It might cause some damage to the pinsetter

Modern industrial society has provided us with numerous nicely standardised massive objects. Batteries. Golf balls. Beer cans (consume beverage, re-fill with concrete).

And bowling balls.

They're really just asking for it, aren't they?

These bowling-ball and beer-can mortars are being demonstrated during either a very determined celebration of the Second Amendment to the United States Constitution, or the Battle of Stalingrad.

I find it hard to believe that the person who designed this one's ignition system was sober at the time. (Questions may also be asked about anybody who stands calmly in front of the muzzle.)

At lest they didn't shoot it straight up, though.

(I suppose if that's good enough for the anvil shooters...)

The alarming noises at 1:35 of this video may just be the bowling ball's finger-holes whistling as it spins. Or perhaps the whole thing shattered into a shrieking cloud of polyester shrapnel.

A bit long-winded, but some physics calculations at the end.

The 2011 MythBusters bowling-ball cannon would probably have had similar explanations...

...had this not happened.

Fellow Discovery Channel program American Guns did it in a somewhat less highbrow manner.

And now for something almost completely different:

The Canon "Check Engine" light

"Error 99" strikes fear into the heart of people with Canon digital SLR cameras. It's a catch-all error which has a large number of possible causes, and my old EOS-20D...

Canon 20D with fisheye lens

...here depicted with a silly lens and...

Ridiculous camera rig

...here trying to retain some self-respect, started Error-99-ing from time to time a couple of years ago.

The error usually went away if I turned the camera off and on again, so I just lived with it for a while. Then it started happening all the damn time, every few pictures, so I scraped together some spare pennies and got myself an EOS-60D, which is very nice - shoots video, far better screen on the back, high-ISO improvements, et cetera.

Not long after the 60D (not to be confused with the EOS-D60, from eight years earlier, when $AU2000 was a low price for a DSLR) arrived, my 20D completely failed. Every attempt at a shot now produced the dreaded flashing "Err 99" on viewfinder and top display.

I always meant to try to get to the bottom of the error, though, and just now I got around to doing it.

There are many, many sites, like to pick one at random this one, that tell you Error 99 happens when the contacts on your lens and/or the matching contacts on the camera are dirty. Or perhaps it's your battery terminals that're dirty. This may be the case, and is at least easy to remedy with a pencil eraser or a dab of metal polish. But Error 99 really is a fall-through error that just means "something outside the other error codes listed,...

EOS-60D manual error table

...and magnificently clearly explained, in the manual".

In my case, Error 99 definitely wasn't happening because of dirty lens contacts, because the error still happened when there was no lens on the camera at all.

When I actually sat down to seriously diagnose the problem, it didn't take long. I found this excellent article at LensRentals.com, that talks about the many, many possible reasons for Error 99, and the many, many myths and legends concerning it. Some are very difficult for a home user to fix, like dead drive motors, or circuit-board stuff requiring surface-mount rework on extremely cramped electronics. If that was the problem, Canon could fix it for me, but only for about the price of a new(er) 20D on eBay, so I might as well toss the wretched thing and get a new one. Which is of course essentially what I've already done.

Aaaaanyway, I scanned the LensRentals Common Causes page, skipped the stuff mortals can't fix, and decided to see if a stuck shutter was the problem.

And lo, it was. (Which was good, because diagnosis of some Error 99s can be... time-consuming.)

To diagnose this, once you've established that the error happens without a lens, go to the Sensor Clean option in the camera menu and select it. (Modern DSLRs from Canon and some other manufacturers clean at least some dust off their sensors with a little ultrasonic shaker thing. In older cameras like the 20D, "Sensor Clean" just flips up the mirror and opens the shutter, so you can whip out the wire brush and pressure washer and clean the sensor yourself.)

With sensor-clean mode activated, just remove the lens if there's one on the camera, and look into the camera through the lens-mount ring. If you see the shiny sensor, the shutter is OK, or at least managed to open this time. If you see the matte-black shutter curtain, then there's your problem. And that's what I saw.

I poked the closed shutter curtain's segments around a little with a cotton bud - as with ordinary sensor cleaning, this made me feel like a gorilla trying to build a ship in a bottle, or possibly like a Caucasian who's too damn tall - and then removed the battery from the camera. With this problem, that's the only way to get a 20D, at least, back out of sensor-clean mode; just turning the camera off won't work, because the camera is still stuck at the "open the shutter" stage of the sensor-clean process.

Battery back in, camera back on, down went the mirror with a click, and now when I put a lens on it, I could take pictures again.

