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Here’s what you need to know about the nuclear power comeback — including what’s going on, what’s new this time, and is it safe?
For a while there, nuclear energy looked like it was on its way out. After taking off post-World War II, it lost momentum toward the dawn of the 21st century, when sagging public support and mounting costs led to dozens of cancellations in the U.S. and drove the rate of new proposals off a cliff. Only a few reactors have been built in the U.S. this century; the most recent, Georgia Power’s Plant Vogtle units 3 and 4, were years behind schedule and billions of dollars over budget. Vogtle-3 came online last summer, with Vogtle-4 — which was delayed even further by an equipment malfunction — expected to follow early this year.
It’s funny how time works, though. With demand for reliable zero-carbon energy rising, a new wave of nuclear developers is trying to recapture some of the industry’s long-lost momentum. They’re entering the race to net-zero with big ambitions — and much smaller reactor designs. Whether you’re wondering about the state of the U.S. nuclear power sector, what’s new about new nuclear, where the nuclear waste is going, and of course, whether it’s safe, read on.
Let’s start with the basics.
Nuclear reactors generate electricity using a process called fission. Inside the reactor’s core, a controlled chain reaction splits unstable uranium-235 into smaller elements; that process releases heat — a lot of heat.
The reactors in today’s U.S. nuclear fleet fall into two categories: boiling water reactors and pressurized water reactors. Each circulates water through the reactor core to manage the temperature and prevent meltdowns, and both use the heat produced by fission to create steam that powers turbines and thereby generates electricity. The main difference is in the details: Boiling water reactors use their coolant water to produce electricity directly, by capturing the steam, whereas pressurized water reactors keep their coolant water in a separate system that’s under enough pressure to prevent the water from turning to steam.
Some experimental reactors and newer commercial designs use different cooling systems, but we’ll get into those later. Lastly, while nuclear energy is not considered renewable, in the sense that it relies on a finite resource (enriched uranium) for fuel, it is a zero-emission energy source.
The sector emerged in the late 1950s and expanded rapidly over the next several decades. At its peak, the country’s nuclear fleet included 112 reactors — a number that has declined to about 90 today. Most of the surviving plants were built between 1970 and 1990.
The shrinkage has partly to do with the nuclear disarmament movement, which arose during the Cold War and grew to encompass nuclear power development, as well. (As it happens, much of the present day environmental movement has its roots in anti-nuclear activism.) Then there was the partial nuclear meltdown at Three Mile Island in 1979, which intensified existing public opposition to nuclear energy projects. That growing pushback, combined with reduced growth in electricity demand and the significant up-front investments nuclear plants required, caused some projects to be scrapped and fewer to be proposed. The Chernobyl nuclear disaster in 1986 seemed to confirm everyone’s worst fears.
Interest began to reemerge in the U.S. in the early 2000s as the budding public awareness of climate change cast doubt on the future viability of fossil fuels, but the 2011 Fukushima nuclear accident quashed many of those plans. The last U.S. nuclear plant to start up before Vogtle-3 entered construction in 1973 but was suspended for two decades before its completion in 2016.
As of 2022, 18.2% of U.S. electricity came from the country’s remaining nuclear reactors, according to federal data. That’s less than we’ve seen in decades.
The share of nuclear power on the grid has been slowly dwindling as aging reactors are shut down and other resources — mainly natural gas and renewables — have taken on a greater proportion of the country’s electricity-generating burden. The share of electricity from renewables surpassed energy from nuclear for the first time in 2021; in 2022, renewables contributed 21.3% of U.S. electricity.
Like coal and gas plants (and renewables when paired with sufficient storage), nuclear provides baseload power — meaning it sends electricity onto the grid at a consistent, predictable rate — as opposed to sources like wind and solar on their own, which provide intermittent supply. Electric utilities depend heavily on nuclear plants and other baseload resources to match supply with continuously fluctuating demand, accommodating the variability of wind and solar without sending too much or too little power onto the grid, which would cause power surges or blackouts.
Generating electricity using nuclear fission remains a divisive issue that cuts across partisan lines. In the inaugural Heatmap Climate Poll, nuclear came in a distant last among clean energy sources people feel comfortable having in their communities.
