Post #2112: Oh, the price of gold is rising out of sight

 

Oh the price of gold is rising out of sight
And the dollar is in sorry shape tonight
What the dollar used to get us now won’t buy a head of lettuce
No the economic forecast isn’t right
But amidst the clouds I spot a shining ray
I can even glimpse a new and better way
And I’ve devised a plan of action worked it down to the last fraction
And I’m going into action here today.

From:  I’m changing my name to Chrysler, by Arlo Guthrie.


Gold blew through $3100 an ounce this morning.

When the stock market is making new highs, everybody steps up to take credit for it.

But gold?  Nope. Nobody ever takes credit for a rising price of gold.  Given the cheapness and ubiquity of public lies these days, you’d think some prominent braggart would try.  But nobody ever tries to own a rise in the price of gold.   That’s because a rapidly rising price of gold is never good news.  And peaks in the price of gold tend to occur when the 💩 is in the process of hitting the 🚁.

What caught my eye about $3100 is that this has to be getting close to setting a new record for the price of gold in real (inflation-adjusted) terms.

If I take the prior price peaks (red arrows I added to the chart above) and use the BLS inflation calculator to express them in 2025 dollars, I find that we’re now just 14% below the all-time high price of gold in real (inflation-adjusted) terms.

So, when Guthrie wrote about the rising price of gold, in the context of the 1979 bail-out of Chrysler, following two Arab oil embargoes, the resulting energy crises, two long, deep U.S. recessions, and the near-destruction of the U.S. auto industry with its lack of energy-efficient cars, in a context of persistent double-digit rates of inflation … the price of gold, in real terms, was somewhat higher than it is today.

I’m trying to take some comfort in that.  Either things aren’t as bad now, as they were then.  Or they aren’t as bad, yet.

Either way: Eat, drink and be merry.

My most recent prior post on this topic was from half a year ago:

Post #2017: The price of gold is up. That’s never good.

Post #2111: Of arctic ice and rosemary.

 

You can fool all the people some of the time, and some of the people all of the time, but you cannot fool all the people all the time.

This saying is attributed to Abraham Lincoln.

This post is just a reminder that, in addition, you cannot fool the laws of physics any of the time.


Stuff’s melting.  Is anyone surprised?  Is anybody paying attention?

The full article is on the National Snow and Ice Data Center website:

https://nsidc.org/sea-ice-today/analyses/arctic-sea-ice-sets-record-low-maximum-2025

I don’t normally repeat the news, but I only just stumbled across the fact that Arctic sea ice hit a new low this year.  It peaks right about this time every year, and this year’s peak extent is the lowest in the roughly 50-year record.

No surprise, given the underlying trend.  The north polar ice cap has been shrinking slowly for about as long as there has been a satellite record of it.

The loss of reflective polar sea ice is an important positive feedback serving to accelerate the pace of global warming/climate change.  It lowers Earth’s albedo.  Dark open ocean absorbs more light energy than reflective white ice does.

If you don’t quite grasp why anyone should care about climate change, focus on a large net loss of arable North American land over the next century, as the climate changes.  Less food.  But with a growing world population.  And while that’s happening here, that’ll be happening across the world, as the (soil of the) the continental interiors warms and dries in response to climate change.

People also lose track of how long additional C02 emissions affect the climate.  The stuff coming out of your tailpipe will still be warming the earth centuries to millenia from now.

People forget about the two or three decade time lag in the global warming “pipeline”, due to the mass of the earth, relative to the small top-of-the-atmosphere energy imbalance.  Even if a miracle were to happen today, and atmospheric C02 were to stabilize, we’ve got three decades of warming “in the pipeline” as the earth’s surface temperate slowly adjusts to the energy imbalance that today’s level of C02 is creating.  That temperature increase is now nature restores the planet’s top-of-atmosphere energy balance.

And people forget how long energy-using devices last.  The majority of today’s new cars will still be on the road 15 years from now.  A new furnace?  Maybe 20 years.  A new house?  Maybe a century.  And for that entire century, a new house with natural gas heat will be pumping out tons of C02 per year.  Year in, year out.

Did the Biden Administration push the electrification of transport?  Sure did.  That’s because a world in which we drive gas vehicles, as we do now, but that still looks like our current world, is a pipe dream.  It’s not a feasible outcome.  The only way to hold onto a world whose climate is as benign as the climate in which civilization has flourished is to halt the buildup of C02 in the atmosphere.  Did the Biden administration push for more electrical transport than we seem to need right now?  Sure did.  Because “right now” isn’t the right time frame.  Twenty years down the road, as today’s new cars are finally heading off to the scrap yard  — twenty years of global warming in the future — look back and see how that modest push toward electrification looks then.


Global warming in your back yard:  The northward migration of the USDA plant hardiness zones.

Source:  Maps are from USDA.  I added the line marking the boundary between hardiness zones 5 and 6.

Maybe the easiest way to see climate change happening in your lifetime is to pay attention the good old USDA plant hardiness zones.  Every home gardener is at least passingly familiar with these, because these are a guide to what will and won’t overwinter in your climate.   The zones represent 10-degree-F increments in the coldest likely wintertime temperature, and are simply based on the coldest observed temperature in an area over the previous 30 years of weather data.  They get split into -a and -b halves, based on a 5F difference in coldest expected temperature.

In Zone 7b, for example, I should expect temperatures to go no lower than 5F.  This past winter it hit 5F here, and that killed a rosemary bush that I’d been growing for the better part of a decade.  Rosemary, I now find, is only hardy to USDA Zone 8.  Which I have now proven the hard way.

Turns out, these every-day use USDA plant hardiness zones are extremely sensitive to global warming.  I think that’s because they reflect the coldest wintertime temperature you should expect in an area.  That coldest temperature will occur in winter, at night.  And global warming has its strongest effects at night, and in winter.

So, even though global warming has done almost nothing to the U.S. so far, and certainly not much in terms of average US land temperature, the impact on minimum annual temperature — what determines the USDA hardiness zones — has been large enough to be easily visible.

On the maps above, the Zone 6 boundary moved north about 200 miles, in 33 years.  That’s ballpark for all of the zones, on average, over this period, but the movement north is fastest in the center of the continent, away from the coasts.

In Northern Virginia, over the same period, Vienna moved from just inside Zone 6, to just inside Zone 7.  Or, rather, the zones slide far enough north over three decades to kick Vienna from Zone 6 to Zone 7.

Same phenomenon.

But 6 miles a year is 600 miles a century.  Project that out, and a century from now, Iowa ends up with the climate that west Texas has now.  Just from that slow, 6-miles-a-year, northward migration of the climate zones under global warming.

Without too much exaggeration, let this continue, and today’s children will get to see the sagebrush desert of the U.S. Southwest take over the U.S. Midwest Let it go two centuries, and the current climate of Mexico will stretch all the way to the Canadian border.

With everything you think that would imply for U.S. food production.  Amber waves of grain?  That’ll be just another obsolete concept.

Merely from allowing the current observed rate of change to go unchecked.

As a society, we seem to have become too stupid to survive.


Conclusion

If civilization survives, the Republican Party’s head-in-the-sand policy toward climate change will go down as the stupidest, most costly, and most damaging thing ever done by a political party.  Wars included.

Except possibly for encouraging increased use of fossil fuels.  That would be even stupider than doing nothing, at this time.  But that also seems to be firmly embedded in the Republican agenda.

I can only hope that they are as effective at that as they were at helping U.S. coal miners.  The promise to do that being central to Trump’s prior win.

Source:  Federal Reserve Bank of St. Louis.

On global warming, I’ll have to listen to the Republican party parroting Russian disinformation for the rest of my life.  Fact-free spin and bullshit seems to be their preferred fuel these days.

