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It’s tough out there for an electric truck.
Rivian’s R1T was the showpiece that launched the company; I was blown away the moment I saw its concept version at a car show in the 2010s. But the truck’s sales are down 38% over last year as the R1S SUV becomes the brand’s signature vehicle. Ford has found some footing with the F-150 Lightning, but is lowering expectations for the vehicle as Detroit faces fierce headwinds trying to convince its legion of truck drivers to go electric — and backtracks toward plug-in hybrids. The category leader in sales, the Tesla Cybertruck, exists primarily to inspire TikTok derision, which would be easier to swallow if its sales, while rising, didn’t pale in comparison to the Model Y and 3.
There are practical reasons for sluggish truck sales — the SUV shape is more useful than a pickup truck for the kinds of people currently buying EVs. There are political reasons, of course. Even with Donald Trump’s softening his EV hatred thanks to support from Elon Musk, lots of pickup drivers remain electric-averse. There are financial reasons, since many of the electric truck offerings to date are staggeringly expensive. Above these concerns floats a broader, more all-consuming problem: Maybe it’s just not the right time to make an all-electric truck, at least not the monstrous kind America buys.
Lucid’s CEO recently remarked on this idea in response to drawings of a theoretical Lucid pickup circulating on the internet. Despite America’s insatiable appetite for pickups, the company is absolutely not making a truck right now, he said.
His rationale boils down to the conundrum for today’s EVs: Vehicles of all stripes have been getting bigger as American drivers choose crossovers, SUVs, and trucks. Since those are the shapes Americans want, and want to pay extra for, those are the kinds of EVs carmakers want to sell. But a larger EV is a less efficient one. It takes lots of energy to move a heavy vehicle, which means they need huge batteries just to achieve a normal driving range.
As I noted earlier this month, Lucid has been counterculturally hyper-focused on making efficient vehicles that can maximize range. Its Air sedans achieve an industry-leading 4 miles per kilowatt-hour of electricity, which lets the cars claim more than 400 miles per charge despite having a battery of average size. The excellent but heavyweight R1T is only about half as efficient. You can buy one with 420 miles of range, but doing so requires an enormous and expensive battery pack.
Weight alone is not the only issue. Pickup owners — even those who never stray from the smooth pavement of the suburbs — want their vehicles to be able to tow a boat or tackle the Rubicon trail. Towing with an EV dings the driving range that’s already low because of the vehicle’s heft. Knowing that, Lucid CTO and CEO Peter Rawlinson estimated the minimum battery size threshold for a workable electric pickup at 150 kilowatt-hours — nearly double the size of the 84-kilowatt hour battery that powers the simplest Lucid Air, and well past the 118-kilowatt hour pack in the long range Grand Touring edition. Given the cost of today’s batteries and their physical limitations, it’s simply difficult to make the math work for the kind of megavehicle that full-size pickups have become.
Downsizing the truck would help, of course. It’d be much easier, and cheaper, to fully electrify something the size and weight of the Chevy S-10. However, the chorus of car enthusiasts and compact truck fans calling for the pickup to return to its reasonably sized roots has been drowned out by all the money Detroit is making on monster trucks. Don’t pin your hopes there.
But just because the full-size EV pickup is in a tough spot now doesn’t mean it’ll stay that way. The battery calculus will change as technologies improve and economies of scale emerge. At some point, it might be possible to squeeze 150 or 200 kilowatt-hours of juice into a not-gargantuan battery pack, and to build it for less than a small fortune, at which point the fully electric F-150 or Silverado becomes a far more attractive proposition.
The more immediate solution, though, is the ongoing rise of the hybrid. Trucks make terrific hybrids. The hybrid version of the current Ford F-150 has plenty of power and driving range for serious work or play, and also gets 25 miles per gallon in the city compared to 18-20 mpg for combustion-only trucks. If that doesn’t sound like a lot, remember that when it comes to cutting fossil fuels consumption and emissions, improving gas-guzzlers by a little can be more powerful than improving already-efficient cars by a lot. (With mpg, it’s better to go from bad to decent than from good to great. It’s a bad statistic.)