Some major environmental groups like the Sierra Club and Greenpeace maintain that the risk of serious disasters at nuclear power plants poses an unacceptable risk to communities and ecosystems. Others, including the Nature Conservancy, view it as a reliable low-carbon energy resource that’s — crucially — available to us today, while promising but immature options such as long-duration energy storage are still catching up.
Historically, nuclear has caused far fewer fatalities than fossil fuels, which generate all kinds of toxic, potentially deadly pollution — and that’s without factoring in their contribution to climate change and its associated disasters.
The companies now hoping to pioneer a new generation of nuclear reactors in the U.S. say their designs incorporate the lessons learned from the accidents in Chernobyl and Fukushima, putting even more safeguards in place than the fleet of reactors operating across the country today. (There’s still a debate over whether the proposed reactors will actually be safer, though.)
Spent uranium fuel is radioactive, and will remain radioactive for a very long time. As a result, there’s still a lot of disagreement about where that waste should go.
The federal government tried in the early 2000s to create a national repository in Nevada’s Yucca Mountain, but the project was stopped by intense local and regional opposition. The Western Shoshone, a tribe whose members have long faced exposure to radioactive fallout from nearby nuclear tests, sued the federal government in 2005. Harry Reid, a former U.S. Senator from Nevada who served as Majority Leader from 2007 to 2015, also fought against the repository.
In the absence of a central repository, the waste produced by nuclear plants is usually stored in deep water pools, which keep the spent fuel cool, or in steel casks onsite to keep the radiation from escaping into the surrounding environment.
If a repository eventually opens, some existing waste will likely be moved out of temporary storage and relocated there.
In short, the concrete behemoths that have long been the norm in the U.S. are really, really expensive to build. They also — like the two new Vogtle reactors — have a tendency to go way over their deadlines and budgets. That makes the electricity nuclear plants generate particularly expensive.
The vast majority of U.S. coal plants were built during the same few decades as most of the country’s nuclear reactors. But when utilities started to face more pressure to reduce their carbon emissions, toppling coal’s reign over the power sector, utilities wound up preferring to build cheaper — and, at least at the time, less controversial — natural gas power plants over nuclear power plants.
But public opinion is beginning to shift. About 57% of American adults favor building new nuclear power, a Pew Research Center survey found last year, compared with 43% in 2016. Though support is higher among Republicans than Democrats, it’s on the rise within both parties.
Today’s electric grid is a far cry from the 20th-century grid that traditional nuclear reactors were built for, and the new reactor models that are making the most headway reflect those changes. In general, these designs are smaller, cheaper (at least on paper), and more flexible than those already in operation.
Unlike traditional reactors, which generally require a lot of custom fabrication to be completed at the project site, small modular reactors — such as the ones being developed by NuScale Power — have components that are meant to be made in a factory, assembled quickly wherever they’ll operate, and combined with other modules as needed to increase power output. Fast reactors (so-named for their highly energized neutrons), like Bill-Gates-fronted TerraPower’s Natrium design, circulate coolants other than water through the core. (Natrium uses liquid sodium.)
Advocates of next-generation nuclear power are optimistic that the first such reactors will come online before the end of the decade. Several of the leading proposals have run into financial and logistical troubles over the last couple of years, however. In November, NuScale canceled its flagship project at the Idaho National Laboratory. It had been on track to be the first commercial small modular reactor built in the U.S. but was thwarted by rising costs, which caused too many expected buyers of its electricity to pull their support.
Nuclear’s image is recovering globally, too. Some of the companies working on demonstration reactors in the U.S. have been outspoken about wanting to see their designs supplant fossil fuels and provide abundant energy all over the world. Meanwhile, many countries are devoting plenty of their own resources to nuclear power.
Japan, which shuttered its sizable nuclear fleet in the aftermath of the Fukushima accident, is slowly bringing some of its nuclear capacity back online. In December, Japanese regulators lifted an operational ban on the Kashiwazaki-Kariwa Nuclear Power Plant, the largest nuclear plant in the world.
Nuclear power is also enjoying renewed popularity in parts of Europe, including France and the U.K. In France, where the long-dominant technology has faltered in recent years, a half-dozen new nuclear power plants are in the works, and even more small modular reactors could follow. The U.K. is also planning a new wave of nuclear development.