The shutter's clearly not fixed, though. It's just back to the state it was in when I didn't, quite, have to get a new camera yet. I shot a bunch of continuous-mode paparazzi pictures of nothing and got new Error 99s separated by ten or twenty images, but these ones were clearable by turning the camera off and on again. This camera, with a cheap zoom on it, is now a bit too bulky but otherwise suitable to be chucked in my backpack in place of the $40 eBay Kodak I used to have, until that got rained on the other week and became unhappy.

If the 20D gets back into the fully-wedged error-99 state when I'm out and about, I can just Sensor Clean it again and stick my finger in there to wiggle the shutter loose once more. I very much hope some of the $5000 Lens Brigade that hang around the scenic areas of my town get to see me do that, and go as pale as an audiophile watching someone fixing a $10,000 turntable with a club hammer.

You can get parted-out shutter modules for almost any model of DSLR for pretty reasonable prices; looking on eBay now I see 20D shutter assemblies for about $50 delivered. I actually have in my time managed to dismantle and re-mantle a digital camera and have it work afterwards, but that was just to clean out crud that'd mysteriously gotten into the lens assembly of a point-and-shoot; replacing a whole super-finicky module would not make for a pleasant afternoon.

There are a couple of eBay dealers, "camera-revivor" and "Pro Photo Repair", who as well as selling various camera bits will also each replace a 20D shutter for about $200. Again, this is stupid for an old DSLR that only costs about that much second hand, but it could make sense for someone with a high-end pro DSLR of similar age with the same problem.

Do any of you, gentle readers, know if there's some lubricant or other trick that may make my old 20D's shutter happier? You've got to be very careful doing anything like that to a DSLR, because oil on the sensor is Bad, and oil also catches dust and crud and sticks it to mechanical assemblies, which is Worse. Actually, many lubricants will all by themselves make a sticky shutter even stickier, owing to the tight tolerances, low mass and high speed of the mechanism.

To stick with the horrifying-shade-tree-mechanicking-of-precision-equipment motif I should probably just squirt some WD-40 in there. Actually, being serious for a moment, a tiny dab of graphite powder (which is, by the way, cheap and a very useful dry lubricant for tasks like, stereotypically, freeing up stiff locks) might work.

LensRentals say you might perhaps be able to slightly bend or otherwise modify a shutter curtain section to prevent it from binding, but they'd just send the camera in for a proper service.

What do you reckon?

That ain't workin', that's the way you do it!

I received this yesterday:

From: [redacted]
To: dan@dansdata.com
Date: Sat, 6 Oct 2012 20:49:46 -0700 (PDT)
Subject: Dan's Data Page

Hello Dan,

I came across your website, dansdata.com, this evening. I have been considering doing something like this for awhile. I was wondering if you would be willing to share with me how succesful it has been? I am trying to save enough money and invest it so I can live off of dividend payouts. My goal is to be able to be home with my family as much as possible. I have a target of atleast 100k and have managed to to save about 40k on my own thus far. It will takes years however to complete my goal on my own. I need a way to boost my savings. Please help.

Thanks,
[name redacted]

I always wonder how these people come to e-mail me. I've had two this week. I suppose they find my dansdata.com contact-and-donation page, which is titled "Give Dan Money For No Very Good Reason!", and... that's all they read, before clicking the e-mail link.

Because otherwise, they'd notice that people occasionally drop a buck or two in my tip jar because I, you know, wrote a load of stuff, on a very wide range of subjects.

Perhaps I've got this guy all wrong, and what he wants to do is start a Web site and slog away at it for a decade and make money that way. I suspect, however, that he, like the others who more clearly express their desire that I share my money-making secrets, just reckons I must be some kind of expert Internet panhandler. The contact/donation page scores really high in a Google search for "give me money"; I think a search like that is usually where these people come from.

When one of these correspondents seems to have two brain cells to rub together I direct them to my reply to this letter, in which I explain why people occasionally give me money. But all you really need to do is actually read the donation page, on which can be found subtle hints that it is not quite the only page on Dan's Data.

It'd make more sense if these e-mails were widely-copied scattershot spam, but they never seem to be. (Or, at least, Googling a string from them never turns up copies elsewhere.) Even the ones that include a sob story and ask me to send some of my presumed riches to them on account of how their son only has a burlap sack full of leaves for a body, or something, appear to have been typed in by an actual human and sent to only a few recipients, and quite possibly only to me.