But I will die with the certain knowledge that if civilization survives, the stupidity of encouraging faster global warming will be universally recognized.  By whatever portion of the population manages to survive the mass die-offs that will result from a world-wide reduction in arable land.

(As an afterthought, will the Arctic save us?  No.  Only if you live on a Mercator Projection.  And only if you think you can grow crops without topsoil, as most the last ice age scraped most of Arctic North America down to bedrock, and deposited that topsoil in the U.S. Midwest.  (See Canadian Shield).  Some fraction of the population will likely survive there under even the most extreme warming scenarios.  But most citizens of the U.S., and the world, will have starved long before there’s any Arctic dividend to share.)

Post #2102: How high is that helicopter? Part 1.

 

Is there an easy way to determine the altitude of a low-flying aircraft?

After looking over my options, I’m going to try an antique optical rangefinder.

I bought it on Ebay.  I’m currently waiting for it to arrive.


Background

I was awakened last night by yet another low-flying helicopter, here in the DC ‘burbs.

The noise from these ranges from merely obtrusive, to loud enough to rattle the windows.  Below is a recording of one of the several that passed overhead today, taken from my back porch.  It doesn’t quite stop conversation, but you do have to raise your voice a bit.

This is normal for the DC area.  There are a lot of military and other government high officials stationed in this area.  These folks tend to get shuffled from place to place via helicopter.  Unfortunately, one of the well-used north-south routes passes directly over the Town of Vienna.


Is it really that loud, or is flying low?

In theory, nothing should be flying below 1000′, in my area.

But in the past, that has been an issue.  I recall that, many years ago, some Vienna Town Council members complained to various authorities about noise from low-flying aircraft, and got the “minimum 1000′ for the TOV” as part of the answer.

This got me thinking about measuring a passing helicopter’s height.

(Luckily, I am hardly the first person to have had an interest in this.  Luckily, I say in hindsight, because that way, my Google inquiries would not attract undue attention from the authorities.)

Turns out, there is no good way for an amateur on the ground to measure the height of an over-flying helicopter.  At least, none that I’ve come across.

But seriously, how hard can this be.

If nothing else, think of it as a way to rule out bad pilot behavior (low flight altitude) as an explanation for a loud helicopter fly-over.  (With the obvious alternative explanation being “that was a loud helicopter”.   Which, given that these may be military aircraft, is always a possibility.)

So, are those overflights loud because they are loud aircraft, or are they loud because they’re flying well below 1000 feet?


Optical rangefinders that won’t work

First, there are “laser rangefinders”, not intrinsically different from a laser tape measure, just more oomph and maybe some specialized optics.  But first, I ain’t pointin’ no laser at no aircraft, period.  Let alone a low-flying (likely military) helicopter.  Plus, the ones available for civilian use (e.g., laser tape measure, laser golf or boating rangefinder, rangefinders for hunting big game) probably won’t work for this use anyway, owing to the small visible target.   I get the impression these laser rangefinders (e.g., for golfers) can find the range to a hillside or location on an open lawn, but they aren’t designed to find something as optically small as a helicopter flying at 1000′.

I’m also brushing aside all the military “passive-optical” (coincidence and stereoscopic) rangefinders.   These are WWII-era and earlier tech with mirrors, prisms, and such.  If nothing else, aside from having to own one (they tend to be big, to get you the best separation of the two lenses), you’d have to have the forethought to have it handy, and set up, just as the helicopter was flying by.  Plus, those are all expensive military collectibles now.

 


A vintage civilian non-laser coincidence rangefinder, via Ebay

 

Source:  Ebay.

I can vaguely recall hand-held purely optical rangefinders, from the pre-laser era.  These are the vastly smaller, and likely less accurate, analogs of military coincidence rangefinders.  But they worked the same way, using two widely-separated lenses, then measuring how much you need to move the image from one eyepiece, until it coincides with the image from the other.

I bought one on Ebay.  Above, you see a RangeMatic 1000.

This allows you to measure distances to 1000 yards, with some modest degree of accuracy.  It looks like it should be more than adequate to allow me to identify helicopters flying at 500 feet, rather than at 1000 feet.  It looks like the difference between 150 yards and 300 yards is about an eighth of a turn of the dial.

This, if it works, will give me the line-of-sight distance to the helicopter.  That only tells me the height of the helicopter if it flies directly overhead.  I’m going to need to add some sort of mounting and an inclinometer.  The line-of-sight distance, plus the angle of elevation above the horizon, should allow me to infer the height of the helicopter over ground.  (In fact, that’s easy enough that I don’t even have to look it up.  Height above ground is the sine of the angle of elevation, times the straight-line distance to the object.

Thus ends this task, until my Ebay’ed optical rangefinder shows up in the mail a few days from now.


Estimating overflight height by apparent size.

The very crudest golfing range finders work by using the height of the pin (the stick-with-flag that marks the hole).  These pins are a standard size, and the simplest golf rangefinders simply place the apparent size of the pin on a scale — the smaller it is, the further you are away from it.

Other purely optical methods seem chancy.  In theory, if I could identify the model of helicopter, I could infer distance by measuring how how big the over-flying helicopter appears.

This is more work than I care do do.

Can I determine the height of a passing helicopter, purely from its sound?

Source:  Reference BBC.  Photo by Joe Pettet-Smith

First, an interesting historical side-note.  Listening for approaching aircraft is not a new idea.   As I understand it (likely from seeing it on YouTube), in parts of Great Britain, big, cast concrete parabolic sound reflectors still stand along the coastline.  These concentrate (and effectively, amplify) incoming sound waves.  These were used to detect the sound of incoming aircraft while they were still miles offshore, prior to the implementation of radar during WWII.  Reference BBC

This is one of those weird things that is clearly possible, from first principles.  Maybe not even terribly difficult, as a one-off proof of concept.  But for which you can buy no ready-made unit.

Sound travels about one foot per millisecond.  Two microphones, 100′ apart, would therefor experience about a 100-millisecond (or one-tenth-second) difference in when they “heard” a sound at ground level.

For this approach, I’d use some microphones, some recording gear, and the speed of sound, to triangulate where a near-surface sound is coming from, based on when (precisely) that sound shows up, at microphones placed at known locations perhaps 100′ apart.

The theory is easy:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Acoustic_location

Start with the concept of a gunfire locator or gunshot locator.  These (typically) use a widely-distributed set of microphones to detect and locate gunshots.  Once a gunshot is detected, these use “standard triangulation methods” to estimate the direct and distance to the gunshot.

(There are crowdsourced versions of these:  https://github.com/apispoint/soter, but that seems limited to categorizing a noise as a gunshot, not pinning down the location.)

Substitute helicopter noise for gunshot, and do the math in 3-D instead of assuming location on the ground, and that’s what I’m after.  Something that will give me a fairly precise location of a helicopter flying overhead.  From the noise of it alone.  So that I may then calculate the height above ground, from that location.

In two dimensions, you only need two microphones — think, two ears — to identify the direction that a sound is coming from.  Per Wikipedia, that’s all about the lag between the time the sound hits one ear, versus the other.  To quote:

Where:

  • is the time difference in seconds,
  • is the distance between the two sensors (ears) in meters,
  • is the angle between the baseline of the sensors (ears) and the incident sound, in degrees
  • c is the speed of sound

But that only works (pins down a unique direction) if you’re working in two dimensions.  And one pair of microphones provides no clue as to distance.  Just direction.

If you work through what you do need, to pin it down in three dimensions, a minimum rig would need four microphones, arranged like the corner of a cube.  This provides a pair of microphones in each of three dimensions.  The further apart the better, as these are going to be used to estimate a helicopter height of maybe 1000′.

The rest should be math.

But this solution involves a lot of hardware, no matter how I figure it.  Four microphones or recording devices, wires to connect them to a central station, and a four-track sound recorder.