Elsewhere, including in Germany, nuclear hasn’t found the same traction. After delaying the closure of its last three nuclear reactors amid natural gas shortages caused by the war in Ukraine, Germany closed the reactors last spring, eliciting a mixed reaction from environmental groups.
Meanwhile, China has close to 23 gigawatts of nuclear capacity under construction — the “largest nuclear expansion in history,” Jacopo Buongiorno, a professor of nuclear science and engineering at MIT, told CNBC last year.
It’s still early days for most of the world’s next-generation nuclear reactors. With even the most promising designs largely unproven, there’s plenty of uncertainty about where today’s projects will ultimately lead. That makes it tricky to predict what role nuclear power will play in the energy transition over the coming decades.
There’s plenty of interest in building more capacity, however. In December, at COP28, the U.S. and 24 other countries — including Japan, Korea, France and the UK — signed on to a goal of tripling global nuclear energy capacity by 2050 in order to stay on track to reach net-zero emissions by then. Nuclear plants could also be an important source of carbon-free energy for producing green hydrogen, a nascent industry that got a major boost from tax credits under the Inflation Reduction Act.
But the U.S. Energy Information Administration’s most recent capacity forecast projects that the total amount of electricity from the country’s nuclear plants will decline in the coming decades — representing just 13% of net power generation by 2050.
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Businesses were already bracing for a crash. Then came another 50% tariff on Chinese goods.
When I wrote Heatmap’s guide to driving less last year, I didn’t anticipate that a good motivation for doing so would be that every car in America was about to get a lot more expensive.
Then again, no one saw the breadth and depth of the Trump administration’s tariffs coming. “We would characterize this slate of tariffs as ‘worse than the worst case scenario,’” one group of veteran securities analysts wrote in a note to investors last week, a sentiment echoed across Wall Street and reflected in four days of stock market turmoil so far.
But if the economic downturn has renewed your interest in purchasing a bike or e-bike, you’ll want to act fast — and it may already be too late. Because Trump’s “Liberation Day” tariffs stack on top of his other tariffs and duties, the U.S. bicycle trade association PeopleForBikes calculated that beginning on April 9, the day the newest tariffs come into effect, the duty on e-bikes from China would be 79%, up from nothing at all under President Biden. The tariff on most non-electric bikes from China, meanwhile, would spike to 90%, up from 11% on January 1 of this year. Then on Tuesday, the White House announced that it would add another 50% tariff on China on top of that whole tariff stack, starting Wednesday, in retaliation for Beijing’s counter-tariffs.
Prior to the latest announcement, Jay Townley, a founding partner of the cycling industry consulting firm Human Powered Solutions, had told me that if the Trump administration actually followed through on a retaliatory 50% tariff on top of those duties, then “we’re out of business because nobody can afford to bring in a bicycle product at 100% or more in tariffs.”
It’s difficult to overstate how existential the tariffs are for the bicycle industry. Imports account for 97% of the bikes purchased in the United States, of which 87% come from China, making it “one of the most import-dependent and China-dependent industries in the U.S.,” according to a 2021 analysis by the Coalition for a Prosperous America, which advocates for trade-protectionist policies.
Many U.S. cycling brands have grumbled for years about America’s relatively generous de minimis exemption, a policy of waiving duties on items valued at less than $800. The loophole — which is what enables shoppers to buy dirt-cheap clothes from brands like Temu, Shein, and Alibaba — has also allowed for uncertified helmets and non-compliant e-bikes and e-bike batteries to flood the U.S. market. These batteries, which are often falsely marketed as meeting international safety standards, have been responsible for deadly e-bike fires in places like New York City. “A going retail for a good lithium-ion replacement battery for an e-bike is $800 to $1,000,” Townley said. “You look online, and you’ll see batteries at $350, $400, that come direct to you from China under the de minimis exemption.”
