Maker Faire safety officer Joseph Pred talking to Star Wheel creator Paul daPlumber about any safety issues that might come up with the bicycle-technology-powered carnival ride.
(Credit: Daniel Terdiman/CNET Networks)AUSTIN, TEXAS--Joseph Pred is carefully eyeing the giant rolling ferris-wheel-like carnival ride as it begins to head down the first hill it has encountered since being built three years ago.
Known as the Star Wheel, the bicycle-technology-powered ride is glorious fun. But since it carries three pedaling people in its interior, Pred is very interested in making sure that the Star Wheel's creators are in control of it as it starts to head down the hill.
Pred is the safety officer for Maker Faire, the weekend-long celebration of do-it-yourself culture that's wrapping up here today. He's in charge of making sure that the million moving parts that make up such an event don't result in things going wrong and people getting hurt, or that at least if someone does get injured, it's not because of negligence on the part of the organizers or the exhibitors.
And right now, his focus is entirely on the Star Wheel and its initial encounter with degrees of incline.
"They're testing it because they've never done it on a grade," says Pred as he watches the wheel's progress. "They're testing the tolerances. My job is to observe and help them figure it out and give them a nudge. And they're doing a good job."
I've come here to Austin to report not just on Maker Faire--as I've done before--but also to write about what goes on behind the scenes. So talking to someone like Pred, who is invisible but crucial to the countless artists and attendees at an event like this, seemed natural.
This role is no stretch for Pred: He's played the same role at both of the previous Maker Faires, in San Mateo, Calif., in May 2006 and May 2007. And though he's based in the San Francisco Bay Area, the show's organizers have hired him to come to the Texas capital with them because he offers an irreplaceable combination of technical skill, long-term relationships with many of the people who are exhibiting, and an understanding of how to interface with government agencies like the sheriff and the fire department.
But as much as you might think that the safety officer's job would be filled with tales of gory incidents and exciting adventures, Pred says the reverse is actually the reality.
"My job is basically to make things not happen," Pred, who runs the Bay Area company, Mutual Aid Response Services (MARS), says. "A lot of the work is involved with pre-planning, being proactive, reviewing safety plans, and making sure that the artists and the (exhibitors) just have common sense....But the makers are, by and large, responsible for the safety of their projects, and to be fair, the makers are generally experts at what they're doing already, so it's not a big stretch."
One reason he knows this is that he has worked with or known many of the artists for years, either through previous Maker Faires, or through Burning Man--for which he works part-time by running emergency services--and other events. And that experience with many of the people involved in putting on Maker Faire here breeds the kind of familiarity necessary to break down the communications barriers that might otherwise arise when trying to instruct artists on safety issues.
"It's about relationships...(being able to) walk up to someone and address them by their first name," said Pred, who, incidentally, has been a friend of mine for some time.
Besides his knowledge of the people and of the art projects here, Pred explains that having someone whose job is specifically to seek out safety concerns is crucial to the success of an event like Maker Faire.
"I'm that safety net for both the makers and the organizers," he says. They're "focused on production and their projects, and they can get tunnel vision, and so having somebody (like me), this is a standard position in a lot of organizations, having someone focused on safety, so preventative measures can be taken before something happens."
Part of the job of the safety officer is to work alongside agencies like the fire department in setting up expectations of safety on the part of the artists. Once that position is established and respected, and the community has those expectations, they can become self-enforcing, and the job of Pred, or someone else like him, becomes supportive.
Still, there are real practical considerations.
"We review all the general descriptions of the makers (and their projects), and we highlight those that involve known hazards," Pred explains. "It could be something as simple as a glue gun or soldering iron. Maybe there's a small but known threat to someone who doesn't know how to safely handle one....It starts a dialog, really. And that dialog is just intended to show that we understand their project, and they understand our expectations. The goal is to enable them to do their projects to share their delight and passion for what they do."
One of the things that Pred feels he offers organizers of events like Maker Faire, and the participating artists, is a different approach than what many are used to. That's important when you're talking about artists who are used to working within their own constraints and guidelines and for whom any rigid law-enforcement rules would be anathema to doing their art.
"I think a traditional approach to safety has been very much a 'no, you can't do that' sort of approach. It's very conservative and not in any way permissive. But with a community like this, it's more like, 'yes, you can do that, and let's figure out how to do that safely.'" said Pred. "The primary difference is that authorities generally are more concerned about a code of regulations...that doesn't account for community or the values that a community is looking to share."
As a result, one of Pred's core contributions to everyone involved in putting on Maker Faire is what he terms as "translation."
"I'm the liaison to all the agencies we might deal with, to free the production staff to deal with the production, and I can speak to the agencies' mindset," Pred says. "And surprisingly, that's a very difficult translation for the different parties to make with each other. Agencies tend not to understand the communities, and the communities don't always understand the authorities, because it's different languages."