I suppose sending spur-of-the-moment e-mails to someone who might know about getting strangers to send you money for nothing is a better wealth-generation strategy than just visualising money really hard and waiting for your Ultra Advanced Psychotronic Money Magnet to kick in.

I think you'd probably do better by just sending out PayPal money requests at random, though.

(The people I get PayPal money requests from almost certainly find me via the contact/donation page, too. Only seldom does someone really put in some effort.)

Bianca Lamb And Her Unstoppable Pastel Death Machine

I've been not writing blog posts while worrying about finishing my next Atomic columns, and not writing my next Atomic columns while worrying about finishing blog posts.

So here are some Fabuland mecha.

Fabuland mecha
(Image source: Flickr user lego_nabii)

Fabuland mecha
(Image source: Flickr user Uspez Morbo)

Fabuland mecha
(Image source: Flickr user Chiefrocker9000)

Fabuland mecha
(Image source: Flickr user lego_nabii)

Fabuland mecha
(Image source: Flickr user Sir Nadroj)

Fabuland mecha
(Image source: Flickr user sirxela)

Fabuland mecha
(Image source: Flickr user mahjqa)

Fabuland mecha
(Image source: Flickr user ToT-LUG)

Knife-trinket du jour

Boker credit-card knife

There's this little folding knife, made by Boker, called the "Boker Plus Credit Card Knife". Its unique selling point is that if you remove its pocket clip and fold the knife up, it'll fit in a credit-card pocket in your wallet.

The Credit Card Knife has a gratuitous titanium handle, lightening cut-outs and some other silly bullet-point features, and its street price is about $US20. Opinions concerning it are mixed, though, chiefly because it uses a modern blade-safety idea, but not very well.

The blade of a normal folding knife folds into a slot in the handle. The Credit Card Knife's handle is just one flat piece of metal, next to rather than around the blade, but the the blade is chisel-ground - one side has an edge ground on it, and the other side is flat. When closed, the blade's flat side lies flush against the handle, so it can't cut anything.

Peculiar-knife megabrand Columbia River Knife and Tool use this design on their popular, and excellent, "K.I.S.S." and "P.E.C.K." lines. It works really well, as long as the blade lies perfectly flush with the handle.

The design of the Boker knife means the edge doesn't actually lie quite flat on the handle. There's a gap, of maybe half a millimetre at best, but that's enough for the blade to retain some wood-plane-like cutting power. The knife is still fine to keep in a wallet, but not great to have bouncing around in your pocket, and if you run your finger down the edge when it's folded, you can give yourself a shallow cut.

The Boker's list price is a bit steep, too; it's $US34.95. You can get one for $US21.66 ex delivery on Amazon, or for $US21-ish delivered on eBay.

When you buy cheap major-brand knives cheap on eBay, though, there's a significant chance you're getting a Chinese knockoff (as opposed to the genuine article, often also made in China...). The quality of knockoffs can be very good; many Chinese factories sneakily make extra units of whatever they're contracted to make when the company that contracted them isn't looking, or similarly sneakily sell on units that failed quality-control testing, possibly only for cosmetic reasons.

Other Chinese knockoffs, though, are obvious, because they're only broadly similar to the item they're copying.

Card knife open

Which is the case here.

This knife (which carries the "Columbia" pseudo-brand, entirely unassociated with Columbia River) is a shameless, but far from identical, copy of the Boker. It has the same blade-gap problem, but it lacks the gratuitous titanium handle and other fripperies, and it's substantially cheaper.

As I write this, eBay Buy It Now prices for this knockoff are up around $US11, or you can lowball various auctions [UPDATE: I've improved that eBay search to find this knife under some more names] until you get one much cheaper. My 1337 eBay sniping skillz got me this one for $AU2.75 delivered, at which price I think a knife is good value even if it opens in your pocket and stabs you in the femoral artery and your lifeless body is later found in the middle of a huge congealing pool of blood.

Card knife closed

Folded up, the knockoff knife is about 66mm wide by 33mm high (2.6 by 1.3 inches), by 3mm thick if you only count the blade and the handle. Or about 7mm thick at the hinge pin, which is a simple button-head hex screw instead of the show-off hollow pin of the Boker original. Or about 9mm thick, if you include the hinge pin on one side and the removable pocket clip on the other.

It weighs about 36 grams (1.3 ounces) with the pocket clip, about 33 grams (1.2 oz) without. The Boker original is 1.1 ounces, about 31 grams, with pocket clip. Yep, that titanium handle's totally worth the extra money!

