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GoranS
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Bruka Allvar!
Låter ytterst osannolikt att skivbromsar skulle ge en sådan fördel att man med dess "överlägsna bromskapacitet" skapar en så stor lucka att det överväger nackdelen att behöva ligga och soloköra det platta partiet fram till MdH. Eller är tanken att man ska ligga i täten och göra tokbromsningar på platten för att skapa en massvurpa och därigenom få denna vinstgivande lucka?
GoranS
Aktiv medlem
Bruka Allvar!
Jag pratar om det specifika loppet, inte om huruvida det finns fall där det skulle vara bättre med skivbromsar. Jag har väldigt svårt att se att skivbromsar skulle göra någon praktisk skillnad med den bansträckningen och avslutningen och i det aktuella vädret.
Grejen är som jag ser det att effekten av att ligga i klungan kontra att ligga solo krossar ev. fördelar som skivbromsar kan ge med massor.
Grejen är som jag ser det att effekten av att ligga i klungan kontra att ligga solo krossar ev. fördelar som skivbromsar kan ge med massor.
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ForesterGuy
Aktiv medlem
Bruka Allvar!
emmer sa:
Råkade ut för just det där på en fälgbromsad cykel. Hann stanna, med bredställ, två decimeter från bilen. Såg säkert proffsigt ut. ?
me.I.am
Aktiv medlem
Bruka Allvar!
Finns ju lite olika typer av fälgbroms. Är det just den typ som emmer och Bengt-re har som är totalt oöverträffat optimal?
Påminner lite om läkarkåren, det vi (oftast i betydelsen jag) vet idag är allt som nånsin behöver vetas, vi (jag) kommer _aldrig_ att upptäcka något nytt.
Jag för min del anser att dom optimala cyklarna gjordes på 70-talet. Hade en vajerstyrd hastighetsmätare, en liten flärp som snurrade runt med hjulet. Bara löjligt att tro att man cyklar snabbare för att man har magnetstyrda hastighetsmätare.
Påminner lite om läkarkåren, det vi (oftast i betydelsen jag) vet idag är allt som nånsin behöver vetas, vi (jag) kommer _aldrig_ att upptäcka något nytt.
Jag för min del anser att dom optimala cyklarna gjordes på 70-talet. Hade en vajerstyrd hastighetsmätare, en liten flärp som snurrade runt med hjulet. Bara löjligt att tro att man cyklar snabbare för att man har magnetstyrda hastighetsmätare.
kais01
Aktiv medlem
Bruka Allvar!
ooms sa:
magnetstyrd hastighetsmätare/cykeldator är väl 80-tal?. iaf har jag en från den tiden. men iofs början och mitten av 0-talet var det fortfarande det som var vanligt. men eventuellt med lite mer godis som kadensmätare och så.
när magnetiska bromsar med regeneration kommer kan även skivbromsar hamna i retroläge. säkert kommer då en liknande diskussion.
Bruka Allvar!
Efter som jag har två fälgbromsade hojar med ungefär fyra hjulset till vardera plus att jag provat tre olika bromsar på ena och två på andra (ska ju vara stilfullt ju ;-) ) och självklart byter belägg med hjultyp - samt har två fälgbromsade hojar till i hushållet med några hjulpar styck - så vore det ju extremt osannolikt att jag lyckats pricka in de sju optimala fälgbromsarna och de tretton optimala hjulparen då allt bromsat finemang (utom en smula judder på en hoj).me.I.am sa:
Tror snarare att det SBS (skit bakom skiftmejseln) på dem som har svårt få till tillräckligt lätta, välmodulerade och effektiva bromsar : eller oxå sätter de ’tillräckligt’ på en högre nivå än vad som IMHO behövs för normala däck på normala underlag för normala personer. ( NB att det är främst övriga i hushållet som förtjänar epitetet ”normal” :-) NB )
Zåsna
Aktiv medlem
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GoranS sa:
Jag tror du är något på spåret:"The mouthparts of females are formed into a stout stabbing organ with two pairs of sharp cutting blades, and a spongelike part used to lap up the blood that flows from the wound."
https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Horse-fly
ForesterGuy
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Henrik_E sa:
There were a lot of things we couldn’t do in an SR-71, but we were the fastest guys on the block and loved reminding our fellow aviators of this fact. People often asked us if, because of this fact, it was fun to fly the jet. Fun would not be the first word I would use to describe flying this plane. Intense, maybe. Even cerebral. But there was one day in our Sled experience when we would have to say that it was pure fun to be the fastest guys out there, at least for a moment. It occurred when Walt and I were flying our final training sortie. We needed 100 hours in the jet to complete our training and attain Mission Ready status. Somewhere over Colorado we had passed the century mark. We had made the turn in Arizona and the jet was performing flawlessly. My gauges were wired in the front seat and we were starting to feel pretty good about ourselves, not only because we would soon be flying real missions but because we had gained a great deal of confidence in the plane in the past ten months. Ripping across the barren deserts 80,000 feet below us, I could already see the coast of California from the Arizona border. I was, finally, after many humbling months of simulators and study, ahead of the jet. I was beginning to feel a bit sorry for Walter in the back seat. There he was, with no really good view of the incredible sights before us, tasked with monitoring four different radios. This was good practice for him for when we began flying real missions, when a priority transmission from headquarters could be vital. It had been difficult, too, for me to relinquish control of the radios, as during my entire flying career I had controlled my own transmissions. But it was part of the division of duties in this plane and I had adjusted to it. I still insisted on talking on the radio while we were on the ground, however. Walt was so good at many things, but he couldn’t match my expertise at sounding smooth on the radios, a skill that had been honed sharply with years in fighter squadrons where the slightest radio miscue was grounds for beheading. He understood that and allowed me that luxury. Just to get a sense of what Walt had to contend with, I pulled the radio toggle switches and monitored the frequencies along with him. The predominant radio chatter was from Los Angeles Center, far below us, controlling daily traffic in their sector. While they had us on their scope (albeit briefly), we were in uncontrolled airspace and normally would not talk to them unless we needed to descend into their airspace.
