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Americans want a variety ... of crossovers.

America’s electric car market has a new champion. The automaking alliance of Hyundai Motor Group and Kia Motors is now the second biggest seller of electric cars in the United States, according to new data released last week by Bloomberg BNEF.
The two companies sold more than 117,000 electric vehicles in the United States last year, or about 8% of all new EVs nationwide, according to the research firm. Only Tesla, the industry’s longtime leader, sold more electric cars: It still commands about half of U.S. market share.
The two companies’ success is an encouraging sign in what was more broadly a weird year for the EV market. Scarcely more than a year ago, the public’s demand for electric cars overwhelmed available inventory, and dealers were selling every EV they could get their hands on.
But as gas prices have fallen, the growth in EV sales in the United States has slowed, and the market has gotten more uneven. Tesla, looking to shore up its market position, launched a price war last year that juiced sales but cut deep into its profits. Ford and General Motors, meanwhile, are suffering anemic sales and cutting back on their short-term EV plans.
Amid this patchy landscape, Hyundai and Kia’s growth stands out. While the two companies are technically independent, Hyundai owns about a third of Kia Motors, and they collaborate on vehicle design, engineering, and manufacturing. They also use the same vehicle “platforms,” a common set of parts that can be used across models.
Since the news came out last week, I’ve seen climate people on Twitter and elsewhere try to explain why it’s happening. Many of these explanations conform to the views that the urban, progressive climate commentariat already hold about the car market. Look, Hyundai and Kia are winning because they’re making smaller cars, not behemoth SUVs.
But the answer, while not quite the opposite, doesn’t line up with what many might wish. In fact, Hyundai and Kia are dominating the EV market right now by churning out a mostly unbroken stream of crossover and SUVs. All but one of their electric cars qualifies as an SUV or crossover; all of their plug-in hybrids are SUVs. It is this commitment to repetition — to giving the consumer a lot of choices on a central theme — that sets their product lines apart right now.
You can see the importance of this by looking at their models in more depth. Take the Hyundai Ioniq 5 and the Kia EV6, for instance, which have led EV sales at the two brands and which are built on the same platform. Each is an electrified take on the type of car that, for years now, Americans haven’t been able to get enough of: the compact crossover SUV. The Ioniq 5 and EV6 each have two rows of seating and 25 cubic feet of trunk space. They drive more or less like a car, sit high on the road like an SUV, and fall in the broad category of cars that — as a friend’s wife puts it — looks like a fist with its thumb stuck out.
The Ioniq 5 and EV6 are also really, really similar to the Mustang Mach E, Ford’s attempt at an electric crossover. In fact, if you look only at specs, they’re basically the same car. All three have the same length and width and take up about 95 square feet of road space. All three have five seats. All three have roughly the same size trunk, although the Ford’s is maybe slightly bigger. And all three have an entry-level model starting at about $42,000 — although the lowest trim Ford has slightly more range and horsepower, and costs about a grand more.
As you might expect from those specs, the Mach E narrowly outsold the Ioniq 5 and EV6 in the United States last year. Ford sold more than 40,000 Mach Es in 2023, while Hyundai moved nearly 34,000 Ioniq 5s and Kia sold 19,000 EV6s. But here’s the thing: The Mach E did not outsell the Ioniq 5 and EV6 combined. And unlike Ford, which only sells one electric SUV, Hyundai and Kia continued to flood the zone with SUV options for consumers.
How many options? Hyundai sold plug-in versions of its Tuscon and Santa Fe SUVs. Kia sold an electric version of its subcompact Niro SUV and a plug-in hybrid version of its Sportage SUV. And even though Kia only started selling its new three-row SUV, the EV9, in December, it had already delivered more than 1,000 of them by the end of the year.
In fact, only one electric car from Hyundai-Kia — the new Ioniq 6 — was designed like a traditional sedan. But it made up only around 8% of the alliance’s total sales. Hyundai and Kia achieved their commanding position by giving Americans what they want: a seemingly endless stream of SUVs and crossovers.
Now, it matters here that Kia and Hyundai are two different companies, so there is some automatic duplication in their product lines. It might never make sense for Ford or GM to sell cars as similar as the EV6 and Ioniq 5. But if we’re being honest, their SUV lineups are already pretty duplicative: Do most consumers understand the difference between a Ford Edge and a Ford Escape? There’s no reason Ford couldn’t add an Escape EV to its lineup — something a little smaller and a little cheaper. That’s exactly what Kia does with the EV Niro, after all.
