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Life cycle analysis has some problems.

About six months ago, a climate scientist from Arizona State University, Stephanie Arcusa, emailed me a provocative new paper she had published that warned against our growing reliance on life cycle analysis. This practice of measuring all of the emissions related to a given product or service throughout every phase of its life — from the time raw materials are extracted to eventual disposal — was going to hinder our ability to achieve net-zero emissions, she wrote. It was a busy time, and I let the message drift to the bottom of my inbox. But I couldn’t stop thinking about it.
Life cycle analysis permeates the climate economy. Businesses rely on it to understand their emissions so they can work toward reducing them. The Securities and Exchange Commission’s climate risk disclosure rule, which requires companies to report their emissions to investors, hinges on it. The clean hydrogen tax credit requires hydrogen producers to do a version of life cycle analysis to prove their eligibility. It is central to carbon markets, and carbon removal companies are now developing standards based on life cycle analysis to “certify” their services as carbon offset developers did before them.
At the same time, many of the fiercest debates in climate change are really debates about life cycle analysis. Should companies be held responsible for the emissions that are indirectly related to their businesses, and if so then which ones? Are carbon offsets a sham? Does using corn ethanol as a gasoline substitute reduce emissions or increase them? Scientists have repeatedly reached opposite conclusions on that one depending on how they accounted for the land required to grow corn and what it might have been used for had ethanol not been an option. Though the debate plays out in calculations, it’s really a philosophical brawl.
Everybody, for the most part, knows that life cycle analysis is difficult and thorny and imprecise. But over and over, experts and critics alike assert that it can be improved. Arcusa disagrees. Life cycle analysis, she says, is fundamentally broken. “It’s a problematic and uncomfortable conclusion to arrive at,” Arcusa wrote in her email. “On the one hand, it has been the only tool we have had to make any progress on climate. On the other, carbon accounting is captured by academia and vested interests and will jeopardize global climate goals.”
When I recently revisited the paper, I learned that Arcusa and her co-authors didn’t just critique life cycle analysis, they proposed a bold alternative. Their idea is not economically or politically easy, but it also doesn’t suffer from the problems of trying to track carbon throughout the supply chain. I recently called her up to talk through it. Our conversation has been edited for clarity.
Can you walk me through what the biggest issues with life cycle analysis are?
So, life cycle analysis is a qualitative tool —
It seems kind of counterintuitive or even controversial to call it a qualitative tool because it’s specifically trying to quantify something.
I think the best analogy for LCA is that it’s a back-of-the-envelope tool. If you really could measure everything, then sure, LCA is this wonderful idea. The problem is in the practicality of being able to collect all of that data. We can’t, and that leads us to use emissions factors and average numbers, and we model this and we model that, and we get so far away from reality that we actually can’t tell if something is positive or negative in the end.
The other problem is that it’s almost entirely subjective, which makes one LCA incomparable to another LCA depending on the context, depending on the technology. And yes, there are some standardization efforts that have been going on for decades. But if you have a ruler, no matter how much you try, it’s not going to become a screwdriver. We’re trying to use this tool to quantify things and make them the same for comparison, and we can’t because of that subjectivity.
In this space where there is a lot of money to be made, it’s very easy to manipulate things one way or another to make it look a little bit better because the method is not robust. That’s really the gist of the problems here.
One of the things you talk about in the paper is the way life cycle analysis is subject to different worldviews. Can you explain that?
It’s mostly seen in what to include or exclude in the LCA — it can have enormous impacts on the results. I think corn ethanol is the perfect example of how tedious this can be because we still don’t have an answer, precisely for that reason. The uncertainty range of the results has shrunk and gotten bigger and shrunk and gotten bigger, and it’s like, well, we still don’t know. And now, this exact same worldview debate is playing into what should be included and not included in certification for things [like carbon removal] that are going to be sold under the guise of climate action, and that just can’t be. We’ll be forever debating whether something is true.
Is this one of those things that scientists have been debating for ever, or is this argument that we should stop using life cycle analysis more of a fringe idea?
I guess I would call it a fringe idea today. There’s been plenty of criticism throughout the years, even from the very beginning when it was first created. What I have seen is that there is criticism, and then there is, “But here’s how we can solve it and continue using LCA!” I’ve only come across one other publication that specifically said, “This is not working. This is not the right tool,” and that’s from Michael Gillenwater. He’s at the Greenhouse Gas Management Institute. He was like, “What are we doing?” There might be other folks, I just haven’t come across them.
Okay, so what is the alternative to LCA that you’ve proposed in this paper?