We listened as the shaky voice of a lone Cessna pilot asked Center for a readout of his ground speed. Center replied: “November Charlie 175, I’m showing you at ninety knots on the ground.” Now the thing to understand about Center controllers, was that whether they were talking to a rookie pilot in a Cessna, or to Air Force One, they always spoke in the exact same, calm, deep, professional, tone that made one feel important. I referred to it as the ” Houston Center voice.” I have always felt that after years of seeing documentaries on this country’s space program and listening to the calm and distinct voice of the Houston controllers, that all other controllers since then wanted to sound like that, and that they basically did. And it didn’t matter what sector of the country we would be flying in, it always seemed like the same guy was talking. Over the years that tone of voice had become somewhat of a comforting sound to pilots everywhere. Conversely, over the years, pilots always wanted to ensure that, when transmitting, they sounded like Chuck Yeager, or at least like John Wayne. Better to die than sound bad on the radios. Just moments after the Cessna’s inquiry, a Twin Beech piped up on frequency, in a rather superior tone, asking for his ground speed. “I have you at one hundred and twenty-five knots of ground speed.” Boy, I thought, the Beechcraft really must think he is dazzling his Cessna brethren. Then out of the blue, a navy F-18 pilot out of NAS Lemoore came up on frequency. You knew right away it was a Navy jock because he sounded very cool on the radios. “Center, Dusty 52 ground speed check”. Before Center could reply, I’m thinking to myself, hey, Dusty 52 has a ground speed indicator in that million-dollar cockpit, so why is he asking Center for a readout? Then I got it, ol’ Dusty here is making sure that every bug smasher from Mount Whitney to the Mojave knows what true speed is. He’s the fastest dude in the valley today, and he just wants everyone to know how much fun he is having in his new Hornet. And the reply, always with that same, calm, voice, with more distinct alliteration than emotion: “Dusty 52, Center, we have you at 620 on the ground.” And I thought to myself, is this a ripe situation, or what? As my hand instinctively reached for the mic button, I had to remind myself that Walt was in control of the radios. Still, I thought, it must be done – in mere seconds we’ll be out of the sector and the opportunity will be lost. That Hornet must die, and die now. I thought about all of our Sim training and how important it was that we developed well as a crew and knew that to jump in on the radios now would destroy the integrity of all that we had worked toward becoming. I was torn. Somewhere, 13 miles above Arizona, there was a pilot screaming inside his space helmet. Then, I heard it. The click of the mic button from the back seat. That was the very moment that I knew Walter and I had become a crew. Very professionally, and with no emotion, Walter spoke: “Los Angeles Center, Aspen 20, can you give us a ground speed check?” There was no hesitation, and the replay came as if was an everyday request. “Aspen 20, I show you at one thousand eight hundred and forty-two knots, across the ground.” I think it was the forty-two knots that I liked the best, so accurate and proud was Center to deliver that information without hesitation, and you just knew he was smiling. But the precise point at which I knew that Walt and I were going to be really good friends for a long time was when he keyed the mic once again to say, in his most fighter-pilot-like voice: “Ah, Center, much thanks, we’re showing closer to nineteen hundred on the money.” For a moment Walter was a god. And we finally heard a little crack in the armor of the Houston Center voice, when L.A. came back with, “Roger that Aspen, Your equipment is probably more accurate than ours. You boys have a good one.” It all had lasted for just moments, but in that short, memorable sprint across the southwest, the Navy had been flamed, all mortal airplanes on freq were forced to bow before the King of Speed, and more importantly, Walter and I had crossed the threshold of being a crew. A fine day’s work. We never heard another transmission on that frequency all the way to the coast. For just one day, it truly was fun being the fastest guys out there.
kais01
Aktiv medlem
Bruka Allvar!
(ot) foresterguy och geologen; kul utvikning på gps-temat. om jag förstått det rätt är däremot höjdmätning med gps inte tillåten i luftfart på grund av dålig precision eller om det är för långsamt i uppdatering just för höjd. har aldrig riktigt förstått varför det ska vara ett problem, det sker ju en triangulering med hög precision.
och även våra cykel-gps har barometisk mätning, känns rätt 1800-tal faktiskt.
ooms är välkommen att pröva mina bildäck närhelst han önskar, vad en kommentar om dessa nu kan ha att göra i en tråd om skivbromsar.
och även våra cykel-gps har barometisk mätning, känns rätt 1800-tal faktiskt.
ooms är välkommen att pröva mina bildäck närhelst han önskar, vad en kommentar om dessa nu kan ha att göra i en tråd om skivbromsar.
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D
Deleted member 43681
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Bruka Allvar!
Men med tanke på trådens nya titel Bruka Allvar! så borde det mesta kunna diskuteras, så länge man kommer ihåg att bruka allvar.me.I.am sa:
Anyone for tennis?
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