A standard credit card has a much larger footprint - about 86 by 54mm - but is much thinner, only about 0.7mm overall or about 1mm if you include raised lettering. But because this knife's height-by-width footprint is so small, it still fits OK in a credit-card wallet pocket, despite being at least three times as thick as a card.

I'm still not totally sold on the keeping-it-in-your-wallet idea, though, especially if you're one of those strangely numerous weirdos who put their wallet in a back pocket and sit on it all the time. Do that, and the little knife will try pretty hard to snap any credit cards it's being forcibly stacked up next to.

You could tuck the folded knife at one end end of a zip-up back-of-wallet pocket, though; it's also just about perfect for the little "Zippo pocket" in a pair of jeans. Many, many other possible locations suggest themselves, for such a tiny knife. The miscellaneous side pocket of your camera bag. Stuck to some other steel object with a magnet. Your car glovebox. You get the idea.

Card knife open, back

If you want to clip the knife onto a pocket, though, you're probably going to have to fiddle with it a bit. The clip on the knife I got was way too springy, requiring a ridiculous amount of pants-mangling effort to jam it onto anything. When I bent the clip back a bit, though, it worked.

The preferable way to bend the clip is by removing its three retaining screws with a little #8 Torx driver or similarly tiny Allen key, and then bending the clip in a vise. Just jamming a chunky flat screwdriver under the clip and levering will probably work too. From past experience I expected the clip to just snap when I tried to bend it, because "$2.75 Chinese folding knife" and "meticulous heat-treating of springy components" are terms not often found near each other. But it actually worked fine, on my knife's clip at least.

The knife is easiest to use without the clip on it at all. The handle is of course very thin - about 1.3mm - so it's not comfortable to use for long periods of time. But the little finger scallops on the edge of the handle actually give you quite a good index-and-middle-finger grip; it's not an instant ticket to repetitive strain injury like a P-38 can opener.

My $2.75 knife had some other flaws, too. As is usually the case for cheap Chinese knives, the machine-ground blade wasn't sharp all the way to the tip, so I had to touch that up. The rest of the edge is very sharp, though, and the super-shallow chisel grind makes this little knife a surprisingly excellent slicer and whittler, right out of the box.

Fit and finish overall is OK. The shiny metal showing through the cheap black coating on the built-up corner piece of my knife, for instance, is there because I filed that corner down to get the screw-heads flush with the surface. But, much more importantly, the blade's frame lock (an evolution of the liner lock) works well, with almost no play and no desire to close on your hand even if you rap the back of the blade on a table.

(As a general rule, you should be suspicious of cheap liner-lock knives; a poorly-implemented liner lock can and will close on your hand. Get a back-lock, or "lockback", knife instead; they're harder for sloppy manufacturers to get wrong. Or, of course, get a "fixed blade" knife, that doesn't fold at all.)

The smallness of the knife does make it a little dicey to open and close, safety-wise, but the basic stolen Boker design is sound.

For twenty bucks, even the fancy Boker version of this thing is not a tremendously attractive product. This knockoff for ten bucks is decent. For five bucks or less via an auction, it's really nice, and works surprisingly well.

Card knife dragon

Plus, there is a dragon embossed on it.

A frickin' dragon, dude!


If you just search eBay for credit-card knives, you'll currently find a lot of these "survival tools" (I bought one; it's about as convenient to use as you'd think, but it is indeed small and any tool is better than no tool), and also a lot of knockoffs of the Ian Sinclair CardSharp. The CardSharp and its copies have the dimensions of a normal credit card, with a blade in the middle; the rest of the thing cunningly folds around the blade to make a handle. I don't know if the CardSharp knockoffs are any good, but they sure are cheap, so I bought one and will write about it when it arrives.

In New Zealand, the hobbits have them

I was just catching up on your Psycho Sciences (write more!), and read in the one about passive smoking that "very few [Australian] houses have basements", versus houses here in the USA, where we usually do have basements which, as you say, serve as convenient radon-accumulators for householders in need of a higher cancer risk.

Why is this? Is Big Radon Detector Business conspiring with architects to maintain demand?

Luz

Some of the differences in dwelling styles between countries are purely cultural, with no very logical reasons either way. Then there are obvious ones like "our houses are made of stone, 'cos there's no bloody wood for 500 miles". And then there are others that make only a very small amount of sense, like the almost complete absence of European-style heat-retaining technologies in Australian houses. This creates the peculiar situation that although a Sydney winter is not unlike a northern-European summer, Sydneysiders spend more time being cold in winter than Finns do, because Sydney houses are usually poorly heated, draughty, and often surprisingly poorly insulated too.