LCA targets the middle of the supply chain, and tries to attribute responsibility there. But if you think about where on the supply chain the carbon is the most well-known, it is actually at the source, at the point of origin, before it becomes an emission. At the point where it is created out of the ground is where we know how much carbon there is. If we focus on that source through a policy that requires mandatory sequestration — for every ton of carbon that is now produced, there is a ton of carbon that’s been put away through carbon removal, and the accounting happens there, before it is sold to anybody — anybody who’s now downstream of that supply chain is already carbon neutral. There is no need to track carbon all the way down to the consumer.
We know this is accurate because that is where governments already collect royalties and taxes — they want to know exactly how much is being sold. So we already do this. The big difference is that the policy would be required there instead of taxing everybody downstream.
You’re saying that fossil fuel producers should be required to remove a ton of carbon from the atmosphere for every ton of carbon in the fuels they sell?
Yeah, and maybe I should be more specific. They should pay for an equal amount of carbon to be removed from the atmosphere. In no way are we implying that a fossil carbon producer needs to also be doing the sequestration themselves.
What would be the biggest challenges of implementing something like this?
The ultimate challenge is convincing people that we need to be managing carbon and that this is a waste management type of system. Nobody really wants to pay for waste management, and so it needs to be regulated and demanded by some authority.
What about the fact that we don’t really have the ability to remove carbon or store carbon at scale today, and may not for some time?
Yes, we need to build capacity so that eventually we can match the carbon production to the carbon removal, which is why we also proposed that the liability needs to start today, not in the future. That liability is as good as a credit card debt — you actually have to pay it. It can be paid little by little every year, but the liability is here now, and not in the future.
The risk in the system that I’m describing, or even the system that is currently being deployed, is that you have counterproductive technologies that are being developed. And by counterproductive, I mean [carbon removal] technologies that are producing more emissions than they are storing, and so they’re net-positive. You can create a technology that has no intention of removing more carbon than its sequesters. The intention is just to earn money.
Do you mean, like, the things that are supposed to be removing carbon from the atmosphere and sequestering it, they are using fossil fuels to do that, and end up releasing more carbon in the process?
Yeah, so basically, what we show in the paper is that when we get to full carbon neutrality, the market forces alone will eliminate those kinds of technologies that are counterproductive. The problem is during the transition, these technologies can be economically viable because they are cheaper than they would be if 100% of the fossil fuel they used was carbon neutral through carbon removal. And so in order to prevent those technologies from gaming the system, we need a way to artificially make the price of fossil carbon as expensive as it would be if 100% of that fossil carbon was covered by carbon removal.
That’s where the idea of permits comes in. For every amount that I produce, I now have an instant liability, which is a permit. Each of those permits has to be matched by carbon removal. And since we don’t have enough carbon removal, we have futures and these futures represent the promise of actually doing carbon removal.
What if we burn through the remaining carbon budget and we still don’t have the capacity to sequester enough carbon?
Well, then we’re going into very unchartered territory. Right now we’re just mindlessly going through this thinking that if we just reduce emissions it will be good. It won’t be good.
In the paper, you also argue against mitigating greenhouse gases other than carbon, and that seems pretty controversial to me. Why is that?
We’re not arguing against mitigating, per se. We’re arguing against lumping everything under the same carbon accounting framework because lumping hides the difficulty in actually doing something about it. It’s not that we shouldn’t mitigate other greenhouse gases — we must. It’s just that if we separate the problem of carbon away from the problem of methane, away from the problem of nitrous oxide, or CFCs, we can tackle them more effectively. Because right now, we’re trying to do everything under the same umbrella, and that doesn’t work. We don’t tackle drinking and driving by sponsoring better tires. That’s just silly, right? We wouldn’t do that. We would tackle drinking and driving on its own, and then we would tackle better tires in a different policy.
So the argument is: Most of climate change is caused by carbon; let’s tackle that separately from the others and leave tackling methane and nitrous oxide to purposefully created programs to tackle those things. Let’s not lump the calculations altogether, hiding all the differences and hiding meaningful action.
Is there still a role for life cycle analysis?
You don’t want to be regulating carbon using life cycle analysis. So you can use the life cycle analysis for qualitative purposes, but we’re pretending that it is a tool that can deliver accurate results, and it just doesn’t.
What has the response been like to this paper? What kind of feedback have you gotten?
Stunned silence!
Nobody has said anything?
In private, they have. Not in public. In private, it’s been a little bit like, “I’ve always thought this, but it seemed like there was no other way.” But then in public, think about it. Everything is built on LCA. It’s now in every single climate bill out there. Every single standard. Every single consulting company is doing LCA and doing carbon footprinting for companies. It’s a huge industry, so I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised to hear nothing publicly.
