As a fast typist, I often wish my thoughts
could move as rapidly as my fingers.
Yet staring down at the keys, fingertips poised for the next idea, I
know that my speed is in spite of the design the board, not because of it. I have had so much practice that I am
able to overcome the bizarre QWERTY layout, as all typists must.
This is a problem of legacy.
In families it can be desirable; in designs
it can be stifling. Design legacy
refers to factors in the process of making a thing that come from historical
precedent, the decisions of the sometimes dim past. These can be beneficial and make sense when the design has
the proper fit from the start. The
shape and structure of the violin, for example, has not changed that much since
its consolidation in the 16th century. But sometimes the legacy is simply an artifact of the story,
a remnant that made sense once but now lingers on as a vague limitation. The QWERTY keyboard is a good example
of this. Perhaps this layout
separated the keys in a way that would avoid mechanical chaos back when the
device used levers, but it is now simply a relic that we live with.
Our design choices are often determined by a
history that may or may not be clear to us or even make sense, a history that
sets the parameters of our vision, whether we are aware of it or not. Consider, for example, the fact that the
distance between the rails of all trains in the United States is precisely four
feet eight and one half inches.
This is called the Standard Railroad Gauge and any industrial designer
who was not familiar with it would be asking for train trouble. It is an odd fact but an unavoidable
rule.
Where on earth did they come up with such a specific
measurement?
The easy answer is that US trains were built
based on English trains because our railroads were designed by English
expatriates and that was the width used in England. But then why did the Brits use that number?
The answer to that question is that the first
rail lines in England were built by the same
people who built the pre-railroad tramways and that is the precise gauge
those folks used as well. And why was that gauge width used for the
tramways? Because the people who
built the tramways used the same equipment, tools, and measuring devices used
for building the wagons that came before the tramways. And – you guessed it – the wagon wheel
spacing was based on that precise width.
The next step backwards should be obvious by
now. The wagon builders relied on
the spacing of the well-worn ruts of the old roads in England at the time; any
other wheel spacing would have damaged the wagons. Which inevitably brings us to
why those old ruts came to be four feet eight and one half inches wide.
Imperial Rome built the first long distance
roads in Europe and England for their great marching armies. The ruts were formed by the Roman war
chariots and any other vehicles, then and since, had to match the ruts or risk
destroying their own wheels. All
Roman chariots, naturally, had the same standard wheel spacing of four feet and
eight and a half inches.
Which leaves one final unavoidable question about the
width of those original chariots and the reason the measurement ever came about
in the very first place.
The answer?
Chariots were built with that wheel width
because that exact measurement was just wide enough to accommodate the rear
ends of two standard Roman warhorses.
So there is no other way to say it. A basic decision that has influenced
all train design for the past two millennia comes down to a horse’s ass.
I wonder how many other decisions do too.
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