A ramp lets you raise something by pushing it up a gentle slope instead of lifting it straight up — easier, but you travel farther.
What's actually happening
Lifting a 100 kg crate one metre straight up means supplying its full weight of force over that metre. Slide it up a five-metre ramp to the same height and you only fight the fraction of gravity that points along the slope — about a fifth of the weight (ignoring friction). The ramp converts one brutal lift into a long gentle push.
The exchange rate is the slope itself: force needed ≈ weight × height ÷ ramp length. Five times the path, one-fifth the force. The work — force times distance — comes out identical either way, plus a friction surcharge. That surcharge is real but it buys something too: friction is often what keeps the crate from sliding back down while you catch your breath.
The inclined plane's best disguise is the screw: wrap a long thin ramp around a cylinder and every turn of the screwdriver pushes the thread a tiny distance along a very long slope — enormous force multiplication in a pocket-sized package. A car jack lifting a tonne with one lazy arm, a vice crushing wood, a jar lid sealing tight: all ramps, coiled up. Mountain switchback roads are the same idea drawn on a landscape — nobody builds a road straight up a hill.
- 1Make a ramp from a plank or stiff book onto a chair seat. Tie a rubber band to a filled water bottle.
- 2Lift the bottle straight up by the band and measure how far the band stretches — that is the full-weight price.
- 3Now drag it slowly up the ramp by the same band. The stretch is visibly shorter. Tilt the ramp steeper and watch the stretch grow back toward the full price.