Yeah, I was gonna ask — I’ve been writing about the SEC rules and this idea that companies should start reporting their emissions to their investors, and that would all be based on LCA. There’s a lot of buy-in for that idea across the climate movement.
Yeah, but there’s definitely a fine line with make-believe. I think in many instances, we kid ourselves thinking that we’re going to have numbers that we can hang our hats on. In many instances we will not, and they will be challenged. And so at that point, what’s the point?
One thing I hear when I talk to people about this is, well, having an estimate is better than not having anything, or, don’t let the perfect be the enemy of the good, or, we can just keep working to make them better and better. Why not?
I mean, I wouldn’t say don’t try. But when it comes to actually enforcing anything, it’s going to be extremely hard to prove a number. You could just be stuck in litigation for a long time and still not have an answer.
I don’t know, to me it just seems like an endless debate while time is ticking and we will just feel good because we’ll have thought we measured everything. But we’re still not doing anything.
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The Pacific Northwest has become the unlikely vanguard in the movement to protect renters from extreme heat.
Washington State’s 2026 legislative session ended not with a bang, but with an alarm. On a drizzly mid-March evening before adjourning for the year, lawmakers filed out of the capitol having narrowly averted a special session over a data center tax break bill. “Someone or something” had set off the rotunda’s fire alarm, according to a local news outlet; returning after the brief delay, legislators cast their final vote, approving the state’s $79.4 billion spending plan.
The alarm was, in many ways, a fitting end to the state’s adrenaline-pumping 60-day short session, which saw 1,669 new bills introduced. Most were DOA due to time and ever-present budget constraints. Among the casualties was HB 2265, a bill to “protect tenants from periods of extreme heat” by extending a landlord’s responsibilities to include adequate cooling in rental units alongside the usual standbys of basic habitability, heat and hot water.
Had the law passed, Washington — somewhat bizarrely — would have gone further than any other state in the country in pushing landlords to provide air conditioning or a similar cooling system to their renters. While such laws might be expected in places like California, Nevada, or Arizona (which comes closest by requiring landlords to maintain ACs that are already installed), in Washington, the largest city, Seattle, was in fact the least air-conditioned metro area in the country until 2021, and remains second only to San Francisco.
“A lot of people think of the Pacific Northwest as mossy, mountainous, green, and damp,” John Seng, the policy manager at Spark Northwest, a Seattle-based clean energy nonprofit, told me. “But that misses out that on the east side of both Oregon and Washington, things have been getting really hot for a long time.”
Indoor air temperature maximums are not a new idea — Dallas has had one since 2017 — but the few laws on the books are almost exclusively in hot-climate cities and counties. Yet extreme heat is spreading: Between 1970 and 2022, 95% of the nearly 250 U.S. locations analyzed by Climate Central saw an increase in the number of days per year with dangerously high temperatures, with an average increase of 21 days. At the same time, one in three Americans is a renter — a population far less likely to have central AC than homeowners. Though the Pacific Northwest would seem to be an unlikely leader in protecting people from extreme heat, it has nevertheless become a bellwether for the ability of local officials to protect their residents from increasingly deadly temperatures.
“We are changing our climate so much that now, in most places in the country, cooling is just as necessary as heating,” Brian Henning, the director and founder of the Gonzaga Institute for Climate, Water, and the Environment, told me.
Washington isn’t alone in responding to the changing conditions in its corner of the country. A similar story is playing out in Oregon, which failed to pass its own early-stage right-to-cooling bill, SB 54, during last year’s legislative session. (That bill would have required landlords of multi-family buildings to provide cooling when outdoor temperatures exceed 80 degrees.) Now, Portland’s Permitting and Development Bureau is exploring a maximum-temperature code for rentals, which activists hope will serve as a model for a legislative sponsor to take up in a future statewide session.
“It feels like the Pacific Northwest is beginning to grapple with questions that desert cities addressed decades ago, which is, namely: What constitutes a safe indoor temperature during extreme heat?” Vivek Shandas, the founder of the Sustaining Urban Places Research Lab at Portland State University, told me of the proliferation of such bills, ordinances, and laws in the area.
That ponderance is coming not a moment too soon. Of the 75 counties in Washington and Oregon, residents in all but seven have disproportionately low concern given their respective extreme-heat risks, according to research by Yale’s Program on Climate Change Communication published in Nature Communications this month. Of those 75 counties, just three scored below the national median on the CDC’s Heat & Health Index, a risk measurement that considers indicators such as historical heat exposure, prevalence of health conditions such as cardiovascular disease or diabetes, and socioeconomic factors like age and income. Nearly a third scored well within the upper range of risk nationally. Combined with the fact that architecture in the Northwest was designed for decades to retain heat, and that the region has some of the fastest-warming urban areas in the country, the upper left-hand corner of the country is uniquely susceptible — and unprepared — for extreme heat, the deadliest climate change and weather-related disaster in North America.