It helps, too, that lots of Kia and Hyundai’s cars look like great deals for consumers. Many of their key offerings hover in the high $30,000s to mid $40,000s, seemingly the sweet spot for new family cars today. Even though Hyundai and Kia’s cars don’t qualify for the new EV tax credit, Americans can use the $7,500 federal tax credit if they lease a vehicle instead.
Hyundai especially has used this credit — and a creative mix of rebates and low-interest-rate offers — to bring down the monthly payment for consumers. (Nearly half of new Ioniq 5s are leased, according to BNEF, which is a much higher rate than normal for Hyundai’s cars.)
Finally, it helps that Kia and especially Hyundai are making more interesting-looking vehicles than any other automaker right now. Compared to the staid peoplemover that is, say, the Volkswagen ID.4, the Ioniq 5 is striking, novel, and seems to push EV design forward. Its pixelated taillights are unlike anything else on the road, and it’s an extremely charismatic vehicle to drive; it’s just a better product, overall, than other cars out there.
And that might be the most important lesson behind Hyundai and Kia’s success. For the past few decades, decarbonization advocates have gotten used to thinking about electric cars primarily as a market abstraction: Are they cheap? Are they available? Are they growing as a sector? But as the EV transition continues, we are going to have to think about them more as products, as specific tools that can improve someone’s life by their presence. The EV companies that ultimately win will make better products than their competitors — cars that bring together capability, design, and price in a special way. Right now, Hyundai and Kia are pushing to the front of that race.
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On the long-time climate funder’s win-loss record, China’s clean energy manufacturing, and sunscreen.
Tom Steyer, the billionaire investor and climate activist, is probably not going to be California’s next governor.
While the Associated Press still hasn’t called the race (and votes are still being counted), outside observers such as Decision Desk HQ have projected the outcome. The likely winners of California’s top-two primary will be Xavier Becerra, a Democrat and former federal health secretary, and Steve Hilton, a British-born Republican and conservative commentator. They’ll face each other in the November election.
That means the country’s most ambitious state-level climate policy will probably wind up in Becerra’s hands. And Becerra, notably, has suggested he will look upon the state’s carbon-cutting goals more skeptically than California’s past two Democratic governors. He has committed neither to California’s goal of ending gas-powered vehicle sales by 2035, nor its goal of phasing out fossil fuels by 2045. And he has suggested the state has ignored affordability in its quest to cut carbon emissions.
“Can we make the 2045 goal? Sure would like to, but I’m not going to hang up our economy and families’ cost of living if we find that we’re not able to meet that goal,” he said in an interview earlier this year. His website lists “Energy and Utilities” but not climate change, as a top priority for his future administration, and adds for clarity: “Bill affordability will be at the center of my energy policy.”
All that will matter in the years to come. Yet the most significant immediate consequence — if Steyer does fail to make the run-off — might be for campaign finance. After Becerra (or an independent committee associated with him) accepted donations from Chevron and an oil and gas trade group, Steyer pounced. “Big Oil,” Steyer said, was betting on Becerra to dismantle California’s climate policy. Becerra retorted that he had sued oil companies as California’s attorney general. Then he kept Chevron’s money.
That was just one episode in a long and complicated race, of course. But ultimately, it’s not clear that voters in one of the country’s most liberal polities cared about the donation or Becerra’s less ambitious approach to climate policy — or perhaps Steyer, a billionaire himself, was not the most persuasive critic of money’s corrosive influence in politics. Either way, Becerra’s successful primary campaign may signal a more conciliatory approach to fossil fuels from Democrats, even those from coastal, progressive states. (Heatmap, I hasten to add, doesn’t accept advertising or any other kind of sponsorship from oil and gas companies.)
What’s more cut and dried is that Steyer has donated an awe-inspiring amount of money to climate, environmental, and other progressive causes over the past 17 years, and now has little to show for it. It’s worth doing a brief tally: He spent $216 million on this run for governor, including more than $195 million on ads. He dropped another $342 million to run for president in 2020. Neither effort succeeded (assuming projections hold).