Crucially for the potential to cut the carbon emissions of America’s truck fleet, conventional hybrids are less weighed down by a feeling of foreignness and political baggage. There was a time when vehicles like the Prius were the peak of conspicuous car consumption for lefty greens. Now a slew of vehicles, including trucks, come in hybrid configurations (and some cars, like the Toyota Camry, have ditched combustion-only models altogether). A hybrid is just a car, one you can pump gas into and drive without thinking too much about the partisan implications of its powertrain.
The idea of plug-in hybrid full-size trucks is alluring, too. Owners could live out the fantasy of driving a weekend warrior 4x4 — and enjoy the in-group signaling that comes with pickup ownership — all while using electricity for the local driving that makes up most of their actual transportation needs. Perhaps someday we could even get Heatmap’s dream vehicle, a plug-in hybrid version of the reasonably sized Ford Maverick.
Trucks are good candidates for unusual hybrid configurations, too. This week, some American reviewers tested, and loved, the BYD Shark, a Chinese-made pickup on sale in Mexico but not here. The Shark’s hybrid setup is a range extender, meaning that although the gas engine can drive the front wheels in some situations, it exists primarily to charge a generator that powers electric motors, and those motors push the vehicle. Its battery pack can hold enough energy for an estimated 60 miles of electric driving.
The Shark won’t swim to America, given the ongoing tariffs battle. But it doesn’t have to. For 2025, Ram has promised us the Ramcharger extended-range pickup that puts this tech into a truck Americans can buy. Heatmap’s Jesse Jenkins called it an “ideal near-term product to satisfy some of the trickiest American market segments to electrify: namely the uniquely American demand for full-size pickups and massive SUVs.”
Indeed, if truck shoppers give this new kind of electrified vehicle a chance, they’re going to like what they find.
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It was a curious alliance from the start. On the one hand, Donald Trump, who made antipathy toward electric vehicles a core part of his meandering rants. On the other hand, Elon Musk, the man behind the world’s largest EV company, who nonetheless put all his weight, his millions of dollars, and the power of his social network behind the Trump campaign.
With Musk standing by his side on Election Day, Trump has once again secured the presidency. His reascendance sent shock waves through the automotive world, where companies that had been lurching toward electrification with varying levels of enthusiasm were left to wonder what happens now — and what benefits Tesla may reap from having hitched itself to the winning horse.
Certainly the federal government’s stated target of 50% of U.S. new car sales being electric by 2030 is toast, and many of the actions it took in pursuit of that goal are endangered. Although Trump has softened his rhetoric against EVs since becoming buddies with Musk, it’s hard to imagine a Trump administration with any kind of ambitious electrification goal.
During his first go-round as president, Trump attacked the state of California’s ability to set its own ambitious climate-focused rules for cars. No surprise there: Because of the size of the California car market, its regulations helped to drag the entire industry toward lower-emitting vehicles and, almost inevitably, EVs. If Trump changes course and doesn’t do the same thing this time, it’ll be because his new friend at Tesla supports those rules.
The biggest question hanging over electric vehicles, however, is the fate of the Biden administration’s signature achievements in climate and EV policy, particularly the Inflation Reduction Act’s $7,500 federal consumer tax credit for electric vehicles. A Trump administration looks poised to tear down whatever it can of its predecessor’s policy. Some analysts predict it’s unlikely the entire IRA will disappear, but concede Trump would try to kill off the incentives for electric vehicles however he can.
There’s no sugar-coating it: Without the federal incentives, the state of EVs looks somewhat bleak. Knocking $7,500 off the starting price is essential to negate the cost of manufacturing expensive lithium-ion batteries and making EVs cost-competitive with ordinary combustion cars. Consider a crucial model like the new Chevy Equinox EV: Counting the federal incentive, the most basic $35,000 model could come in under the starting price of a gasoline crossover like the Toyota RAV4. Without that benefit, buyers who want to go electric will have to pay a premium to do so — the thing that’s been holding back mass electrification all along.