That fact was made tragically clear during the 2021 heat dome, the record-breaking, model-breaking event that killed more than 250 people across the states and served as the catalyst for housing activists, climate organizers, and policymakers. Though researchers like Shandas, who studies urban heat, had been aware that the Northwest was a public-health disaster waiting to happen, there were a few particularly startling takeaways: Though “most people think of heat risk as something that happens outside,” Shandas said, the vast majority of the people who died during the heat dome died inside, and most were likely renters living in multifamily homes. Some were even found with fans turned on full blast, pointed directly at their bodies.
“A lot of people don’t know that if your space is higher than about 90 degrees indoors, a fan actually increases your risk of heat‑related illness or death, not decreases it,” Henning said. That’s because a fan cools you by moving air over your skin to wick away sweat, a process that accelerates dehydration and can actually radiate heat into your body if the air temperature is warmer than your skin. Even worse, rather than lowering the indoor temperature, fans give an “illusion of safety,” Dante Jester, the climate resilience program manager at the Gonzaga Institute for Climate, Water, and the Environment, told me, so people delay moving to a genuinely cool place or calling for help.
“People’s cooling strategies that they’ve used for decades in Spokane” — where more than 300 people were hospitalized during the 2021 heat dome — “aren’t working anymore,” Jester went on. “Historically, people would open their windows at night. They would go for a drive and run the AC with their kids in the car seats. They would run fans. But all of these things are becoming less and less efficient and more and more dangerous.” What’s more, as smoke becomes an increasing public health hazard due to the duration and intensity of the fire season, officials are more reluctant to tell people to keep their windows open for a cross-breeze.
How, then, to keep renters — who make up between 30% and 40% of the households in Washington and Oregon — safe? The answer: Incrementally. Though HB 2265 died in committee this spring, Democratic lawmakers managed to pass its sister bill, SB 6200, even during a short session dominated by efforts to balance the budget and debate over the Millionaires Tax. The Senate bill makes it illegal for a landlord in Washington state to prevent a renter from installing their own AC unit — that is, it is an access law rather than a habitability one.
“The statewide policy that passed [SB 6200] was actually based on the renter’s right-to-install ordinance that we helped pass in Spokane in 2024,” Jester said. “We thought of it at the time as a first step, or an on-ramp, to this greater goal of requiring residencies to be cooled.”
If the Spokane right-to-install AC ordinance was the on-ramp to statewide adoption, then the failure of HB 2265 could potentially be shrugged off as jumping the gun. That’s because activists in Spokane are now testing whether true right-to-cooling legislation can find a pathway forward via a local ordinance, which would make it a legal requirement for landlords to provide a way to keep their units under 80 degrees Fahrenheit, the same way temperature minimums ensure they provide heat in the winter.
Shandas, the Sustaining Urban Places Research Lab researcher, told me he conceptualizes the path forward for right-to-cooling laws in the Northwest as a three-step approach. The first stage is permission — laws like the 2024 ordinance in Spokane and SB 6200.
The second stage is recognition of extreme heat as an imminent public health threat. Though the now-dead HB 2265 would have been a big push toward requiring landlord-provided ACs in rental units, it didn’t do so explicitly; rather, it tweaked the state’s rental code to include cooling alongside heating as a basic habitability requirement. A bill like HB 2183, which also died during the 2026 session, would have further required Washington counties to develop and implement heat response plans, which gets at the bills’ larger purpose: to grapple with the fact that the housing stock, legal system, policies, electrical systems, and even emergency services in the Northwest are all designed for a cooler climate.
Though it feels like an in-between stage, recognition is especially crucial, James Moschella, the climate and health program manager at Washington Physicians for Social Responsibility, a health professional-fronted environmental advocacy group, told me. When paramedics respond to a case of heat stroke, for example, the first thing they often do is place the patient in the bathtub in their own home, along with everything in their freezer, to try to lower their body temperature as quickly as possible. “Ambulance response times during the heat dome were significantly down because of the way they have to treat people at their homes,” Moschella said. “As a result, by the time paramedics often got to a home, in many cases the person was already dead.” One small part of a comprehensive heat plan would be anticipating that problem, perhaps by staging more ambulances on a hot day.
The third stage is performance standards — that is, defining enforceable indoor temperature limits, like what Spokane is moving toward. “I think this evolution mirrors how heating standards developed historically in other parts of the world,” Shandas said. “Unfortunately, I think we need to be accelerating this much faster, going from stage one to three in a fraction of the time that it took lower latitude regions to go through.”