This would be a difficult and expensive solution, so I’m not going to pursue it further unless the RangeMaster 1000 fails to do the job.


Conclusion

I’ll have to wait for my antique optical rangefinder to arrive before I can bring this to a conclusion.

My belief is that a simple hand-held “antique” optical rangefinder, plus something to measure the angle of elevation, should provide all the accuracy I need to distinguish helicopters flying at or about the 1000′ ceiling, from putative “low flying” helicopters at (say) 500 feet.

My guess is that these helicopters are merely loud, not low.  But I should be able to validate that with this simple bit of equipment.

Post #2100: Measuring road salt in drinking water, a summary.

 

This might make a good science fair project for somebody, so I’m giving this topic one final, compact write-up.

If you live in an urban area that draws its drinking water from a local river,  or other nearby flowing surface water …

… and you live in a climate where they salt the roads for winter storms,

and the weather cooperates, in the form of some distinct road-cleaning rain or melt event following a winter storm,

… you can easily infer the presence of road salt, in your drinking water,

with a cheap ($6) total-dissolved-solids (TDS) meter, a water glass, and some patience.

 

In my area — where the Potomac River is the main source of drinking water — it takes about ten days from the time the rain washes the salt off the roads and parking lots, until that salt shows up in the drinking water.  YMMV.

See posts 2085, 2086, 2088, 2089, 2090, 2091, and 2092 for background.


The required background, as a series of true statements.

We use a lot of road salt in the U.S.  Google’s AI tells me we use 20 million metric tons of it a year.  The same AI tells me we have about 230 million licensed drivers.  So I make that out to be just under 200 pounds of road salt, per licensed driver, per year.

The accepted EPA threshold for “salty taste” in the drinking water is 250 parts-per-million chloride ion.  Assuming I did the math right, 200 pounds of salt (60% chloride by weight) is enough to impart a salty taste to more than 50,000 gallons of water.   Or, enough to impart a salty taste to 0.7″ of rain, on your standard suburban quarter-acre lot.

That’s all by way of saying that, “outdoors” is a big place, but that’s still a lot of salt, even when spread outdoors.  Enough salt that you ought to be able to notice it, in the environment.

The negative effects of road salt use are well-known, including corrosion (of cars, bridges, rebar in concrete …) and pollution of surface and ground waters with the salty runoff.  In particular, nothing that lives in your local fresh-water environment really likes being subjected to a salty water.

There has been a prolonged push in the U.S. to use less road salt. Seems like that started in the late 1990s in New Hampshire, where they were discovering problems with water wells that had been, in effect, poisoned by prolonged use of salt on nearby roadways.

State DOTs and others do not use salt to melt the snow off the roads.  They plow the snow off the roads.  The salt is just there to achieve “disbondment”, that is, to prevent the packed snow and ice from freezing solidly to the pavement.  So that they can plow down to bare pavement.

The desire to use less road salt led to the now-common practice of brining the road surfaces prior to snowfalls, one of a set of techniques known as “anti-icing” (as opposed to after-the-fact de-icing).  If weather conditions are right (e.g., no rain prior to the snowfall), spraying the roads with a thin layer of salt water, then allowing that to dry, achieves “disbondment” of the initial snowfall with minimum use of salt.  Brining uses roughly one-quarter of the salt that would be required to achieve the same road-clearing result, if spread as rock salt.  (Source:  Brine Fact Sheet, 2016, American Public Works Association.)

That thin layer of salt creates a weak spot in the snow/ice layer that forms on the road.  That weak layer is what creates the “disbondment” of the ice and the underlying pavement.  That “disbondment” allows the plows to scrape the snow off the road, to get down to bare pavement.  Rock salt is also there for the disbondment, it just achieves it less efficiently.

Some of the sodium in salt tends to stay local.  This is what “burns” greenery near salted areas such as sidewalks.  But the chloride in salt travels along with the runoff, plausibly (around here) in the form of calcium chloride, formed as sodium was exchanged for calcium in the soil.

A “total dissolved solids” meter measures the electrical resistance of water, and so indirectly measures the concentrations of ions in the water.  Around here, in normal times, that would be mostly calcium and carbonate ions, as that’s the main dissolved mineral contributing to our roughly 10 grains of water hardness in this area.  But ions are ions, whether they be from calcium carbonate or sodium chloride.  And so, a total dissolved solids meter will react to salt in the water, as it would to any other ions in the water.

As a result, to the extent that road salt gets into my drinking water, this should generate a predictable rise in total dissolved solids, as measured in my tap water.  Each time the salt is flushed off the roads (by rain, say), I should see a rise in TDS in my tap water, with the appropriate lag.

In Fairfax County, it takes about a week for water to work its way from the filtration plants to the furthest taps in the system.  This is known, because Fairfax flushes the system annually (switching from chloramine to chlorine during that period), and it warns citizens about the resulting change in the smell and taste of the water, annually.  And in that warning is the factoid that it takes about a week.

All you need to track TDS in your drinking water is a cheap ($6 via Amazon) total-dissolved-solids meter, and patience.  The patience is required because, with a cheap meter, you’ll only get stable results if you allow the tap water to sit long enough to come up to room temperature.  (The underlying conductivity measurement is quite temperature-sensitive, and the cheap TDS meter that I bought takes forever to adjust to the water temperature.)

If you’re worried about your meter’s reading drifting over time, keep one water sample permanently, and use it for a reference.  Re-reading the TDS in that “reference” sample will show you that your meter’s reading is stable.  (Or, at least, that’s what it showed me.)

And, voilà:

As noted, these peaks in tap water TDS are ten days after some weather event that flushed a lot of road salt into the local creeks.  (Typically, a rainy day.)

Although the timing and magnitude are right, I have not proven that this is purely the effect of salt.  Maybe TDS goes up after every rainstorm, salt or no salt?  I think that’s unlikely, but I can’t rule it out until weather conditions are right, and we have a rainy day with no remaining salt on the roads.

Conclusion

I’m pretty sure the peaks in tap-water TDS, shown above are driven by road salt being washed off the roads.  Water filtration (short of reverse-osmosis) does not remove salt (or chloride) from the water.  And, because we drink river water, not well (ground) water or water stored in large reservoirs, that salt then shows up, in short order, in the water.

All of which tells me that these peaks look about right.

I’d like to have double-checked that it is salt, by being able to taste the saltiness in the water, but the increase in TDS was not large enough to cross the commonly-accepted threshold for salty taste (250 ppm chloride ion in the water).

Ultimately, all that’s left to show is to show that such TDS peaks don’t appear, 10 days after a rainy day, when there isn’t salt on the roads.  That way I can rule out that these TDS peaks are simply related to rainstorms.  Leaving salt (moved by rainstorm) as the only plausible explanation.

Again, the beauty as a science fair experiment is that all it takes is a cheap TDS meter, a water glass, and patience.

Post #2092: Salt rising — through 2/21/2025

 

The final post in this series is:

Post #2100: Measuring road salt in drinking water, a summary.

Original post follows:

In this post, I’m documenting the progress of my road-salt-in-my-drinking-water experiment.

Recall that:

  1. We had a half-inch of rain Friday 1/31/2025 that washed away the piles of road salt that remained from an earlier winter storm.
  2. It should take about a week for water to work its way from the Potomac River to my tap, per Fairfax County.
  3. Nothing filters salt out of the water, so the salt that got washed off the roads should show up in my tap any day now.
  4. After correcting for operator error, my tap water has shown a steady 210 ppm (parts-per-million) TDS (total dissolved solids) for the entire past week.

I am pleased (?) to report that last night’s water sample clocked in at 232 ppm.  And as of 2/8/2025, it had risen to 242 ppm.

Assuming that was not a fluke, I expect that was the beginning of the salt passing through my fresh water system.  The timing is right, in any case.