Musk, during his honeymoon with Trump, boasted that Tesla doesn’t need the tax credits, as if daring the president-elect to kill off the incentives. On the one hand, this is obviously false. Visit Tesla’s website and you’ll see the simplest Model 3 listed for $29,990, but this is a mirage. Take away the $7,500 in incentives and $5,000 in claimed savings versus buying gasoline, and the car actually starts at about $43,000, much further out of reach for non-wealthy buyers.
What Musk really means is that his company doesn’t need the incentives nearly as bad as other automakers do. Ford is hemorrhaging billions of dollars as it struggles to make EVs profitably. GM’s big plan to go entirely electric depended heavily on federal support. As InsideEVsnotes, the likely outcome of a Trump offensive against EVs is that the legacy car brands, faced with an unpredictable electrification roadmap as America oscillates between presidents, scale back their plans and lean back into the easy profitably of big, gas-guzzling SUVs and trucks. Such an about-face could hand Tesla the kind of EV market dominance it enjoyed four or five years ago when it sold around 75% of all electric vehicles in America.
That’s tough news for the climate-conscious Americans who want an electric vehicle built by someone not named Elon Musk. Hundreds of thousands of people, myself included, bought a Tesla during the past five or six years because it was the most practical EV for their lifestyle, only to see the company’s figurehead shift his public persona from goofy troll to Trump acolyte. It’s not uncommon now, as Democrats distance themselves from Tesla, to see Model 3s adorned with bumper stickers like the “Anti-Elon Tesla Club,” as one on a car I followed last month proclaimed. Musk’s newest vehicle, the Cybertruck, is a rolling embodiment of the man’s brand, a vehicle purpose-built to repel anyone not part of his cult of personality.
In a world where this version of Tesla retakes control of the electric car market, it becomes harder to ditch gasoline without indirectly supporting Donald Trump, by either buying a Tesla or topping off at its Superchargers. Blue voters will have some options outside of Tesla — the industry has come too far to simply evaporate because of one election. But it’s also easy to see dispirited progressives throwing up their hands and buying another carbon-spewing Subaru.
Republicans are taking over some of the most powerful institutions for crafting climate policy on Earth.
When Republicans flipped the Senate, they took the keys to three critical energy and climate-focused committees.
These are among the most powerful institutions for crafting climate policy on Earth. The Senate plays the role of gatekeeper for important legislation, as it requires a supermajority to overcome the filibuster. Hence, it’s both where many promising climate bills from the House go to die, as well as where key administrators such as the heads of the Department of Energy and the Environmental Protection Agency are vetted and confirmed.
We’ll have to wait a bit for the Senate’s new committee chairs to be officially confirmed. But Jeff Navin, co-founder at the climate change-focused government affairs firm Boundary Stone Partners, told me that since selections are usually based on seniority, in many cases it’s already clear which Republicans are poised to lead under Trump and which Democrats will assume second-in-command (known as the ranking member). Here’s what we know so far.
This committee has been famously led by Joe Manchin, the former Democrat, now Independent senator from West Virginia, who will retire at the end of this legislative session. Energy and Natural Resources has a history of bipartisan collaboration and was integral in developing many of the key provisions in the Inflation Reduction Act — and could thus play a key role in dismantling them. Overall, the committee oversees the DOE, the Department of the Interior, the U.S. Forest Service, and the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission, so it’s no small deal that its next chairman will likely be Mike Lee, the ultra-conservative Republican from Utah. That’s assuming that the committee's current ranking member, John Barrasso of Wyoming, wins his bid for Republican Senate whip, which seems very likely.
Lee opposes federal ownership of public lands, setting himself up to butt heads with Martin Heinrich, the Democrat from New Mexico and likely the committee’s next ranking member. Lee has also said that solving climate change is simply a matter of having more babies, as “problems of human imagination are not solved by more laws, they’re solved by more humans.” As Navin told me, “We've had this kind of safe space where so-called quiet climate policy could get done in the margins. And it’s not clear that that's going to continue to exist with the new leadership.”
This committee is currently chaired by Democrat Tom Carper of Delaware, who is retiring after this term. Poised to take over is the Republican’s current ranking member, Shelley Moore Capito of West Virginia. She’s been a strong advocate for continued reliance on coal and natural gas power plants, while also carving out areas of bipartisan consensus on issues such as nuclear energy, carbon capture, and infrastructure projects during her tenure on the committee. The job of the Environment and Public Works committee is in the name: It oversees the EPA, writes key pieces of environmental legislation such as the Clean Air Act and Clean Water Act, and supervises public infrastructure projects such as highways, bridges, and dams.