Because there are few examples of existing temperature maximum laws, though, policymakers and researchers in the Northwest are feeling their way forward mostly on their own. Even something as basic as what the maximum temperature should be requires ponderance, debate, and compromise. In Spokane, policymakers settled on 80 degrees. “It’s similar to how it was done for heating, that every habitable space needs to be able to get up to 65 [degrees],” Shandas said. “Some would say, Wow, 65 is really high for a cold day, can’t you get by with 60? And it’s like, sure, you can, but you’re trying to make policy for a very large, diverse demographic.”
Eighty degrees Fahrenheit, while generally safe for most populations, is the point at which the body may begin to feel the stress or undergo physiological responses that affect certain medications, such as antipsychotics. Still, Henning told me he’d advocated for an even lower limit given existing research on safe sleeping temperatures, which puts the range closer to 74 to 76 degrees, especially for seniors and the very young.
Implementation is also a topic of discussion. Housing advocates in Spokane wanted to go beyond a “right to install AC” ordinance, not just because they believe cooling deserves to be recognized as a legal habitability requirement like heating, but also because of the potential financial burden of acquiring, installing, and especially running an air conditioner. What’s unique about the Spokane ordinance, though, is that it sets an expected indoor temperature rather than mandating how that temperature is achieved. “The goal isn’t to force people to buy air conditioning,” Henning said, “but to provide spaces that are safe.” Maybe the 80-degree threshold could be maintained, for example, by shading building windows with trees.
Powerful landlord advocacy groups have generally opposed right-to-cooling movements on the grounds that they’re very expensive. (Multifamily NW, a landlord trade association and one of the major opponents of Oregon’s SB 54, and Rental Housing Association of Washington, which opposed HB 2265, did not respond to my requests for comment.) Retrofitting costs, electrical capacity, and grid stress are legitimate concerns, Shandas told me. “Even heat pumps,” he said, “are pretty energy-hungry appliances, and older multifamily residential homes might not have good insulation or windows,” meaning you could end up with the efficiency conundrum the Rocky Mountain Institute’s Amory Lovins has memorably likened to running an AC in a tent.
Other researchers were less sympathetic to this case. “Infrastructure costs money, and that’s what landlords are agreeing to when they choose to buy units and then have them paid for by other people,” Jester told me. “That’s how it goes: If you’re renting to people, it should be a requirement that it has to be livable, in my opinion.”
Who pays, though, is one of the major questions of climate adaptation. No one is arguing that extreme heat isn’t dangerous. But is it on tenants, landlords, utilities, or governments to front the costs of making their homes and communities livable?
The problem sounds daunting, put that way. And the pressure is on: By Shandas’ estimation, what happens in Spokane and Portland, and eventually at the state level in Washington and Oregon, “is really going to be the test case for what the legal right to cooling looks like” in the United States. Organizers and researchers in Massachusetts, New York, and Minnesota have already reached out to him about their own efforts to codify maximum temperatures into law. “These are all higher-latitude regions that are looking to the Pacific Northwest and saying, Holy crap, yeah, we have to get ready for this, because if it could happen in Portland and Seattle, it can happen anywhere. We were the bellwether,” Shandas said.
But next year will be another tight budget year in Washington, and while Democrats control the legislature, HB 2265 will need tweaks to get a broader coalition on board. “I think nobody was quite ready to move without a little bit more of a plan on exactly how we would define healthy temperatures and measure them,” Seng, of Spark Northwest, told me of its initial failure.
“Another piece is cost,” Seng added. “I think housing developers get pretty squeamish about new requirements like that.” Sure enough, landlords have successfully watered down temperature regulations elsewhere, including L.A. County, which last year approved a maximum indoor temperature of 82 degrees for rentals located outside city limits — albeit with plenty of exemptions and delays available for property owners. Landlord groups have also so far successfully staved off a California-wide temperature maximum law by pouring millions into lobbying efforts.
But even more than the usual happy warrior attitude typical of activists, the researchers in Washington and Oregon described the right-to-cooling laws as inevitable, given the climate. The question is whether a multi-stage approach or the fast-track pursuit of local ordinances, rather than the sluggish statewide process, will yield results soon enough. The heat dome baking Europe this week serves as an ominous reminder that extreme heat may return to the region at any time, and the Northwest has had only five short years since its wake-up call in 2021 to prepare.
But prepare it has. “The legal invention of cooling rights — that’s part of what I’m really excited to be alive right now to see,” Shandas said.
The Metropolitan Police Service signed a deal with BetterFleet to manage the complicated logistics.