Then there’s the $90 million he spent on the Trump impeachment effort during the president’s first term, as well as the $58.5 million he gave to the NextGen Climate political action committee for the 2018 cycle. Steyer, in fact, helped found the NextGen Climate organization in 2013; he later gave it and a few other groups $74 million to turn out young voters on climate issues in the 2014 midterm, then donated at least another $25 million in 2016. His political spending from 2009 to 2017 came to $365.6 million, according to his own disclosures.
All in all, Steyer has spent roughly a billion dollars since 2009 to advance causes and issues that he cares about — as well as his own political career. Climate has been one of the biggest beneficiaries of this largesse.
And it hasn’t quite all been a wash. Steyer has seemingly had the most success doing what he knows best: for-profit investment. Galvanize, the climate-aware asset manager he co-founded in 2022 and co-chaired until last year, has closed at least $1 billion in funds, and raised $370 million as recently as March. And even as a political donor, Steyer has pulled off big wins when intervening in California’s referendum elections. He was the biggest donor to the “No on Prop 23” campaign in 2010, which successfully protected the state’s climate policy from a Koch brothers-funded effort to defang it. And he was the biggest single contributor to last year’s Prop 50 referendum, which allowed the state to join the Trump-initiated mid-decade redistricting war.
But it isn’t exactly an inspiring record. I would say Steyer is the New York Knicks of political giving, except the Knicks are good now. While Steyer’s money paid the rent for many climate activists, organizers, and wonks over the years — and played some role in creating the political moment that produced the Inflation Reduction Act — it hasn’t created the kind of durable majority for climate action that he may have once hoped. Perhaps that should invite some introspection: Has the effort to produce a pro-climate-action consensus failed despite its billionaire backers? Or because of them?
What has long perplexed me about Steyer is that even though he has spent much of his time as a candidate embracing the left — and allying himself with the Democratic Party’s various interest groups — he strikes a far more moderate tone in conversation. As he told me during a Heatmap event at last year’s San Francisco Climate Week, “No one’s going to adopt new technologies to be nice. They’re going to adopt new technologies because they’re better, because they’re a better deal, because they’re cheaper, or in some ways solve a pain point for the customer.” In that sense, at least, he believed the market could work. Whether a similar market exists for political donors is perhaps best left unanswered.
The Iran war — and the energy crisis it ignited — have been a gift to China’s clean energy manufacturing sector.
But they have also helped America’s oil and gas industry. A new round of government statistics, released today, show that America’s crude oil, petroleum product, and fuel oil exports surged by more than $8.7 billion in April. That helped push down the government’s volatile trade deficit to its lowest level in months. The Trump administration has sought to lower the trade deficit since taking office.
Incidentally, a tracker from researchers at Brown University estimates that Americans have paid an extra $56 billion for gasoline and diesel since the Iran war began.
It’s not exactly climate adaptation, but I’ll take it: The U.S. Food and Drug Administration has amended the list of ingredients allowed in American sunscreen for the first time in 20 years, permitting the use of a stable and broad-spectrum chemical long permitted in European and Asian sunscreens.
The move by University of Pennsylvania researcher Danny Cullenward intensifies a debate over integrity at the carbon accounting organization.
A well-known scientist has resigned from the independent oversight board of the Greenhouse Gas Protocol, renewing questions about the integrity of one of the world’s most important arbiters of carbon emissions standards.
Danny Cullenward, who is also an economist and lawyer, notified the organization’s leadership on Monday that he no longer has “any confidence in the Protocol’s governance structure,” according to his resignation letter, which he posted publicly. He had previously tried to sound alarms about the organization and its lack of transparency in a paper he published in April.
Cullenward’s resignation letter goes a step further, accusing the Protocol of covering up an internal complaint he and a fellow board member filed, and of handing the reins of at least one of the organization’s standards to “a secret, industry-dominated drafting process.”
The Greenhouse Gas Protocol declined to comment on Cullenward’s resignation or answer questions about his account of events leading up to it.
The Protocol launched in the late 1990s as a joint project of the World Resources Institute, an environmental group, and the World Business Council for Sustainable Development, an industry association. Today it is the world’s leading standard-setter for corporate carbon accounting. More than 22,000 businesses rely on its methodologies to calculate and report their emissions. While adhering to the Protocol’s standards is still mostly voluntary, it will soon become a requirement under European Union and California disclosure rules.