I’ll be tracking this for another few days, and will continue to document the results, here in this post.

Update 2/21/2025 sample.  The next salt spike appears in the drinking water right on time,following the ~2/13/2025 runoff of the most recent road salting.

 

Between the time of the rain, and now, my tapwater’s TDS increased by about 100 parts per million, against a relatively stable baseline of about 200 ppm baseline. The peak occurred about 10 days after the salt-clearing rainstorm.

But even if that entire increase is, in fact, due to chloride ion from road salt, we still won’t taste it in the drinking water.  The 100 ppm (presumed) chloride ion concentration in the drinking water is well below the threshold (250 ppm) above which (some?  many?) people will detect a “salty” taste to the water.  The bottom line is that, so far, this should not be a generally taste-able water saltiness event.

And that’s a good thing.

In addition, it is far from proven that the uptick in TDS of my tap water is even due to road salt.  E.g., maybe this happens after every significant rain.   But I’m betting that’s the road salt.  And even if it is driven by road salt, there has to be more in the TDS increase that just chloride ions.

It doesn’t matter.  Won’t taste this amount of salt in the water, no matter how you slice it.

In summary, there was a modest increase in my tap water’s TDS.  Timing is about right for this to reflect “salt in the tap water”, from road salt runoff of 1/31/2025.  But nothing has been proven, except that, even worst case, the ion concentration is not nearly enough to give the water a salty taste.

Edit:  As of 2/13/2025, we’re midway or better (?) through the “runoff” step of a new road salt runoff cycle.  Or, if not midway, we’ll get there and beyond today, with a predicted high in the low 50s.)  And so, we should see a smaller, smearier version of this most recent drinking water salt pulse … 2/21/2025.  It’s not clear that this simple rig, or any simple rig, would reliably let you “see” a pulse that small and ill-defined.  (And that’s assuming the measured TDS number for tap water is otherwise pretty steady from day to day.) 

OTOH, it’s no hardship to keep this going.  Just KISS.  All it takes is this cheap TDS meter, a drinking glass, and patience.

Use just one glass.  Test the water twice a day.  But you need to let that cold tap water stand a good long while, if you want a reliable reading out of a slow-read $6 meter.  So, let each sample sit half a day.  Covered.  AM and PM,  you use (and rinse) the meter, dump that water sample, run the tap and replace the water sample, and set it aside, covered. Then leave it alone.  Until it’s time to do all that again.  Repeat twice a day.

It’s idiot-proof.  And sometimes that’s a good thing.

Post #2091: Blah blah blah blah salt blah blah blah. Part 3: Operator error.

 

Edit 2/7/2025:  One week since a half-inch of rain washed away the remaining salt on the roads … and no sign of salt in the water yet.  TDS (total dissolved solids) readings for properly aged (i.e., room-temperature) water samples are steady at 210 ppm, plus or minus some single digits.

 

Recall that, as of my last post, my road-salt-in-drinking-water experiment was floundering.  My tap water was showing far more variation in measured total dissolved solids (TDS) than seemed reasonable.

Turns out, that’s because a) my tap water is cold, b) temperature strongly affects the conductivity of water, c) this $6 meter measures and adjusts for temperature,

d) extremely slowly.  And e) I’m not exactly a patient person.

I didn’t wait anywhere near long enough for the meter to adjust to my tap water temperature.  And going forward, I’m not going to stand around for a quarter-hour holding this meter in a glass of water, waiting for the temperature adjustment to reach equilibrium.

The solution is simple.  I have to let the glass of tap water sit for a couple of hours, and come up to room temperature.   Then measure TDS.  Once I do that, these “well-aged” water samples all provide consistent readings for parts-per-million total dissolved solids.

Properly measured, my tap water TDS has been around 210-215 ppm TDS for the past three days.  A little higher than the 170 ppm I expected based on “10 grains of hardness” of the water.  But definitely in the ballpark.  And seemingly stable.

Hey, maybe I’m not crazy.  It does, in fact, take about a week for water to pass through the Fairfax County drinking water system.

The presence of a stable, measurable baseline is important for this experiment.

And yet, as I go day after day without an increase in TDS, I begin to wonder whether I just imagined the salty-tasting tap water of winters past.

I expect road salt runoff to produce a big upswing in my tap water TDS, Wednesday-ish of this week, best guess.  That’s based on last Friday’s half-inch of rain washing (almost) all the remaining salt off the roads.  And my vague memory that the salt taste showed up on-order-of a week after road salting.

FWIW, I finally found confirmation that it takes about a week for water to move through my local water distribution network.  When Fairfax flushes the water mains, they change disinfectant chemicals.  Depending on where you are in the system, those chemicals may take up to a week to show up in your tap, and a week to go away (reference).

Depending on your usage patterns and location within the distribution system, it could take up to a week for your drinking water to transition from combined to free chlorine at the beginning of the flushing program, or from free chlorine to combined chlorine at the conclusion of the flushing program.

The upshot is that a) we may still be a few days away from salt showing up in my tap water, and b) while it has taken me a while to figure out how to use my $6 TDS meter, there’s no harm done.

So far, properly measured, the TDS in my tap water has remained steady at around 210-215 ppm.  If a flush of road salt passed through the system, that ought to stand out pretty sharply against that steady background rate.

 


The full story

  • This meter measures water’s electrical conductivity.
  • That conductivity is increased by ions in the water.
  • Such ions are generated when minerals and salts dissolve in water.
  • Thus, the meter can infer the amount of ions in the water, from the water’s conductivity.
  • It then translates that into something the user can understand, such as parts-per-million total dissolved solids (TDS) or salinity.   Depending on the end-use market that is being targeted.

Source:  Mettler Toledo white paper, “Reducing Measurement Error in Conductivity Readings”.  Annotations in red are mine.

 

  • But water temperature strongly affects conductivity.  A 9F decrease in water temperature creates a more-than-10% reduction in water conductivity.
  • Hence, this measurement typically requires temperature correction. The goal is to measure the water’s conductivity, adjusted to some standard water temperature.
  • And this $6 TDS meter includes that temperature correction via a built-in thermometer (and presumably a look-up table on a chip, or something).
  • But the meter is excruciatingly slow about doing that.

I finally got the bright idea of sticking this meter in a glass of ice water and see how long it took to display a temperature of 0 C. 

I gave up, it took so long.  I got tired of holding the meter in the ice water.  I’m guessing it would eventually get there, but it would take five or ten minutes to do so.

In any case, that adjustment is so slow that what I interpreted as the meter reading “setting down” to a final value, in just a few seconds, was nothing of the sort.

And that’s what tripped me up.  With incomplete temperature adjustment, cold water registers as “cleaner” water (lower TDS), owing to the lower conductivity of cold water.


Conclusion:  Never rule out operator error

On the on hand, I could blame the meter for being so slow to adjust to different temperatures.

On the other hand, it’s up to the meter operator to use it correctly.  Or spend the big bucks on one that works faster.

In any case, for $6, I got a very smart meter.  Smart enough to do the temperature correction for me.

But the hardware?  That’s still the best that $6 can buy.  It’s fine, as far as I can tell, but there’s no expectation that $6 bought me some kind of heirloom-quality super-tool.

And, as it turns out, what I got for $6 is a meter that works, but takes forever to settle to a final reading, owing to the glacial pace of adjustment of its internal temperature sensor.

Which I consider fair, for $6.  That it works at all is kind of a miracle.  That was unkind.  What I should have said is “more than fair”.

Now that I know that the temperature correction takes forever to register,  all I need to do is let my tap water samples warm up to room temperature.

And poof, what seemed like a ridiculously inconsistent meter turns out to be … pretty consistent.

Well worth the $6.

