I suspect some of you are already bored. Far be it from me to suggest that the Ti readership might have a hint of a Luddite streak, but I reckon many of us are rather more interested in the classical mechanical engineering of springs and dampers, or even the obscure organic chemistry of tyres than automotive electronics. Have a listen to one of the recent Ti podcasts on the joys of ‘analogue cars’, to illustrate my point.
Sad to say, the latest vehicles with their vast screens, all too often poorly designed HMIs (Human Machine Interfaces) and nannying ADAS systems have given ‘computers’ in cars a bad press – recently, we associate complex electronics and powerful ECUs with being told what we can’t do, rather than being helped to do things that we probably shouldn’t, but are a whole lot of fun when we choose to do them anyway.
‘Twas not always so. Once, electronics seemed to beckon us towards a new century of infinite possibility. As a young lad back in the late 1980s, I decided to study electronics, not because I was a ZX81 nerd or wanted to become the next Jobs, Gates or (Heaven forfend) Sugar, but because I was fascinated by the potential of what electronics could allow us to do in the real world. I was not – and still am not – interested in the power of computers to wiggle lines on a screen, or make a speaker emit beeps and buzzes. But the ability of electrons flowing invisibly through infinitesimal transistors, to output a tiny current that can then be amplified to move a motor or close a solenoid, that can in turn influence how a physical thing behaves – how an engine revs, how a piston in a brake caliper squeezes, or even how a car would yaw and/or roll into a corner: now that brand of engineering alchemy fascinated me – and still does.