Cullenward’s accusations arrive in the middle of a major revamp at the organization that began in 2022, designed specifically to improve the integrity of its corporate accounting standards. As part of the overhaul, it also put in place a new governance structure to improve transparency and accountability. Technical working groups made up of external experts would develop proposals to revise the standards to more accurately capture companies’ full carbon footprints, and then an Independent Standards Board would review and ultimately approve them. The Protocol appointed Cullenward to the independent board as one of its inaugural members in September 2024.
Cullenward’s reasons for leaving, as described in his letter, center around the development of a forest accounting standard to be used by companies that manage forests or have wood in their supply chains. The technical working group assigned to develop the standard could not reach a consensus, and ultimately submitted two competing proposals to the Board. Members associated with landowner groups and the forest products industry authored one of them, while the group’s research scientists primarily wrote the other.
According to Cullenward’s letter, as well as memos written by the academic scientists in the working group reviewed by Heatmap, the industry proposal, known as the “managed land proxy” method, would enable companies to claim they were removing carbon from the atmosphere when they cut down trees or used virgin wood. “This is the opposite of what physically happens when a forest is cut down,” Cullenward writes.
The method produces this counterintuitive result by allowing companies to take credit for all the carbon sucked up by the forests they manage, or in some cases by all the forests in a region, even if the company had no part in boosting that sequestration. If companies were to apply this accounting method to their products, Cullenward adds, not only would making virgin paper appear to involve zero carbon emissions, it would also apparently help to restore the climate. It would also look much more advantageous to the climate than producing recycled paper.
His concern is not just with this proposal, but also with how the Protocol handled a complaint filed by a proponent for the managed land proxy approach that challenged the scientists’ expertise. In response, the organization quietly solicited opinions from additional outside scientists on the two proposals.
Cullenward’s letter asserts that this was a decision made solely by the board’s chair, Alexander Bassen, alongside Protocol staff and without the rest of the board’s input. He writes that when these external comments were later shared with him and his fellow board members, the authors were “presented as neutral arbiters of a contested scientific debate,” even though they had been specifically referenced in the complaint as supporters of the managed land proxy approach.
Cullenward says he tried to “pursue internal accountability” but faced retaliation. In February he and another board member, an Australian forest ecologist named Heather Keith, filed an official complaint. The Protocol enlisted an outside mediator to resolve their dispute, but Cullenward says the hired adjudicator failed even to read the full complaint before meeting with him. The mediator also did not review any of the recordings of key board meetings referenced in the complaint, and was barred from speaking to technical working group scientists.
Cullenward and Keith eventually received a response to their complaint from the mediator but were told they could not share it, and the matter was deemed closed. According to a spokesperson for the Greenhouse Gas Protocol, who reached out to me with an update on the matter in late May, an independent review found “some process shortcomings” but “no material breach” of the organization’s rules or of due process. They added that “recommendations to address process shortcomings and strengthen conflict resolution are being reviewed and implemented.”
I reached out to Keith, who told me in an email that she was “deeply concerned about Danny’s resignation.” She praised his “wide-ranging expertise” in carbon accounting, law, and governance, and his “extensive contributions” to the board’s discussions. “One of the most valuable assets in a Board member is his demonstrated independence in making judgements that is based on a sound knowledge of climate science,” she wrote. The board “should be encouraging more people with Danny’s expertise and motivation for climate action to benefit the global community, not losing such valuable people.”
Cullenward’s primary concern moving forward is a new partnership between the Greenhouse Gas Protocol and the International Organization for Standardization, which establishes technical specifications for a range of industries and purposes, to unify their emissions accounting rules. The two groups’ first joint undertaking is to develop a standard for assigning emissions to specific products, which will include forest carbon accounting.
While the Greenhouse Gas Protocol has publicly listed the members it assigned to the joint working group, the ISO is under no obligation to do so. Cullenward asserts in his letter that the new joint groups “operate with confidential membership that is heavily tilted in favor of industry interests.” He says a representative from the World Business Council for Sustainable Development told him that the group may draw on an existing ISO standard based on the managed land proxy approach.
Meanwhile, over a year after the corporate forest accounting technical working group submitted its proposals, the Independent Standards Board is now contemplating kicking off a seven-month public comment period on the recommendations, Cullenward writes. He concludes that this elongated comment period is just for show, and that the issues “have already been delegated” to the joint working group with the ISO.
