiled from footage shot during the mid to late 1930s, the film details not just the exquisite mechanical engineering of the Merlin but how a web of enterprises was brought together under one vast, vertically integrated umbrella. Designing the engine and the infrastructure to produce it in massive numbers took place in parallel, which must have represented a huge gamble for Rolls-Royce and the Air Ministry. To manage that risk, Rolls-Royce designers made wooden scale models on the Merlin, to test fitment and look for potential interference problems before any castings were made or metal was cut. They also set up an experimental shop dedicated to looking at the processes of making each part, and how human factors could be streamlined to make it easier to manufacture the engines.

With prototype engines and processes in hand, Rolls-Royce embarked on a massive scale-up to production levels. They built huge plants in Crewe and Glasgow, hopefully as far from the Luftwaffe’s reach as possible. They also undertook a massive social engineering effort, building a network of training institutions tasked with churning out the millions of skilled workers needed. Entire towns were constructed to house the workers, and each factory had its own support services, including fire brigade and medical departments.

As fascinating as the engineering behind the engineering is, the film is still a love letter to the engine itself, of which almost 150,000 copies would eventually be manufactured. The casting processes are perhaps the most interesting, but there’s eye candy aplenty for Merlin fans at every stage of production. We were also surprised to learn that Rolls-Royce took the added step of mounting finished Merlins in the cowlings needed for the various planes they were destined for, to ensure that the engine would be properly integrated with the airframe. This must have been a huge boon to groundcrews out in the field; being able to bolt a new nose on a Spitfire and get it back in the fight with a spanking new Merlin was probably key to victory in the Battle of Britain.

For those of us devoted to keeping an older vehicle on the road, the struggle is real. We know that at some point, a part will go bad and we’ll learn that it’s no longer available from the dealer or in the aftermarket, at least at a reasonable cost. We might get lucky and find a replacement at the boneyard, but if not — well, it was nice knowing ya, faithful chariot.

It doesn’t have to be that way, though, at least if the wonky part is one of the many computer modules found in most cars made in the last few decades. Sometimes they can be repaired, as with this engine control module from a Ford F350 pickup. Admittedly, [jeffescortlx] got pretty lucky with this module, which with its trio of obviously defective electrolytics practically diagnosed itself. He also had the advantage of the module’s mid-90s technology, which still relied heavily on through-hole parts, making the repair easier.

Unfortunately, his luck stopped there, as the caps had released the schmoo and corroded quite a few traces on the PCB. Complicating the repair was the conformal coating on everything, a common problem on any electronics used in rough environments. It took a bit of probing and poking to locate all the open traces, which included a mystery trace far away from any of the leaky caps. Magnet wire was used to repair the damaged traces, the caps were replaced with new ones, and everything got a fresh coat of brush-on conformal coating.

Simple though they may be, we really enjoy these successful vehicle module repairs because they give us hope that when the day eventually comes, we’ll stand a chance of being able to perform some repair heroics. And it’s nice to know that something as simple as fixing a dead dashboard cluster can keep a car out of the crusher.

What does it take to make decent tires for your projects? According to this 3D printed tire torture test, it’s actually pretty easy — it’s more a question of how well they work when you’re done.

For the test, [Excessive Overkill] made four different sets of shoes for his RC test vehicle. First up was a plain PLA wheel with a knobby tread, followed by an exact copy printed in ABS which he intended to coat with Flex Seal — yes, that Flex Seal. The idea here was to see how well the spray-on rubber compound would improve the performance of the wheel; ABS was used in the hopes that the Flex Seal solvents would partially dissolve the plastic and form a better bond. The next test subjects were a PLA wheel with a separately printed TPU tire, and a urethane tire molded directly to a PLA rim. That last one required a pretty complicated five-piece mold and some specialized urethane resin, but the results looked fantastic.

Non-destructive tests on the tires included an assessment of static friction by measuring the torque needed to start the tire rolling against a rough surface, plus a dynamic friction test using the same setup but measuring torque against increasing motor speed. [Overkill] threw in a destructive test, too, with the test specimens grinding against a concrete block at a constant speed to see how long the tire lasted. Finally, there was a road test, with a full set of each tire mounted to an RC car and subjected to timed laps along a course with mixed surfaces.

Results were mixed, and we won’t spoil the surprise, but suffice it to say that molding your own tires might not be worth the effort, and that Flex Seal is as disappointing as any other infomercial product. We’ve seen other printed tires before, but hats off to [Excessive Overkill] for diving into the data.