Cyclingnews reported recently that Robert Margevicius, the executive vice president of the American bicycle giant Specialized, had filed a complaint with the Trump administration over losing “billions in collectable tariffs” through the loophole. A spokesperson for Specialized defended Margevicius’ comment by calling it an “industry-wide position that is aligned with PeopleForBikes.” (Specialized did not respond to a request for clarification from Heatmap, though a spokesperson told Cyclingnews that de minimis imports permit “unsafe products and intellectual property violation.” PeopleForBikes’ general and policy counsel Matt Moore told me in an email that “we have supported reforming the way the U.S. treats low-value de minimis imports for several years.”)
Trump indeed axed China’s de minimis exemption as part of his April 2 tariffs — a small win for the U.S. bicycle brands. But any protection afforded by duties on cheap imported bikes and e-bikes will be erased by the damage from high tariffs imposed on China and other Asian countries. Fewer than 500,000 bicycles in a 10 million-unit market are even assembled in the United States, and essentially none is entirely manufactured here. “We do not know how to make a bike,” Townley told me flatly. Though a number of major U.S. brands employ engineers to design their bikes, when it comes to home-shoring manufacturing, “all of that knowledge resides in Taiwan, China, Vietnam. It isn’t here.”
In recent years, Chinese factories had become “very proficient at shipping goods from third-party countries” in order to avoid European anti-dumping duties, as well as leftover tariffs from Trump’s first term, Rick Vosper, an industry veteran and columnist at Bicycle Retailer and Industry News, told me. “Many Chinese companies built bicycle assembly plants in Vietnam specifically so the sourcing sticker would not say ‘made in China,’” he added. Of course, those bikes and component parts are now also subject to Trump’s tariffs, which are as high as 57% for Vietnam, 60% for Cambodia, and 43% for Taiwan for most bikes. (A potential added tariff on countries that import oil from Venezuela could bump them even higher.)
The tariffs could not come at a worse time for the industry. 2019 marked one of the slowest years for the U.S. specialty retail bike business in two decades, so when COVID hit — and suddenly everyone wanted a bicycle as a way of exercising and getting around — there was “no inventory to be had, but a huge influx of customers,” Vosper told me. In response, “major players put in huge increases in their orders.”
But by 2023, the COVID-induced demand had evaporated, leaving suppliers with hundreds of millions of dollars in inventory that they couldn’t move. Even by discounting wholesale prices below their own cost to make the product and offering buy-one-get-one deals, dealers couldn’t get the bikes off their hands. “All the people who wanted to buy a bike during COVID have bought a bike and are not ready to buy another one anytime soon,” Vosper said.
Going into 2025, many retailers were still dealing with the COVID-induced bicycle glut; Mike Blok, the founder of Brooklyn Carbon Bike Company in New York City, told me he could think of three or four tristate-area shops off the top of his head that have closed in recent months because they were sitting on inventory.
Blok, however, was cautiously optimistic about his own position. While he stressed that he isn’t a fan of the tariffs, he also largely sells pre-owned bikes. On the low end of the market, the tariffs will likely raise prices no more than about $15 or $20, which might not make much of a difference to consumer behavior. But for something like a higher-end carbon fiber bike, which can run $2,700 or higher and is almost entirely produced in Taiwan, the tariffs could mean an increase of hundreds of dollars for customers. “I think what that will mean for me is that more folks will be open to the pre-owned option,” Blok said, although he also anticipates his input costs for repairs and tuning will go up.
But there’s a bigger, and perhaps even more obvious, problem for bike retailers beyond their products becoming more expensive. “What I sell is not a staple good; people don’t need a bike,” Blok reminded me. “So as folks’ discretionary income diminishes because other things become more expensive, they’ll have less to spend on discretionary items.”
Townley, the industry consultant, confirmed that many major cycling brands had already seen the writing on the wall before Trump announced his tariffs and begun to pivot to re-sale. Bicycling Magazine, a hobbyist publication, is even promoting “buying used” as one of its “tips to help you save” under Trump’s tariffs. Savvy retailers might be able to pivot and rely on their service, customer loyalty, and re-sale businesses to stay afloat during the hard days ahead; Moore of PeopleForBikes also noted that “repair services may increase” as people look to fix what they already have.
And if you don’t have a bike or e-bike but were thinking about getting one as a way to lighten your car dependency, decarbonize your life, or just because they’re cool, “there are still good values to be found,” Moore went on. “Now is a great time to avoid a likely increase in prices.” Townley anticipated that depending on inventory, we’re likely 30 to 40 days away from seeing prices go up.
