Clothes elevator

I was surprised to find that Berlin peasant renter life doesn't typically include any luxuries such as an electric clothes dryer, as fundamental to US citizenship as cable TV. What one does instead is to take up half a room with a tin pot drying rack. Which folds down only to leap up again and mock me as I unfurl it later the same day.

I live with four people of varied ages and the laundry is a legitimate mini-job for tax purposes.

Winter makes this whole deal all the more challenging since cold plus damp equals mildew; heating a room is expensive; the windows are drafty... and waah did I mention that winter is long cold and dark, best endured from behind a protective shield of fidgety little indoor projects.

Mechanical engineering is not my thing, which is unfortunate because I enjoy making stuff that is used and should not fall apart. I make garden tools that bend, shelves that fall out of the wall, bicycle trailers that tip their load on a rainy night. I once tried to find an evening continuing ed class on the subject. To my surprise this isn't how it works—nobody wants their city's bridge designed by a punter who picked it up from odd nights out and a couple of video explainers. But still, I blame elitism.

For this reason and other factors, it's taken me a few years of building courage to try a clothes elevator. The problem seemed harder than it is, at first: unattainably mathy with so many different angles and lengths to consider... the idea stagnated and each time I sketched it came out obviously wrong and incomplete. The turning point was to learn that pulleys simply change the direction of force, and this direction can be constrained or constant.

In other words, the rope's travel is equal but opposite as seen from either side of a pulley. If the pulleys stay put it gets even simpler, and all that's happening in my case is that downwards pulling force on a rope is rotated by 90° at the ceiling, and then another 90° so that it's acting upwards on the load. This is just the fancy equivalent of a 180° turn over a single pulley [img].

Pricing pulleys, I saw that they would add up to at least a hundred bucks so I decided to buy a wood lathe for 200 bucks, get creative about "renting" storage space under a table in a basement, and learning how to turn my own pulleys. First world problems, you could say. But my pulleys came out alright!

A year or two passes. But one crappy afternoon I stumbled across this gem [img], a huge oak bed—perhaps tossed out of someone's window after a particularly nasty breakup. Having spent a bit of time watching trach on city streets, I recognized this for the incredibly attractive nuisance it is and I rushed home to get the tools. Indeed, by the time I returned, scavengers or vandals had chewed or stomped a dozen of the sticks out and... I'm curious what the stumps could be used for: firewood, a small dishtowel rack, jagged ski poles for a baby? It's cold, dark, and I'm doing something ambiguous in public, I'm not here to ask any questions. I unscrewed what remained [img], tossed it in an innocuous stroller and walked back home hunched over my prize.

The slats are perfect, hardwood at roughly 2.5cm x 1cm x 1.0m. Beveling the business edges and sanding to 180 or so grit gives the wood enough smoothness for cloth to slide over but enough roughness to not slip. I forgot to sand before assembly and pop rivets are permanent, so I had the unwieldy pleasure of maneuvering the full frame at 2.5m x 1m.

Aluminum angle for the runners and aluminum pop rivets serve admirably and keep the overall weight down.[weigh it]

Mounting the pulleys had me at a loss for bad ideas. Here's one example, a monstrosity of scrap plywood. It's cute that the pulley is invisible, but there's nothing else good happening here.

Bending whatever metal strapping around the pulleys [img] is fine and leaves me free to use any type of bolt appropriate for the mysterious ceiling. The axle should have been simple, let's not discuss how overcomplicated I made this out of a misplaced duty to use up old junk [img]. Just... if you too choose to leave anything unusual above your head, please lock all threads one way or another.

By a stroke of luck, I found that the bathroom ceiling included a few metal studs, which I trust to give hints before catastrophic failure, unlike the ancient concrete and plaster powder everywhere else in the apartment. And even luckier, a strange little access door provides a clutch of extra metal to anchor to, all in the spot directly above a door jamb where I planned to anchor to anyway. If you don't have a little door like this, it will provide insight, it's low risk—and you might lure a family of Borrowers.

This rack turns out to fit three or so loads of laundry, and this adds up to more weight than would be comfortable to lift. A 5:1 block and tackle system was straightforward to make from two pairs of double pulleys, which I boringly purchased at the big box like a 21st-century person, this part should run smoothly and be less likely to explode.

The reward is that children will enthusiastically hang and fold the laundry while singing "Scrub, Scrub".

Notes