Police officers can’t be stuck waiting for their black-and-whites to recharge when an emergency call comes in. That urgency makes it especially tricky to transition their fleets away from fossil fuels and the lightning-fast gas fill-ups that get cars back on the road.
But some cities and departments have begun to make the move, aided by artificial intelligence models to manage their many vehicles and ensure electric cars can do not just the next job, but every job. Around the world, trucking companies, buses, municipal vehicles, and other huge fleets want to go electric to save money on fuel and maintenance, and they’re looking to AI to give them the confidence to take the plunge.
A cleaner fleet of cop cars is already coming to London, where the Metropolitan Police Service has turned over nearly a third of its fleet to hybrids or EVs. Last week, the MPS announced a partnership with the firm BetterFleet to manage how and when it charges its EVs, helping the service pursue its goal of a net-zero carbon emissions fleet by the end of the decade.
Much of the challenge is psychological, says BetterFleet CEO Dan Hilson. His solution is to use the power of data to overcome whatever anxiety an organization might have about switching to EVs, whether it’s range anxiety or fear of dealing with fluctuating electricity prices or something else entirely. During our interview earlier this month at the ACT Expo, a conference on advanced technology in fleets and trucking, Hilson told me that his company was able to prove to the London police that, with enough information and planning, “there’s no route you can’t do. There’s no day that you’ve done in the last three years that you couldn’t have done if it was electric.”
To demonstrate, BetterFleet builds digital twins of an operation — data-driven models that consider anything that would impact a vehicle’s range, from its own weight and cargo and the condition of its battery and motors to its planned route and speed. Even external conditions such as weather and traffic must be included to create as accurate a picture as possible of the vehicle’s condition and state of charge at any given moment.
While the approach sounds straightforward enough, hiccups come from unexpected places when you’re simulating the real world. BetterFleet found while working with King County Metro and its Seattle-area bus fleet that recharging times could vary widely between two pieces of charging equipment that look identical. “We thought, Hey, this is physics. It should just work in a particular way. But it really doesn’t,” Hilson said.
You also can’t always get what you want, data-wise. For example, Hilson said he thought automakers had access to battery information about things like degradation over time or what’s happening with the battery’s chemistry or temperature at any given moment. “Almost none of them have that, believe it or not,” he said. “And that’s because some of the original manufacturers of the batteries don’t seem to be able to give it.” His team had to work around it, building their own algorithms based on observed data to model how fast, say, an electric semi truck’s battery life would fade and adjust for it in the numbers.
BetterFleet had previously modeled and managed fleets such as London’s buses and the EV semi trucks that have been moving soft drinks around for Pepsi. But the electrification of emergency vehicles represents a next-level challenge. Bus routes are unchanging; trucking paths are predictable. Police may have beats and typical areas of service, but they must be able to respond elsewhere at a moment’s notice. As such, Hilson told me that part of his firm’s deal with the MPS was the inclusion of priority charging, so that critical vehicles could get back on the road faster. BetterFleet also must consider the possibility of when and where cop cars might use DC fast chargers to fill up quickly — an issue for departments everywhere. I often see a police Tesla or two refueling at a Supercharger in South Pasadena, California I often visit.
Indeed, while AI could have cascading benefits for EV fleets — think of predictive maintenance systems that learn which parts are likely to fail when — charging is one place where this kind of machine learning could be an enormous difference-maker right away. Trucking companies that want to go electric and steer clear of diesel price shocks don’t need to buy a $100,000 fast-charger for every truck; they need AI to tell them how many they really need if their whole fleet spreads out and optimizes its charging schedule. Grizzled lifelong trucking fleet managers don’t particularly want to become experts in complex energy markets in order to maximize their savings by charging EV trucks at the cheapest times, Hilson says. They just want AI to do it.
A variety of firms are moving into this space to help out companies that want to dip their toes into EVs. Katie Siegel, CEO of the charging management service FlipTurn, said at ACT that AI-managed charging has helped her firm balance the electrical demand of fleets by moving much of it to off-peak hours. While that approach netted thousands of dollars of savings per month, especially during summer, the benefits weren’t just monetary. For one client, such a demand-flattening approach got trucks and chargers up and running four to six months sooner than expected because it meant they didn’t have to wait for the utility to deliver extra capacity.
With so many data insights available, the trick now is deciding what matters. “The worst customers really says, It’s all important,” Hilson says. “Every single thing is important. I want my battery to be saved. I want energy savings. I want it to always be ready for trucks to pull out. So it’s about sitting with customers and really getting to that crux of what really is important. What’s the hierarchy?”