AUSTIN, Texas--I'm high in the air, aboard a carnival ride cum Burning Man art piece cum bicycle-tech-powered people mover known as the Star Wheel.
It's hard to describe this: It's a giant wheel, maybe 20 feet high that has three seats built into the middle of it--independent of the outer frame--that are geared to spin around when their occupants pedal like crazy. As they pedal, the wheel moves slowly forward while those inside whoop and scream their way through rapid 360 degree rotations.
Paul daPlumber and his Star Wheel crew work on their bicycle-tech-powered carnival ride at the Travis County fairgrounds in Austin, Texas, in preparation for the Maker Faire.
(Credit: Daniel Terdiman/CNET Networks)It's quite the experience. I had first seen this at Burning Man 2004, and then again the following year. I had always wanted to ride it because of its particularly silly blend of carnival attraction and obvious genius engineering. But I'd never gotten the chance.
So when I arrived Thursday at the Travis County fairgrounds--where Maker Faire Austin is taking place this weekend--to report on the preparations for the event, I was very pleased to see the Star Wheel being assembled.
At first, I just stood by and shot photographs as the project's crew put the finishing touches on it. They were working slowly and methodically, their progress slowed only by occasional lewd banter.
Finally, they were ready to try it out.
"I think that's it," the project's leader, Paul daPlumber, shouted out. "We're ready. Let's roll it over."
Rolling the Star Wheel anywhere is not the easiest of tasks. It requires several people to push it and turn it, and it's slow going. But the crew wanted to test it out in advance of letting hundreds of people ride it this weekend.
So, the team jumped on and started pushing and rolling it across the grounds. Six of them turned it 90 degrees so it was pointed in the right direction--aimed at the inside of the livestock building they were working just outside of--and they're talking about getting the first riders on it.
I really wanted to be in the first group, so I volunteered. But sadly, they already had three folks lined up. Swallowing my disappointment, I followed them into the building, snapping photos, taking notes and watching.
As the Star Wheel moved forward, they realized it was on a path to collide with something, so they stopped and redirected it a few feet. After that, the three guys riding it started whooping and screaming, especially as they neared full upside-down turns.
One of the people watching this was Maker Faire safety officer Joseph Pred--stay tuned for a story on his role here later. I asked him what he thought about the test.
"They're testing it because they've never done it on a grade," Pred said. The Black Rock desert in Nevada, where Burning Man is held is flat, so "they're testing the tolerances. My job is to observe and help them figure it out, and give them a nudge. And they're doing a good job."
Just about then, they did indeed begin to take the Star Wheel down the slight incline. It was slight, so it wasn't too much extra work, but it was the first time they'd ever done it, and the tension rose.
Just about then, the crew stopped the Star Wheel and decided to get some new riders. I eagerly volunteered, and next thing you know, I'm sitting in one of the seats, belted in like crazy and holding onto the "Oh f--- bars" that are designed to keep riders from falling out of their seats.
The wheel begins to move and I begin to pedal and it's crazy fun. But also crazy scary. My knuckles are white as I grab hold of those bars with all my life, knowing that at any moment, the whole thing could fall apart and I could fall to my death.
The Star Wheel emerges from a livestock building at the Travis County fairgrounds with three riders having the time of their life.
(Credit: Daniel Terdiman/CNET News.com)But it doesn't fall, and we roll forward slowly, the three of us riders spinning around on a vertical axis in glee, baking in the Texas sun and loving every moment of it.
I decide that if I die, well, at least I was having fun when it happened.
The thing is, though, these guys know what they're doing. The Star Wheel is very well engineered, with many redundant failure points, so as I ride, I become more and more confident that the bolts won't shear off and I won't get crushed.
That confidence allows me to enjoy it more.
Finally, I get off and pull daPlumber aside for a quick chat about the project.
He tells me that he and his crew of six drove the wheel from San Francisco on a trailer behind a pickup. It then took a day-and-a-half to put together, the most time-consuming part of it being the painting it needed to look shiny and colorful again after much of it had been stored in the Nevada desert for the last couple of years.
"It's just a lot of labor," said daPlumber. "There are 300 nuts and bolts, so it's a lot of nutting and bolting."
He added that while this is the first time he's brought the Star Wheel anywhere other than Burning Man, he has fantasies of taking it to parades and possibly even to Mardi Gras in New Orleans in February.
For daPlumber, the best thing about the Star Wheel is watching people have fun riding it and directing it.
"It's just great, it's very spiritual and visceral and real," he said.
Finally, I say goodbye and begin to walk off. And just as I'm doing so, I hear daPlumber say one last thing.
"Thanks for flying," he said. "We know you have a choice in bicycle carnival rides, and we'd like to thank you."
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