I probably need to buy some distilled water, for another buck or two.  Not to test the meter, but to rinse it after I’m done.  By device design and by common acclaim, I get the impression that I’m never supposed to let anything touch the electrodes but water.  Which precludes wiping the electrodes dry, in any fashion.  But, I think that if I just let the little electrodes air-dry, after tap water, I risk “poisoning” the electrode surfaces over time with calcium carbonate deposits, a.k.a., water spots. This, by analogy to premature dulling of un-dried razor blades by the thickness of water spots (Post #1699).

Distilled water, by contrast, leaves nothing behind when it evaporates.  So you don’t dry them, you rinse them with pure water and then allow them to air-dry.

Otherwise, the experiment is now on track.  I have documented a stable baseline of around 215-225 ppm dissolved solids in my (room-temperature) tap water.

I just need to give it a few days for the road salt to work its way from the Potomac River to my water faucet.

Post #2090: Documenting the post-snowmelt salt spike in my drinking water. Part 2, not obviously a fool’s errand.

 

In this post, I do a back-of-the-envelope calculation on salt in my drinking water.

Is the road-salt-driven spike, in salt in my drinking water, likely to be big enough that I can detect it with a cheap total-dissolved-solids (TDS) meter?

If not, this is a fool’s errand.

Spoiler:  Yes, the increase in ions (here, part of total dissolved solids), from this hypothetical “salt spike” in the drinking water, as a result of the road salt washing off the roads, should be more than big enough to be detected using just a cheap TDS meter.

All I really need to do is stick that meter into a freshly drawn glass of water, once a day.  And record the results.  No muss, no fuss, almost no effort.

If there’s no “spike” in ions — interpreted by the meter as a sharp rise in TDS — then that’s that.  No matter what I thought I tasted in the water.

As a bonus, I get to use grains of water hardness in a calculation involving metric units.


Chapter 1:  Wherein Sodium and Chlorine, who had been bound together as Rock Salt for hundreds of millions of years, are now Released, and Go Their Separate Ways.

One of the stranger twists in this whole road-salt-life-cycle saga is that the sodium and chlorine ions from the road salt now permanently part ways.  Or, at least, in the typical case, do so.

This is usually expressed as “the sodium does not travel as far”.  In hindsight, I think this means that if you filter the salt water through dirt, the sodium ions will preferentially stick to the dirt. I vaguely sense that “ion exchange” is at work here.

This tendency for the sodium to “stay put” is also why the sodium is fingered as the cause of the localized damage to vegetation.  Apparently, that’s why rock salt (NaCl) “burns” lawn at the edge of salted sidewalk, but not so (or as much) calcium chloride (CaCl2).

For all intents and purposes, magic happens. What begins as simple salt water ends up passing along just the chloride ion, out of the salt (NaCl).

Presumably, that chloride ion is now dragging along god-knows-what ion-of-the-street with it.  Something it picked up in the dirt, no doubt.  Calcium, maybe, from the soil it passed through.  Apparently, it doesn’t matter, or something, because I can’t find a ready discussion of what takes sodium’s place.

In any case, so the story goes, what starts off as salt does not end up as simple dilute salt water.  Stuff happens along the way.  I suspect that contact with the dirt plays a major role in that.

So Chloride ion travels, but Sodium ion stays at home.  Or so they say. 

Except sometimes?  Flashy urban environment.

I noted that much of the research on road salt in the water was done in New Hampshire where a) they apparently use a lot of road salt, and b) the issue is contaminating water wells.  So that research is clearly talking about well water, which is most assuredly water that has percolated extensively through soil.  (Although, in fairness, they also manage to salt up quite a few lakes and streams.)

Here in NoVa, by contrast, I think we’re at the opposite end of the percolation spectrum.  Around here, it’s road runoff to culvert to storm sewer, to clay-banked “flashy” urban stream.  To the Potomac.  In my mind, I’m not seeing a lot of filtration of any sort take place.  As a result, I’d bet that what starts out as salt water mostly ends up salt water, sodium intact, in the Potomac.

But I don’t really know.

All I know is that, as with many divorces, the tale you’ll be told about the breakup of Sodium ion and Chloride ion can’t possibly be the full story.  Ions have charge, and charge must balance.  So that the only way chloride can drop its ex — the sodium ion — is to pick up a suitable replacement.  I can only guess that, somehow, whatever that replacement ion is just doesn’t much matter. So nobody talks about it.

They dump on the ex (sodium) for killing the vegetation at the site of application.  But nobody bothers to name Chloride’s current partner.

Either that, or I fundamentally misunderstand something about this.

 


Grains of hardness should set my TDS baseline.

Horsepower.  Tons of cooling. British thermal units.  Teaspoons.

Grains of water hardness.

There’s just something about crazy old units of measurement that simply refuse to die.

At any rate, here’s where this stands.

I’ve ordered a cheap TDS (total-dissolved-solids) meter.  Assuming it works, it’ll give me good information on the density of ions on my drinking water.  Expressed in parts-per-million (ppm).

I’m going to draw daily samples of water for the next N days (like, 14 or boredom, whichever comes first).  By samples, I mean fill a mason jar with water and give it a labeled plastic top.  Kitchen faucet (so I know it’s well-used every day).

Plus, no at-home science project is really complete if it doesn’t use a mason jar.

Then I’m going to do the obvious things.  Test the water, using the meter.  And, with the aid of my wife, taste the water, blinded as to which mason jar is which.  Hoping that “ion count is up” and “tastes like salt” days a) exist, and b) coincide.

This, assuming that TDS is normally slow-varying, and doesn’t just like spike at random times all year long.  (Or, for that matter, does not spike following rainfall, regardless of salt on the pavement, something I would in theory need to test for.  These are things that I hope are true — basically, that my water’s TDS does not normally have short-term intense spikes of ions.  But this is something that I hope is true, not something that I know or have shown to be true.

But how big a blip can I reasonably expect?  Will I even be able to register it, with this cheap meter? 

That’s what this post is about.

The commonly-stated standard for drinking water taste is that water should not exceed 250 ppm (parts per million) chloride ions.   At least, this seems to be what Google’s AI tells me, expressed as 250 milligrams chloride per liter of water.   Above this level, a salty taste is evident.  (To some, I guess.  Salt sensitivity varies across individuals and over time, but 250 ppm is what gets cited as a common standard for avoiding salt taste in the drinking water.)

So if I can taste the salt in my water, that ought to correspond to that level of chloride, or higher, in the water.

That’s going to add to the total dissolved solids that are routinely in my water, that is, my “baseline” TDS.  Which my town’s legally-mandated annual water quality report helpfully lists as being in the range of 5 to 10 grains of hardness.  By weight, I believe that’s almost entirely calcium carbonate.

And 10 grains of hardness works out to be 640 mg of dissolved minerals (mostly harmless calcium carbonate) per gallon of water.

(So “a grain” is weight, now equal to about 64 milligrams.  The answer above is what you’ll get from Google’s AI.  And a grain of water hardness is a grain of dissolved minerals, per gallon of water.)

The term grain comes from exactly where you’d think.  Its supposed to be the weight of an idealized grain of wheat.  Or so they say.  But it is widely listed as equaling 1/7000th of a common (avoirdupois) pound, and so it doesn’t play nicely with standard U.S. units.  Aside from the fact that a grain is tiny, I think this explains why grains are not used in the U.S. (outside of ammunition and water hardness, and I guess alchemical receipts.  But never in the day-to-day.

To put those two numbers on common footing, note that a gallon is four liters.  So ten grains of water hardness is (640 mg/4 liters =~) 160 ppm dissolved solids.

Or close enough.  (When I ask Google, it helpfully tells me that a grain of hardness works out to be 17.1 ppm, or ten grains of hardness is just over 170 ppm.  Plenty close enough to the prior estimate, for this work.