Navin told me that many believe the new Democratic ranking member will be Sheldon Whitehouse of Rhode Island, although to do so, he would have to step down from his perch at the Senate Budget Committee, where he is currently chair. A tireless advocate of the climate cause, Whitehouse has worked on the Environment and Public Works committee for over 15 years, and lately seems to have had a relatively productive working relationship with Capito.
This subcommittee falls under the broader Senate Appropriations Committee and is responsible for allocating funding for the DOE, various water development projects, and various other agencies such as the Nuclear Regulatory Commission.
California’s Dianne Feinstein used to chair this subcommittee until her death last year, when Democrat Patty Murray of Washington took over. Navin told me that the subcommittee’s next leader will depend on how the game of “musical chairs” in the larger Appropriations Committee shakes out. Depending on their subcommittee preferences, the chair could end up being John Kennedy of Louisiana, outgoing Senate Minority Leader Mitch McConnell of Kentucky, or Lisa Murkowski of Alaska. It’s likewise hard to say who the top Democrat will be.
Inside a wild race sparked by a solar farm in Knox County, Ohio.
The most important climate election you’ve never heard of? Your local county commissioner.
County commissioners are usually the most powerful governing individuals in a county government. As officials closer to community-level planning than, say a sitting senator, commissioners wind up on the frontlines of grassroots opposition to renewables. And increasingly, property owners that may be personally impacted by solar or wind farms in their backyards are gunning for county commissioner positions on explicitly anti-development platforms.
Take the case of newly-elected Ohio county commissioner – and Christian social media lifestyle influencer – Drenda Keesee.
In March, Keesee beat fellow Republican Thom Collier in a primary to become a GOP nominee for a commissioner seat in Knox County, Ohio. Knox, a ruby red area with very few Democratic voters, is one of the hottest battlegrounds in the war over solar energy on prime farmland and one of the riskiest counties in the country for developers, according to Heatmap Pro’s database. But Collier had expressed openness to allowing new solar to be built on a case-by-case basis, while Keesee ran on a platform focused almost exclusively on blocking solar development. Collier ultimately placed third in the primary, behind Keesee and another anti-solar candidate placing second.
Fighting solar is a personal issue for Keesee (pronounced keh-see, like “messy”). She has aggressively fought Frasier Solar – a 120 megawatt solar project in the country proposed by Open Road Renewables – getting involved in organizing against the project and regularly attending state regulator hearings. Filings she submitted to the Ohio Power Siting Board state she owns a property at least somewhat adjacent to the proposed solar farm. Based on the sheer volume of those filings this is clearly her passion project – alongside preaching and comparing gay people to Hitler.
Yesterday I spoke to Collier who told me the Frasier Solar project motivated Keesee’s candidacy. He remembered first encountering her at a community meeting – “she verbally accosted me” – and that she “decided she’d run against me because [the solar farm] was going to be next to her house.” In his view, he lost the race because excitement and money combined to produce high anti-solar turnout in a kind of local government primary that ordinarily has low campaign spending and is quite quiet. Some of that funding and activity has been well documented.
“She did it right: tons of ground troops, people from her church, people she’s close with went door-to-door, and they put out lots of propaganda. She got them stirred up that we were going to take all the farmland and turn it into solar,” he said.
Collier’s takeaway from the race was that local commissioner races are particularly vulnerable to the sorts of disinformation, campaign spending and political attacks we’re used to seeing more often in races for higher offices at the state and federal level.
“Unfortunately it has become this,” he bemoaned, “fueled by people who have little to no knowledge of what we do or how we do it. If you stir up enough stuff and you cry out loud enough and put up enough misinformation, people will start to believe it.”
Races like these are happening elsewhere in Ohio and in other states like Georgia, where opposition to a battery plant mobilized Republican primaries. As the climate world digests the federal election results and tries to work backwards from there, perhaps at least some attention will refocus on local campaigns like these.