(This applies to Katoomba, where I live, as well. Katoomba winters are still a joke by countries-where-it-snows standards, but overnight temperatures around freezing point are still quite common in winter, as are tourists from elsewhere in Australia gazing in surprise at the ice on their car windscreens and wondering what on earth to do about it. Yet many houses here are built no differently from houses in much warmer beach towns, and their occupants suffer accordingly.)

Many house-design differences have a quite simple rational basis, though. Like, here in Australia it's easy to find houses with flat, or only gently inclined, roofs. In countries where it snows in winter, there's pretty strong selective pressure...

Carport snow collapse
(Image source: Flickr user HoundCat)

...against people who choose to live under a flat roof. Here, not so much, and a flat roof is simple and cheap to build.

The snow/no-snow roof design holds for most countries. In very hot areas, a flat-roofed house can also be built to let you sit out on the roof in the breeze of an evening.

The basements/no-basements thing has a rational basis, too, which once again holds for a large number of countries.

Digging a big hole under a house is time-consuming and expensive, and asking for trouble from water seepage. If you want that much extra space in the building, and are not living in some godforsaken wasteland that's shaved flat by tornadoes every ten years, it's faster and cheaper to just build a taller house.

Unless it gets cold enough in the winter for the ground to freeze to a significant depth, and then warm enough in the summer for it to thaw again.

If that's the case, then "frost heave" (which, coincidentally, is yet another thing Matthias Wandel has had to deal with) will slowly push anything sitting in the freezing and thawing earth up into the air.

Frost heave makes shallow house foundations a terrible idea. So you have to dig a hole to put the foundations in, and you might as well make that hole into a basement while you're at it.

Some basement-equipped houses are built in places where frost heave never happens, for the abovementioned cultural reasons. But you generally find them in cold-winter locations.

In Australia, you usually have to build to minimise the effects of heat, not cold. This has given rise to the famous underground houses of Coober Pedy, and the much more common "Queenslander" house style...

Queenslander house
(Image source: Flickr user Crazy House Capers)

...where the house proper sits as much as a whole extra storey high on "stumps", to catch the breeze and keep Queensland's trillion species of house- and/or human-eating arthropods that much further away.


Psycho Science is a regular feature here. Ask me your science questions, and I'll answer them. Probably.

And then commenters will, I hope, correct at least the most obvious flaws in my answer.

Duelling flashlights

As a postscript to my post about fluorescence, here are red, green and blue Ultrafire 501Bs attempting to create white:

RGB flashlights

They actually do a decent job of it if you just hold them together in a bunch, or hold one in each hand and one in your mouth so you can aim the light all into one pool, like the old EternaLight Rave'n:

EternaLight Rave'n combined beam

Any one of the coloured Ultrafires makes a decent flashlight all by itself. Red if you're feeling sexy, ominous or both, green for maximum visibility, blue for a particularly unearthly look, including that unexpected fluorescence. I really do highly recommend them. Why use a boring white flashlight when you can have something fun instead?

(They also partner well with my...

Bullseye flashlight

...elderly "bullseye" flashlight. It's excellent for seeing where you're about to step at night with dark-adapted eyes; the much narrower and far brighter beams of the Ultrafire lights are great for seeing things further away.)

Coloured flashlights are completely unsuitable for some tasks, like reading maps; shine a red light on a multi-coloured map and any markings with no red in 'em will look black. For everyday flashlight tasks, though, why not do it the sci-fi B-movie way?

You can get these lights on eBay for $US9.99 delivered for just a lamp to put into any Ultrafire-or-other-branded SureFire clone, or for less than $US15 delivered for a whole flashlight with coloured lamp. As I said in the fluorescence post, a red, a green and a blue Ultrafire 501B, plus three 18650 lithium cells to power them and a charger, will only cost you about $US50 delivered, for the lot. Pretend you're getting them to educate your kids about additive and subtractive colour, if it helps.

Now I'm going to have to get an infrared and an ultraviolet one, too. Infrared Ultrafires sell for $US20 to $US30 delivered, and their beam will be clearly visible to any digital camera that doesn't have a good IR-cut filter in front of the sensor.

Actually, even cameras that do have such a sensor can see near-IR...