And, because, by weight, calcium carbonate makes up the vast majority of what’s dissolved in my drinking water, that should be my baseline TDS reading.

Which means that the expected minimum taste-able chloride spike (250 ppm) should easily show up on top of my background TDS of around 170 ppm (10 grains of hardness).

Things could still go wrong.  Perhaps the day-to-day TDS level of my drinking water is erratic, spiking up and down all the time.  Perhaps it kicks up after every significant rainstorm (so that the expected coming spike might have nothing to do with salt.)  Perhaps this $6 meter is so unreliable that random meter errors will swamp the expected salt-driven increase in TDS.

But if none of that is true, then if I can taste the salt in the water, the concomitant jump in ion concentration in the drinking water should easily register on a cheap TDS meter.


Conclusion

So far, this is not a fool’s errand.

A cheap TDS meter should be good enough to document the expected salt spike in my drinking water.


Addendum:  Initial impression of cheap TDS meter.

My $6 TDS meter arrived.  Worked right out of the box.  At any point in time, it seems to give a consistent reading.

But glasses of water drawn three hours apart differed almost 10% in their measured TDS.  I don’t know whether that’s the native uncertainty of the meter, poor water-draw technique on my part, or actual hour-to-hour variation in my tap water’s TDS.

After a little poking about, I find a few things.

First, weirdly enough, there are different procedures for drawing water to test the water, as opposed to drawing water to test the plumbing.  If you’re testing the (incoming) water, common advice is to let the tap run full-on for five minutes, then take a sample.  By contrast, if you’re (e.g.) testing for lead in the pipes, apparently, you want to catch and test what’s sitting in the pipe, and you don’t want to flush the pipe at all.

I’m only letting the kitchen tap run 30 seconds.  (But, honestly, if the difference across readings is due to stuff coming out of my pipes, I’d kind of like to know that.)  I may try some five-minute flushes to see if that gives me more consistent readings.

In any event, change of plan.  I’m just going to measure the TDS of my kitchen tap water several times a day, over the next couple of weeks, and record the results.

With luck, my $6 meter will last the full two weeks.

Post #2089: Documenting the post-snowmelt salt spike in my drinking water. Part 1.

 

Major snowstorms in my area (Northern Virginia) are often followed by salty-tasting tap water, some days later.  Salt that was spread on the roads gets dissolved by the melting snow (or rain), runs off into the creeks, down to the Potomac, and from there, into our drinking water.

This is a well-known phenomenon across the northern U.S.

Here in Northern Virginia, sodium and chloride levels in the drinking water have been rising for decades, as documented by the Washington Suburban Sanitary Commission:

Source:  WSSC.

As the WSSC states:

The levels peak in the winter months and are higher in years where we experience more winter weather events. Because there is no economically feasible way to remove salt during filtration, higher levels end up in the drinking water.

Those annual averages are interesting, but here I want to document the short-term increase in salt in the drinking water following a big snowstorm.  Right now, all I have to back up my claim that road salt makes the water taste salty is a) my taste buds, and b) my recollection of salty-tap-water events of the past.

So this time, I’m going to try to capture that post-snow-melt salt spike in my tap water, in hard data. 

Measure it.  Day-by-day.  As it flushes through the system.


Cheap water quality testers are all water conductivity testers.

If you look on (say) Amazon, you can buy cheap little meters to measure total dissolved solids (TDS) in water.  As above.  These are often included with high-end countertop water filters, so you can see that something has been removed from the water, in passing it through the filter.  (My understanding is that consumers use the TDS reduction as a marker for when to change the water filter cartridge.)

You can also buy remarkably similar-looking meters to measure water salinity.  These are often targeted toward (e.g.) aquarium owners, and pool owners, either of whom may need to keep water salinity within a defined range.

You can even buy meters labeled for measuring the electrical conductivity of water.  Need I say that those cheap water-conductivity meters look almost identical to the first two?

Turns out, those are all the same meter.  They all measure the electrical conductivity of water.  They just label the resulting output on different scales.

Maybe — I haven’t quite figured this out one way or the other — there may be non-linear adjustments linked to the named use (salinity, TDS).  Maybe not.  I don’t think my $5 is going to buy me a lot of sophistication.  But these days, you never know.


Starting off with a DIY flop

 

So, assuming I have deciphered the technical stuff right (below), to capture the salt spike, all I need to do is measure the electrical resistance of my water.  Day after day, in a repeatable fashion.  For, I’m guessing, a couple of weeks max.

The salt, passing through the system, should show up as a temporary spike in the conductivity of the water.

To be clear, I don’t think I’m looking for some little hiccup in the data.  Back-of-the-envelope, I’m hoping for roughly a doubling of the conductivity for the days in which the salt spike passes through.  Which I have already predicted will be this coming Wednesday, based on my hazy recollection of the past.

I’ve got an ohm meter.  Somewhere.  It can measure resistance (ohms).  How hard could it be, to rig up some way to use my VOM (volt-ohm meter) to track the resistance (the mathematical inverse of conductivity) of my tap water.

Long story short, this DIY water-conductivity meter failed.  I was unable to make a reliable measurement.  After assembling the hardware (two bolts, stuck to a plastic lid, in a mason jar of water, connected to a VOM), the estimated electrical resistance of the water wandered all over the place.  Substituting stainless bolts for the galvanized bolts shown above did nothing to correct the problem.  I think that, perhaps, my VOM was just not up to the task.

After giving it a couple of tries with this DIY approach, I gave up and ordered the $6 meter pictured above.

I still don’t really know why my DIY water-resistance meter didn’t work.   Might have been as simple as a bad battery in the meter.  Not worth pursuing, when I can buy a meter for $6.


It really is this simple?  The theory.

Pure (distilled) water is a poor conductor of electricity.

But if you add ions to the water — from dissolved salt (Na+Cl-) or calcium carbonate (Ca++ C03–) or baking soda (Na+ HC03-) or hydrochloric acid (H+ Cl-) or whatnot — the ions act as charge carriers, and so allow electricity to flow more easily in the water.

The more ions you add, the better the water conducts electricity. (Within reason or at modest dilution.)   All the ions in the water contribute to the increased conductivity of the water.  Those could be “dissolved solids” ions, as from calcium carbonate in hard water.  Those could be “salt” ions, as in, the salt in a salt water aquarium.

In fact, all of these super-cheap TDS/salinity/conductivity meters measure the conductivity of the water.  Period.  They just put a different label, and perhaps a different scale, on that measured conductivity.

The first thing to note is that these meters can’t distinguish salt from other ions.  All they do is tell how conductive the water is.  That depends on the concentration of current-carrying ions in the water.  All ions of all types contribute to that.

The bottom line is that, strictly speaking, my $6 salt meter does not measure salt in the water.  It measures the total ion concentration in the water, of which salt contributes a part.  It does that by measuring the conductivity of the water.  And then it displays the result in units that match salt-concentration units (like ppm NaCl and such).  (I am also pretty sure it makes a temperature correction as well, as water conductivity varies with temperature, and the standard for reporting is conductivity of water at 25C.)

But, while these meters react to all ions in the water, they are blind to dissolved non-ionic compounds.  Like, sugar, say.  Sugar molecules remain intact (and carry no charge) when dissolved in water.  Dissolved sugar does not materially affect the conductivity of water, and so a cheap “TDS” meter will not respond to dissolved sugar or other dissolved non-ionic organic matter in the water.

The upshot is that the thing that’s sold as a “TDS” meter … isn’t.  Not if “total” includes things like sugar dissolved organic material that is not ionic in nature.  It’s blind to that stuff, because that stuff doesn’t affect the conductivity of the water.

But that’s only fair, because the “salinity meter” version of it doesn’t measure salinity, either.  For example, I’m pretty sure that adding vinegar to the water will cause the conductivity to increase. On a meter labeled as a “salinity tester”, that increased conductivity would be labeled as increased saltiness.