I asked the Greenhouse Gas Protocol how it planned to ensure “transparency and accountability for its stakeholders,” as it has previously promised, when the membership and meeting minutes of the joint ISO working groups are not disclosed to the public. I also asked, for the second time, whether the organization plans to publish meeting minutes from Independent Standards Board meetings — a requirement under the board’s governing rules that it has not followed. The Protocol declined to answer.
The U.S. electric vehicle maker’s make-or-break model, the R2, is finally here — and it’s pretty fun to drive.
The attainable Rivian is here, and not a moment too soon.
It’s been nearly a decade since the U.S.-based startup revealed its prestige R1T pickup truck and R1S SUV, earning plenty of “the next Tesla” hype and becoming lots of people’s favorite electric car brand. But with those R1 vehicles starting around $70,000 — and with nicer versions hitting six digits — lots of would-be drivers have been waiting for R2, the scaled-down vehicle first announced in 2024 and meant to take Rivian to the masses.
Now the moment has arrived: On Tuesday, Rivian began shipping the first version of the R2. I had the privilege of test-driving the vehicle that will make or break the brand last week on the highways and mountain roads outside Park City, Utah. If my experience is any indication, R2 is up to the job of making Rivian mainstream.
“A word we used really heavily throughout the development of R1 was … inviting,” CEO and founder RJ Scaringe said to the journalists at last week’s event. “We use that in the sense of inviting people to use it, inviting people to get it dirty, inviting people to have new experiences and new adventures in it. But by virtue of it being a flagship product, its price wasn't as inviting as we wanted. And so R2 really in many ways is the culmination of the full brand promise.”
First, the facts: R2 looks at first glance like a smooshed version of Rivian’s big SUV, with the same signature headlights and basic shape. It’s a little shorter, a little narrower, and 2,000 pounds lighter than its big cousin, seating five people as opposed to the seven that can cram into R1S. Range from the 88-kilowatt-hour battery is in the high 200 miles and tops 330 miles for some editions.
The stat that matters most is price. The first R2s out of the gate will cost around $58,000, and gradually less expensive tiers will arrive later this year and into next, culminating in the $45,000 base version at a yet-to-be-determined date. No, an EV around 50-grand doesn’t sound like a car for the common man. But as Scaringe noted, that is now the average price for a new car in America, which certainly makes R2 attainable for millions more drivers.
It’s also a lot of car for that money. Thanks to its boxiness, R2 feels like it has loads of room on the inside. Because of an improved battery shape, there’s actually more legroom for the rear passengers compared to R1. Double gloveboxes and a pretty big frunk add to the available storage space. (Rivian even fixed a pet peeve of R1 owners who couldn’t fit their monstrous water bottles in a convenient spot.)
Yet R2 doesn’t drive big. It rides high and offers the driver a wide view, but it’s not a tank like R1, which I found difficult to park in compact spaces like the one at my home. Its 5,000-pound weight is still a lot of heft (a Tesla Model Y is more like 4,000 to 4,400 pounds), but the car still feels zippy. The mass is simply overwhelmed by electric power, especially in the higher-end versions Rivian let us drive in Utah.
As the engineers on site noted, developing the R2 was mostly an exercise in subtraction — not just shrinking the physical size from the R1, but also making R2 cheaper to build by removing miles of wiring (something the brand visualized at the event by showing off bundles of copper in the style of a rubber band ball, representing all that had been cleaved). But R2 needed its own bells and whistles so it would feel desirable on its own and not appear to be merely a discount Rivian.
Those additions include rear windows that go all the way down, unlike the halfway that’s common in most passenger cars; the rear windshield descends, too. A fun button up front marked with a “5” will lower all four passenger windows plus the back windshield at once. In response to complaints about every function running through the center touchscreen, Rivian put in some buttons — or, rather, some wheels. On each side of the steering wheel, reachable by a person’s thumbs, are haptic “halo” buttons that can be pushed side to side or spun. These are not at all the subtle, slight wheels you’d find a Tesla, but rather beefy spinners meant to feel rugged and easy to manipulate.