On Last Energy’s milestone, California CCS, and RFK Jr. vs. microplastics
Current conditions: The summerlike heat in the Northeast is set to drop by double digits as cold Canadian air blows southward, sending temperatures in Boston as low as 50 degrees Fahrenheit by Saturday • Temperatures are nearing 100 degrees in Cordoba, Spain, as Western Europe’s record-breaking heatwave continues • Juba is also nearly 100 degrees as heavy thunderstorms roll into the capital of conflict-riven South Sudan.
Last year, in a move so bold it made Biden administration officials jealous, President Donald Trump took an equity stake in MP Materials, making the federal government the largest shareholder in the United States’ only active domestic rare earths producer. The deal became a trend, with the U.S. government taking minority ownership stakes in at least a dozen more companies that produce or process critical minerals, of which China controls the global supply. In January, USA Rare Earth, a manufacturer of rare earth magnets that aims to eventually mine and process fresh ore in Texas, became the second large rare earths-focused company in the Trump administration’s portfolio. Now America’s two champions in the war against China’s metal monopolies are instead battling each other. On Wednesday afternoon, the Financial Times reported that MP Materials had filed a lawsuit against USA Rare Earth, accusing its rival of “stealing” its technology for making the permanent magnets that go into everything from phones and electronics to electric vehicles to fighter jets. “USA Rare Earth has repeatedly failed to meet its commercial and performance targets and is now resorting to stealing technology to dig itself out,” MP Materials alleged in a complaint filed last week in Texas court. In response, USA Rare Earth said: “MP Materials’ complaint has misrepresented our company, our culture, and our people, and we will defend ourselves vigorously.”
Yet another U.S. reactor startup hoping to build a prototype plant under the Department of Energy’s reactor pilot program has won the agency’s approval for its safety blueprint. On Thursday, Last Energy plans to announce the regulator’s official endorsement of the microreactor developer’s preliminary documented safety analysis — a key procedural step known as PDSA — for its 5-megawatt demonstration reactor at Texas A&M University. The reactor, set to be a quarter the size of Last Energy’s commercial-scale model, is designed to show regulators the technology can safely split atoms and generate heat for electricity production. The approval is only from the Energy Department and limited to the pilot project. To produce commercial electricity, Last Energy still needs to go through the Nuclear Regulatory Commission for a license. But the data from this pilot project is likely to count for Last Energy’s eventual application to the NRC for its first commercial plant. “Last Energy’s PWR-5 uses the same physical reactor geometry as the company’s commercial PWR-20, with reduced fuel enrichment scaled for 5 megawatts of electrical output,” the company told me. “The PWR-5 pilot project is a direct bridge to Last Energy’s commercial PWR-20 deployment.”
The approval makes Last Energy at least the fourth company so far to pass the PDSA phase after rival microreactor developers Antares, Radiant, and Deployable Energy. But it isn’t the only one. On Wednesday afternoon, an official at the Idaho National Laboratory posted on LinkedIn that he had approved the PDAS for two reactors in the Energy Department’s pilot program. It wasn't immediately clear which company was the second after Last Energy. “I couldn’t be prouder of the exemptional nuclear safety review team,” wrote Bob Boston, the Energy Department’s Idaho operations manager. “The public can rest assured that any and all approvals for new reactors under DOE will be safe.”
Two of the most populous states in the nation’s largest electric grid just released new rules for data centers looking to set up shop. In Pennsylvania, the largest state in PJM Interconnection, Governor Josh Shapiro issued a new set of standards for companies seeking to fast-track development, including requiring developers to generate their own electricity, give out millions of dollars in local support, and follow stricter sustainability rules on water. The Democrat, per the public radio station WVIA, “also wants to change a tax exemption program for data center owners and operators” to require companies to meet the new standards to qualify for tax breaks. The idea mirrors a proposal from Searchlight Institute senior fellow Jane Flegal, who argued last month for conditioning tax incentives on meeting best-practice industry standards for data centers. In New Jersey, the sixth-largest of PJM’s 13 states, Democratic Governor Mikie Sherrill released her own set of guidelines for data center companies that includes requiring public reporting of water and electricity usage and plans to develop “strong statewide standards” that provide “state resources to ensure municipalities can negotiate from positions of strength, ensuring data centers address impacts like light, noise, and pollution while making meaningful local investments” and “delivering good-paying jobs.”
Meanwhile in Alaska, where the Trump administration is clearing the way for all kinds of new infrastructure, the Anchorage-based startup Stak Energy is proposing one of the largest data centers in the nation on the Arctic North Slope. The $500 million project would take up an entire square mile with multiple buildings off the Dalton Highway, where proponents say cold temperatures and an abundant supply of land and natural gas for power can bolster the facility. The project could, according to the Northern Journal, produce up to 3 gigawatts of power for its own use, “making it competitive with some of the largest data centers under development in the Lower 48.” In a Tuesday segment on Alaska Public Radio, Northern Journal reporter Nathaniel Herz said the below-freezing average temperature on the North Slope meant the project would “be using what they expect to be 90% less water than a facility in the Lower 48.” Perhaps the biggest benefit though is the sparse population in the Arctic. As Heatmap’s Robinson Meyer explained of the latest Heatmap Pro data, the number of data center projects being canceled due to public backlash is soaring.
