It’s January, the season of New Year’s resolutions.
One of mine is to spend more time in the truck.
I love my truck, but in the dead of winter, I have to force myself to drive it. It’s not as good on slippery roads as the old Suburu; it guzzles fuel; and worst of all, if I’m driving the truck, chances are I’m doing a chore that involves — pardon my French — freezing my buns off.
Sometimes, especially in the quiet time after the holidays, several weeks will go by between outings in the truck. I’ll put off hauling trash or a load of firewood as long as I can, but the time will come to face the music. I’ll sneak into the cab like a guilty husband, slip the key in the ignition, step on the clutch, and say a little prayer.
The engine will give a half-hearted groan, followed by a tell-tale rapid click like chattering teeth, which I suppose is the truck’s way of saying, “Leave me alone. I’m cold!”
(Actually, it’s the sound of the starter solenoid engaging the starter motor but failing to deliver enough power to turn over the engine.)
The culprit? A heavy, dirty, dangerous antique under the hood called the “lead-acid battery.”
And I do mean “antique.” I was amazed to learn, in the obsessive research that followed the latest in a long line of cold-start failures, that the battery in my truck is quite similar to the lead-acid cell invented in 1859 by a French physicist named Gaston Plante.
Shockingly similar, in fact. To the degree that if I were somehow able to travel back to 1860 with my Toyota Tacoma and show Monsieur Plante the futuristic marvel of the horseless carriage, he’d no doubt level a finger at my primitive Sears DieHard and say, “Eez zat my battery? Are you kidding me? Zat’s really zee best you can do, Future-man?”
In 1860, Plante’s lead-acid cell was a futuristic wonder: a battery that could be recharged by applying electricity. Up to that point, batteries were more or less disposable. You assembled them; they yielded voltage until their internal ingredients were exhausted; then you threw them away.
That’s still how we use most batteries today. The Ds, AAs and AAAs in our flashlights, toothbrushes, and TV remotes are disposable cells, not so different from the very first voltaic pile assembled in 1800 by Alessandro Volta. These days, Duracells and the like are filled with electrolytic paste instead of liquid acid, but they’re nevertheless a one-way ride from “fully charged” to “totally dead.” In the world of batteries, these are called “primary” cells.
The lead-acid battery, on the other hand, is a “secondary” cell, one in which the chemical reaction that yields the voltage can be reversed by applying electricity. My Tacoma does this by way of an alternator, which provides the battery with a trickle charge whenever the engine is running.
Of course, when the poor thing is just sitting out in the cold, lonely and neglected, instead of being used for winter chores, there’s no trickle charge. Which leads, inevitably, to Toyota interruptus.
Starting our cars with a battery whose design pre-dates the Civil War may seem crazy, but the modern lead-acid cell, like most automobile components, is a compromise between efficiency and cost. Mr. Plante’s battery, which is made of thin sheets of lead submerged in acid, is quite heavy and not terribly durable, but it’s cheap to produce and capable of generating an amazing surge of current, which is precisely what a starter motor needs to turn over a cold engine.
The average car battery can last anywhere from three to five years, depending on variables like weather, how long your trips tend to be — and how faithfully you perform your winter chores. It would certainly be possible to engineer a battery that lasts as long as an engine, but today’s car batteries are textbook illustrations of “planned obsolescence.” In other words, there’s a lot of profit in making them disposable!
Speaking of which, the lead-acid cell is not designed to be thrown away like household trash. Lead and sulfuric acid do not belong in the landfill, or even buried on your property.
It’s pretty easy to trade in an old battery. Stores that sell new ones are required by law to take your old one. There are loopholes in the law, so it’s best to call ahead and make sure you’ll be able to leave your old battery at the store.
Which reminds me: I’ve got an old mower battery I need to get rid of.
I know!
I’ll take the truck.
This column was published in the Perry Co Times on 05 January 2012
For more information, please contact Mr. Olshan at writing@matthewolshan.com