As far as I can tell — and certainly at this price-point — the only way to measure the different ions separately is through chemistry.  Old school, you add reagents to react with certain ions, precipitate them out of the water.  You then filter out, dry, and weigh the precipitate to infer the quantity of the selected ion in the batch of water.  (Or you buy a meter with exotic-material electrodes that react chemically with certain ions and not other.)  Either way, that level of effort and expense is way beyond what I contemplate here.

Separately, and well known, the fact that these meters react the same to all dissolved ions means that “TDS” isn’t a good measure of drinking water cleanliness.  For most drinking water, TDS is simply measuring the total dissolved mineral content.  For me, here in the Town of Vienna VA, almost all the dissolved solids are from a water hardness of around 5 to 10 grains (per our mandated water quality report.)  This is almost entirely from harmless calcium carbonate, dissolved in the water.  The relatively high TDS in this case doesn’t mean that my tap water is bad, just that it has dissolved minerals in it.


Conclusion

I hope this has been clarificatory.

There is only one underlying type of cheap water quality meter.

Cheap (sub $10 on Amazon) TDS meters, salinity meters, and water conductivity meters all measure the electrical conductivity of water.  Water conductivity is driven by the concentration of ions present in the water.  All ions are lumped together by this measurement.  And these meters are blind to dissolved non-ionic material, because (e.g.) stuff like sugar doesn’t materially affect water conductivity.

So, really, at least at this price point, there are no salinity meters or TDS meters.  There are only water conductivity meters, and the labels placed on them.

The situation isn’t as dumb as I’ve painted it.  If you know what’s going into your water — say you are trying to adjust the salt level in a swimming pool — then yeah, that meter will function for you as a salt meter.  Because you know that it’s your salt that’s increasing the ion count and pushing up the conductivity of the water.

Similarly, if dissolved organic non-ionic compounds are not an issue for you  — no sugar in your water, that you know of — then the same meter may well serve as a useful TDS meter.  For drinking water — where dissolved organic matter is assumed to be minimal — these simple conductivity meters work well as total-dissolved-solids meters.  In other contexts — such as sampling raw water from a lake or stream — that would not be true.

For the moment, all I need to do is take a water sample a day, from my kitchen faucet.  Just a mason jar, rinsed and filled.  Store that away.

And then, if the story is as I think it is, in a couple of weeks, I should be able to go back through the samples and identify the “salty” days through blind taste-test.  And, if all goes well, my $6 TDS meter will highlight the same days as high TDS days.

If it all goes to plan, I’ll have documented the post-snowstorm salt spike in our drinking water by both blind taste test, and by measured dissolved solids.

Post #2088: Why are there always little piles of salt left in the road?

 

It’s going to rain all day today.  The forecast is for half an inch or more.

Today, therefore, I must appreciate the little piles of salt that are left in the roadway.

Because tomorrow, they shall all be gone.

They will have begun their journey to return to Mother Ocean.  Whence they originated, back when dinosaurs roamed the earth.

Think of it as a salty circle-of-life kind of thing.


Observation:  There is (always!) excess salt left on the roadway.

We have reached the ugly end stage of this last snowstorm.  Patches of white snow remain, but only here and there, on lawns and roofs.  Parking lots remain clogged with great dirty piles of snow.

And roadways are littered with ugly little piles of salt.  As they always are, after a snowstorm in this area.

Call those ubiquitous little piles of left-over road salt the “excess salt”.  (Which is kind of judgemental, but for now, I just need something to call them).

I’m not talking about private parking lots, or walkways, or whatnot.  Places where the property owner spreads salt in some catch-as-catch-can manner.  I’m just talking about little piles of leftover salt, on the public roadways.

If you think about them, at all, it’s not as if VDOT set out to leave a bunch of salt lying around, when they salted the roads last week.

For one thing, those piles of excess salt are a deadweight loss.  It takes money to buy and spread that salt.  But the left-overs didn’t do anything useful.  They just add to the subsequent salt burden on local rivers and, in my case, the water supply.

In fact, it’s fair to say that every state DOT is aiming to use less salt.  Not just for the environmental impact, but because it rusts out cars, bridges, rebar embedded in concrete, and so on.

Paradoxically, part of this push to reduce the use of road salt is the now-common practice of “brining” the roads ahead of a snowfall.  That is, spraying everything with salt water, which then evaporates to leave a microscopically thin, uniform layer of salt.  This is used for anti-icing (to prevent snow from sticking to the road), as opposed to traditional de-icing (un-sticking already-frozen snow).  That preventive approach to disbondment (see prior post) results in less salt being used, in total.  In Virginia, brining the roads only came into general use in the 21st century, and was relatively uncommon as late as the mid-1990s (reference, .pdf). 

Finally, as far as I have been able to tell, VDOT (and similar) aim for a uniform application of salt, just sufficient to achieve “debondment” between ice/snow and pavement.

And yet, little piles of salt in the “corners” of the roadway remain a fixture of the urban winter landscape.  Post-snowstorm, we always end up with deposits of rock salt in the dead space next to the curb, sometimes between the lanes, and in general, on the road surface wherever tires do not routinely roll.

So that’s a little bit of a puzzle, isn’t it.  Everybody involved is trying their damnedest to use as little road salt as possible.  The salt is applied by professionals using the best known techniques.  They aim for a uniform application of salt sufficient for debondment.  But we still end up with little piles of excess salt everywhere.

 


Why?  Mere carelessness is not an adequate explanation.

Why is there always excess salt, in little drifted piles, on the road, after a snowstorm?

This is a surprisingly hard question to answer.  Around here, the excess salt piles show up at intersections.  There’s no obvious explanation for that.

My best guess is that this occurs because a) the pavement of an intersection gets double-salted (one salt-truck pass for the main street, one for the side street), and b), as a matter of geometry, larger intersections effectively result in higher piles of excess salt at the curb.

Other explanations do not seem to hold water.

Mere sloppiness?  No. 

Naively, you might think that we see these excess salt piles because VDOT went at it with too heavy a hand.  Or spilled some extra in those spots.  You can try to dismiss it as the result of mere sloppiness.

But attributing those ubiquitous piles of excess salt to “good enough for government” work does not stand up to scrutiny.  For one thing, even a bit of research shows you how seriously VDOT (et al.) take the the timing and calibration of their salt spreading and spread rates.  It’s as close to a science as they can make it.  For another, those little excess salt piles show up everywhere, pretty much, regardless of which government entity or contractor put the salt down on the public road.   No matter which year.  And they have done so, ever since I can remember.

Nor does the excess salt pile up everywhere, as it would if VDOT simply applied it with too heavy a hand.  Around here, I see those excess salt piles at intersections, on highway overpasses, and where lanes merge.  I specifically see none — no visible salt crystals whatsoever — along sections of road between intersections.

But what would be the systematic reason for them?

So, to the contrary, I’m going to start from the notion that there’s probably a reason that we always end up with little piles of left-over road salt.  A reason those show up in the intersections.  And I’m betting it’s something inherent about salting the roads that leads to this.

In other words, I’m betting that we always end up with little piles of excess salt because that’s an inherent and unavoidable part of salting the roads.

I can’t prove that, but here are my best guesses as to why we only see those excess salt piles in certain locations.

Guess 1:  All VDOTs, everywhere, put extra salt down at intersections?  And always have.  Presumably on purpose, as a safety measure?  To roughly the same level of excess.  So, in effect, the excess salt was put there, on purpose by VDOT.

If so, they have all, collectively, been pretty quiet about doing that.  I have found exactly zero evidence to suggest this is true.  No directions to do so, no mention of doing that in a “best practices” manual, and so on.

(There may be some governments that only salt intersections, but VDOT is not one of them.  Nor is the Town of Vienna.  Near as I can tell, every street in Vienna got salted.)