During testing, I struggled with how hard to push them and in what direction to enter the desired mode that could then be adjusted by spinning the wheel, be it climate, music, drive mode, or the positioning of the side mirrors. But something tells me Rivian will refine the haptic feedback as R2 owners put miles on their vehicles. And even complicated or layered menus become second nature once it’s your own car.
Many of these vehicles will never go off-road, but Rivian still had to prove the R2’s backcountry bona fides. This is the adventure EV brand, after all, and part of the pitch for R2 is how much more it can do than a Tesla Model Y or Chevy Equinox EV. Keen to prove the point, Rivian swapped us halfway through the test drive into R2s with their tire pressure halved to make them mountain-ready, then directed us onto the rutty, boulder-pitted roads of Wasatch Mountain State Park to wade through water crossings and up to the top of a plateau. Here the touchscreen becomes an adventurer’s dream, displaying the vehicle’s moment-by-moment elevation, pitch, compass direction, and much more. Tap into the camera system and it can bring up the close-up view of what’s right in front of the vehicle and shows both front wheels to help navigate around pointy rocks and cavernous ruts.
R2 never wavered or felt as if it had taken on too much. It has all the capability you’d need as a trail warrior, and more than enough for the affluent professional who yearns to become outdoorsy. After so many decades when the world’s truly rugged vehicles were also low-mile-per-gallon polluters, it feels like a breakthrough just getting this much can-do spirit out of an electric car.
More salient for the urban dweller is Rivian’s big push into autonomous driving. As we noted in December after the brand’s AI and Autonomy Day, R2 is the company’s big play in that race: It vastly ups the amount of road open to Rivian’s hand-free autonomous driving feature works, raising it to about 3.5 million miles in the U.S. The company also told us that by the end of the year it would introduce point-to-point service, where the vehicle really can drive itself for the duration of a trip, with more autonomous features potentially on the way. During the test drive, the hands-free tech felt steady and assured on twisty local roads.
Rivian has a long way to go here, given Tesla’s major head start in developing vehicle autonomy. One big asset it does have is the thousands of drivers who’ve bought R1s and who opted to share their driving data with the company, helping it build a dataset that maps and models the world. The less expensive R2 should get many more people into a Rivian vehicle and accelerate that learning curve. That, plus the eventual addition of a LIDAR sensor to some models, will allow that kind of full autonomy that R2 will use when it goes into service as an Uber robotaxi following the ride-sharing company’s $1.2 billion investment earlier this year.
It’s difficult to overstate the importance of this vehicle for Rivian, or for the electrification of the American car. For the brand, this must be its Model 3 moment, where it leaps from a niche brand selling luxe status symbols to one that builds a huge number of EVs — and in the process hopefully becomes financially stable after years in the startup “valley of death,” between promise and profitability. Billion-dollar investments from the likes of Volkswagen and Amazon buoyed Rivian during those years; now R2 has to deliver on them.
As for the U.S. EV market as a whole? It also needs the R2. New EV sales are sagging in America, even amid gasoline price shocks caused by the Iran War. A $50,000 Rivian isn’t exactly the solution to the auto industry’s affordability crisis, but Scaringe argued that U.S. buyers also lack great choices. The industry leaders — Tesla’s Model 3 and Model Y — have been on the market since 2018 and 2020, respectively, with subtle tweaks and update since then. New offerings from legacy carmakers like Chevy and Toyota are a welcome change. Still, they feel like a Chevy or Toyota that’s been electrified, not like a vehicle built from the ground up to deliver on the promise of what a great EV can be.
Yet even now, the learnings from the EV startup world that led to R2 — dramatically simplified manufacturing to bring down costs, advanced touchscreen infotainment with elegant interfaces, EVs built fully integrated from the ground up rather than adapted from existing gas cars — are already influencing the rest of the industry. Just look at what Ford’s skunkworks operation is up to as the Detroit giant tries to catch up in the EV race starting next year. A successful R2 would push the car industry further in this direction.
R2 succeeds in bringing the feeling of a lusted-after EV to the five-seat, fully capable SUV, which has become the de facto family car of this country. And for all of Rivian’s focus on catching up in the AI and autonomy race, R2 still feels like a car you’re supposed to love to drive yourself, whether that’s to work, to grandma’s, or to the top of a mountain. It is, indeed, inviting. With Tesla having publicly abdicated its role of building great EVs for humans to drive, Rivian is now primed to seize the position.