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Deep under California’s traffic-clogged streets, rolling farmland, and sprawling deserts are vast caverns — many the legacy of wells drained of oil during the heyday of Chevron’s Great Depression-era homestate drilling bonanza — capable of storing carbon dioxide captured before it enters the atmosphere. Until now, the state could only theoretically return carbon to the Earth’s crust. But on Tuesday, the oil and carbon management developer California Resources Corporation injected its maiden load of carbon dioxide into a depleted oil reservoir, marking the first time a carbon capture and storage project has come online in the state’s history. The project, called Carbon TerraVault I, is located in Kern County, the vast inland stretch northeast of Santa Barbara that’s home to California’s largest active oil fields. The site will draw out the dregs of oil left in the depleted wells in the Elk Hills Field by permanently returning up to 30 million tons of carbon dioxide to the formation roughly a mile deep underground. It’s part of a vertically integrated operation. California Resources Corporation, which calls itself CRC, operates a nearby cryogenic gas plant. The company captures the carbon dioxide from the facility and ships it to the so-called Class IV well in the oil and gas field. The first injection “demonstrates that California can lead on climate solutions that are practical, scalable, and cost-effective,” CRC CEO Francisco Leon said in a statement. Investors remain skeptical. Shares of CRC fell nearly 3% yesterday.
With gas turbines selling faster than manufacturers can keep up, technology that could capture carbon from gas-fired plants and thus preserve their value even in a scenario where the government prices emissions commands a new premium. It wasn’t long ago that activists uniformly dismissed the technology as a “false solution,” and experts cautioned that carbon capture and storage would be limited to hard-to-abate industrial sectors. But last October, as Heatmap’s Matthew Zeitlin reported, Google backed a project to build a gas plant with CCS, launching what may be one of the most promising efforts yet to commercialize the technology.
Fresh off wrangling a biting pair of eastern racer snakes he grabbed off the patio of Dr. Oz’s vacation home, Secretary of Health and Human Services Robert F. Kennedy, Jr. is trying to find ways to round up and get rid of the microscopic plastic particles circulating in Americans’ bodies. A new $144 million program, launched last month but featured in E&E News on Wednesday, aims to measure, understand, and remove micro- and nanoplastics, and marks the biggest federal investment to date in a field of study that coalesced just five years ago.
While the move was “welcomed by researchers, industry, environmental, and Make American Healthy Again advocates as well as online wellness gurus promoting nascent ‘detoxification’ methods,” the newswire quoted Kennedy’s own experts, who said the controversial health government chief was “focused on the wrong questions.” Marcus Eriksen, a marine plastics scientist who heads up the nonprofit 5 Gyres Institute and has advised Kennedy for years, said: “Getting it out of our bodies? That seems extremely tough to me.” So, why put resources there? Well, Eriksen said, it’s politically easier to sell than cracking down on the fossil fuel companies with growing businesses producing the ingredients for plastics. “I get that’s kind of the narrative that’s going to fly with this administration — focus on the downstream stuff, less on the prevention side,” he said.

For all the hype around small modular reactors, only two of the 440 some-odd commercial nuclear reactors in operating in the world today would qualify. One of them is a high-temperature gas-cooled plant in China, which generates 210 megawatts of electricity. (The cutoff for what qualifies as an SMR is widely agreed to be under 300 megawatts but over 20 megawatts, the threshold for microreactors.) The other was the world’s first SMR: Russia’s floating nuclear plant on a barge in the Siberian Arctic, capable of generating 70 megawatts of power. Nearly seven years after the vessel Akademik Lomonosov started producing electricity, Russia’s state-owned nuclear firm is preparing for another floating nuclear station. On Wednesday, World Nuclear News reported that Rosatom had finished manufacturing a 58-megawatt reactor for a serialized floating power station set to power a copper mining complex in Chukotka Autonomous Okrug, in the country’s northeasternmost corner. “Rosatom continues to expand its range of floating power units, and the completion of the first reactor for the lead floating nuclear power unit is a significant milestone,” Alexey Likhachev, the director general of Rosatom, said in a statement. “Today, Russia is the only country with an operating floating nuclear power plant, and we intend to maintain our leadership in the development of small-scale technologies.”