IR photo

...but only with a long exposure that'll blur moving subjects:

Millie the cat in near IR

You could cut the exposure time down quite a lot by lighting a small target with a high-powered IR LED flashlight like this, or using a dedicated IR flash (expensive) or a filter on a conventional flash. But you probably still won't be able to use a properly fast motion-stopping shutter speed unless you've got a camera with no IR filter, or make one yourself. (Or pay someone else to make one for you, complete with tweaking the autofocus so it works properly in the new waveband, but that's cheating.)

Ultraviolet Ultrafire flashlights cost little more than the visible-light ones, but the cheap UV models are barely UV at all. They emit a purple light with a wavelength up around 400 nanometres; this excites fluorescence in various objects quite well...

Near-UV LED flashlight making Easter eggs glow
(Image source: Flickr user davecobb)

...but is clearly visible to the naked eye.

"True" UV LEDs exist too; they have an output wavelength of 370 nanometres or less. (I reviewed a Photon key-ring 370nm light years ago, here.) 370nm light is still visible to the naked eye, but is now a faint white (it's not a great idea to stare down the barrel of a bright near-UV LED flashlight, by the way). As the wavelength gets shorter, the visibility of the light from the LED itself, as opposed to whatever fluorescence it excites in other objects, fades away.

Searching for Ultrafire lights with "nm" in the listing currently turns up an alleged 365nm flashlight for $US19.96 delivered.

Buy one, before someone in government discovers that staring into the beam for minutes on end can damage your eyes, and bans them!

The Experimental-Archaeology Exercise Program

The trireme Olympias

The trireme was the mainstay of ancient European navies.

The only weapons a trireme had were a ram on the front, and a collection of marines standing around waiting to board other vessels. So the ship had to be fast and manoeuvrable enough to aim at, catch up with, and with any luck ram, enemy vessels. The result of these requirements was a narrow, light and fast ship, powered by simple square sails when possible, and by well over a hundred oarsmen (employed, not enslaved) the rest of the time.

A trireme's top speed was only about nine knots (more than ten miles per hour, almost 17 km/h). Maybe a little more with adrenaline-powered rowers (you did not want to be on the losing side of an ancient naval battle...) and a literal following wind. But that was not a bad speed at all for a warship through the whole of the Age of Sail. Small sail-powered warships and armed merchantmen could average better than ten knots when the winds were good - the best of the late-Sail-Age clipper ships were renowned for being able to sustain more than twenty knots. But ten knots was the ceiling for most warships, definitely including the mighty First-Rate ships of the line epitomised by HMS Victory. Those ships could have sailed like lightning when the wind was strong if their sails, ropes and masts were indestructible, but they weren't, so one way or another, ten knots was the screaming maximum.

So if you took away Victory's gunpowder, then no matter how the wind was blowing, she wouldn't be able to catch a trireme except via a sort of persistence hunting, waiting for the oarsmen to run out of energy.

Since triremes were built more than two thousand years before Victory, I think that's not a bad achievement.

(It's neither here nor there, but I actually much prefer Warrior to Victory. Warrior has always struck me as being the Enterprise-C of real-world warships.)

There were larger galleys than triremes, with even more ranks of rowers. At the top end of the ancient-warship size chart are various legendary vessels that may or may not ever actually have existed, but "quadremes" and "quinqueremes" definitely did exist, in considerable numbers.

The bigger they were, though, the slower they were. Without faster vessels like triremes (which sometimes towed or pushed larger, slower galleys), the giant galleys could only force combat upon similarly slow vessels.

Exactly how triremes worked and what they could do, though, is uncertain. None survive, and neither do any operating manuals.

The trireme Olympias
(Image source: Flickr user Pensive glance)

So some experimental archaeologists made a new one, the Olympias.

The trireme Olympias, stern
(Image source: Flickr user John S Y Lee)

The Olympias has a full complement of 170 oars-people; for its sea-trials in 1990 it was rowed by a mix of male and female volunteers:

(The Olympias also carried the Olympic flame across Piraeus harbour for the 2004 Athens Olympics, and might have done something similar for the London Olympics, but those plans were scrapped. It also apparently featured prominently in an episode of Inspector Morse, of all things.)

People have, of course, made remote-controlled model galleys...

...and related vessels...

...some rather impressive...

...and these ones...

...even manage two ranks of oars:

I would pay ten dollars to see one of those ram and sink an R/C Warship Combat ship.

(This would be easy, because the Warship Combat ships are deliberately made with thin balsa over much of the hull, so they can sink each other with little, or not-so-little, CO2 cannons; a normal R/C boat is essentially invulnerable to these weapons. It would also be fun to see an R/C galley wound up to maximum possible speed, zillions of oars flailing away madly at the water.)