In addition, most truck-mounted salt spreaders aren’t set up for a lot of fine-tuning on the fly.  Like, turning them up, as you cross an intersection.  For the simplest salt-spreader rigs, the only in-cab control is an on-off toggle switch (top, below).  More modern ones let you control the flow of salt, on the fly (bottom, below).  Neither style looks like it’s set up to encourage the truck driver to fiddle with it, while driving a piece of heavy equipment.  Say, at night, in a driving snow, with traffic.

Source:  A couple of installation manuals for truck-mounted salt spreaders.

So, while it’s not out of the question that VDOTs around the country somehow turn up the salt flow at intersections, this seems unlikely.  I can find no mention of this as a standard practice, and it runs contrary to the fundamental notion that salt, for road use, is for disbondment of ice/snow on pavement.

Plus there’s no obvious way to do it, other than asking the salt truck drivers to slow down at every intersection.

Guess 2:  The pavement of the intersection gets double-salted (once for salting the street, once for salting the cross-street).

That’s a fact.  If you’ve set the salt spreader to provide X salt per 1000 square feet of road, then road intersections get 2X.  Once for the main street, and again for the cross street.  And, really, you might end up laying down extra salt anywhere salt trucks have to make multiple passes to completely salt a stretch of pavement (e.g., where there are an odd number of lanes, or where lanes begin or end, or merge areas.)

Guess 2A:  Large intersections should generate more noticeable piles of salt  at the curb line (compared to small intersections). 

That’s also more-or-less a fact, owing to geometry.  The area of an intersection increases with the square of the number of lanes.  Salt is spread over the entire area.  But the length of curb line is … roughly constant, at least until you get to the point where there’s a divider between the lanes.  The upshot is that an intersection between six-lane roads ought to give curb-side excess salt piles that are nine times higher than you’d find at the intersection of a pair of two-lane roads.

Guess 3:  Salt is applied uniformly on the roadway, but somehow migrates to the intersections?  I don’t think this is true, but I can’t prove it.

For sure, salt migrates short distances on the roadways.  It moves out of the path of actual tire contact, which is why the excess salt piles are always in the “dead” spots in or around the roadway.  But that would account for salt moving a few feet, not hundreds or thousands of feet down a typical suburban street or arterial roadway.  Which is the only way this hypothesis would explain salt at the intersections.

In addition, VDOT puts a lot of thought into keeping the salt where they put it.  It is common practice to pre-wet the salt, both so that it stick better, and so that it starts melting snow faster.  In addition, best practices call for applying road salt only after some snow has fallen, specifically so that the salt will stay put.

Finally, I think the contrast of intersections and surrounding roadways is too pronounced to have been produced by such a sloppy process as salt being pushed around by tires.  With this last snowfall, I see no salt crystals at all on the road, until I’m literally at the intersection.

Upshot:  Of the three mechanisms that would generate salt piles at intersections (only), and particularly at large intersections, I think it’s due to the inherent double-salting of the intersection pavement, coupled with simple geometry that results in higher excess salt piles at larger intersections.


Drinking water contamination, or, why do I even care about road salt?

I care because I’ll be tasting salt in my tap water sometime next week.  Based on past experience, I’d bet that’ll start around Wednesday or so.  That, as a result of the road salt being washed into the Potomac River by today’s rains.

There are enough reports of road salt contaminating drinking water that I’m pretty sure I’m not fooling myself about the salty taste of the water.  This, even though my wife can’t taste the salt.  Sensitivity to the taste of salt varies substantially across individuals.  And, for an individual, it varies considerably with the amount of salt in the diet.  (Unsurprisingly, the more salt-deprived you are, the more sensitive you are to the taste of salt).

Of more scientific interest, the fact that I can taste the snow-melt salt in my drinking water suggests that post-snowfall salt (chloride ion) content of my drinking water routinely exceeds 250 parts-per-million, the lowest threshold at which some people can taste the salt.  At least a quarter-teaspoon of salt, per gallon.  Not a health hazard for most, but enough that I can taste it.

But is that plausible?  Do we really put down enough road salt to make the drinking water salty?

Yep.  A simple and conservative back-of-the-envelope calculation says that if the Town of Vienna, VA applies road salt a standard rate, it would plausibly generate a brine salty enough to taste, as that salt mixes with half-an-inch of rain.

Further research shows that in a big snowfall, Vienna applies orders of magnitude more salt.  The Town newsletter reported 600 tons of salt used for a January 2016 snowstorm that dropped about 30 inches of snow (Vienna Voice, March 2016, page 6).  Or roughly 60 times as much salt as was assumed for the calculation above.

The upshot is that yes, a single application of road salt, at a middle-of-the-road rate, followed by half-an-inch of rain, should result in runoff from the Town of Vienna that has a noticeably salty taste.  And that exceeds current EPA water-quality standards for salt in the water.

I may or may not be able to taste the salt, with this modest snowfall.  After all, that will depend on the rate of salt use across the entire Potomac watershed.

I may yet invest $20 in a cheap salt meter, and track the chloride ion content of the water.  Just to see if that’s accurate enough to document the wave of road salt that will be passing through my local water supply next week.


Conclusion?

This is a bit of an odd post, even for me.

You’ve probably seen little piles of excess salt on the roadway all of your life.  And yet, each time, if you thought about them at all, you probably just tut-tutted them away.  Dismissed them with some sort of ad-hoc explanation.  Maybe your local DOT (or alternative) is just sloppy, or something, and over-applies the salt.  Or maybe cars effectively sweep the salt along, until it gets to the intersections, where it stops.  Or maybe VDOT specifically and purposefully over-salts intersections.

I don’t think any of those simple explanations is correct. They do not explain the consistency and ubiquity of these little piles of excess salt.  No matter the year, or the jurisdiction, if they salt the roads, little piles of excess salt are a normal and expected part of the urban winter landscape.

My best guess is that the ubiquitous piles of excess salt are an inherent and inadvertent part of salting the roads in winter.  The most plausible explanation of why the excess road salt is consistently where it is, around here, is a straightforward double-salting of the intersections.  If you are salting the pavement adequately in all directions, then you are salting the pavement of each road intersection twice adequately.

And for larger intersections, that over-salting-rate gets amplified, as the salt strewn over the collection area of the intersection (which rises with the square of number of road lanes) gets squeezed against more-or-less the same length of curb.  So that an intersection with twice the lanes should yield four times the concentration of excess salt pushed to the curb.

But in the end, it comes down to whether or not there’s anything actionable.  Is there any way to avoid those piles of excess salt?  And would it make any material difference, if you did?

And there, I think the answer is no.  No, you can’t avoid over-salting intersections, with manually-controlled salt spreaders.  For most, the driver simply turns the salt spreader on when the truck is moving, and off when the truck is stopped.  (Having salt spreaders that are synced to vehicle speed is considered a big step up from the standard setup.)

When you get down to it, the problem is the use of road salt.  Full stop.  Modest over-use on intersections adds trivially to that problem, for the simple reason that intersection area is a small fraction of total road area.  So the problem of excess salt in the intersections is not worth addressing, particularly if that would require use of more sophisticated (e.g., GPS-run) salt spreader controls, to avoid dumping salt twice on the same intersection.

My guess is that as long as we salt the roads, we’re going to see little piles of excess salt in the road intersections.  I think that’s an inherent and unavoidable part of the process.  But that, empirically, that additional salt in the intersections is a drop in the bucket, compared to the total amount of salt spread on the roads.

End of story.

The only followup will be to try to document the spike in salt in my drinking water, as a consequence of the runoff from this most recent storm.  And that will depend on whether or not I feel like shipping $20 off to China, via an American oligarch, by the purchase of a cheap salt tester on Amazon.