In the meantime, cycling organizations are scrambling to keep their members abreast of the coming changes. “PeopleForBikes is encouraging our members to contact their elected representatives about the very real impacts these tariffs will have on their companies and our industry,” Moore told me. The National Bicycle Dealers Association, a nonprofit supporting specialty bicycle retailers, has teamed up with the D.C.-based League of American Bicyclists, a ridership organization, to explore lobbying lawmakers for the first time in decades in the hopes that some might oppose the tariffs or explore carve-outs for the industry.
But Townley, whose firm Human Powered Solutions is assisting in NBDA’s effort, shared a grim conversation he had at a recent trade show in Las Vegas, where a new board member at a cycling organization had asked him “what can we do” about Trump’s tariffs.
“I said, ‘You’re out of time,” Townley recalled. “There isn’t much that can be done. All we can do is react.”
Any household savings will barely make a dent in the added costs from Trump’s many tariffs.
Donald Trump’s tariffs — the “fentanyl” levies on Canada, China, and Mexico, the “reciprocal” tariffs on nearly every country (and some uninhabited islands), and the global 10% tariff — will almost certainly cause consumer goods on average to get more expensive. The Yale Budget Lab estimates that in combination, the tariffs Trump has announced so far in his second term will cause prices to rise 2.3%, reducing purchasing power by $3,800 per year per household.
But there’s one very important consumer good that seems due to decline in price.
Trump administration officials — including the president himself — have touted cheaper oil to suggest that the economic response to the tariffs hasn’t been all bad. On Sunday, Secretary of the Treasury Scott Bessent told NBC, “Oil prices went down almost 15% in two days, which impacts working Americans much more than the stock market does.”
Trump picked up this line on Truth Social Monday morning. “Oil prices are down, interest rates are down (the slow moving Fed should cut rates!), food prices are down, there is NO INFLATION,” he wrote. He then spent the day posting quotes from Fox Business commentators echoing that idea, first Maria Bartiromo (“Rates are plummeting, oil prices are plummeting, deregulation is happening. President Trump is not going to bend”) then Charles Payne (“What we’re not talking about is, oil was $76, now it’s $65. Gasoline prices are going to plummet”).
But according to Neil Dutta, head of economic research at Renaissance Macro Research, pointing to falling oil prices as a stimulus is just another example of the “4D chess” theory, under which some market participants attribute motives to Trump’s trade policy beyond his stated goal of reducing trade deficits to as near zero (or surplus!) as possible.
Instead, oil markets are primarily “responding to the recession risk that comes from the tariff and the trade war,” Dutta told me. “That is the main story.” In short, oil markets see less global trade and less global production, and therefore falling demand for oil. The effect on household consumption, he said, was a “second order effect.”
It is true that falling oil prices will help “stabilize consumption,” Dutta told me (although they could also devastate America’s own oil industry). “It helps. It’ll provide some lift to real income growth for consumers, because they’re not spending as much on gasoline.” But “to fully offset the trade war effects, you basically need to get oil down to zero.”
That’s confirmed by some simple and extremely back of the envelope math. In 2023, households on average consumed about 700 gallons of gasoline per year, based on Energy Information Administration calculations that the average gasoline price in 2023 was $3.52, while the Bureau of Labor Statistics put average household gasoline expenditures at about $2,450.
Let’s generously assume that due to the tariffs and Trump’s regulatory and diplomatic efforts, gas prices drop from the $3.26 they were at on Monday, according to AAA, to $2.60, the average price in 2019. (GasBuddy petroleum analyst Patrick De Haanwrote Monday that the tariffs combined with OPEC+ production hikes could lead gas prices “to fall below $3 per gallon.”)
Let’s also assume that this drop in gas prices does not cause people to drive more or buy less fuel-efficient vehicles. In that case, those same 700 gallons cost the average American $1,820, which would generate annual savings of $630 on average per household. If we went to the lowest price since the Russian invasion of Ukraine, about $3 per gallon, total consumption of 700 gallons would cost a household about $2,100, saving $350 per household per year.
That being said, $1,820 is a pretty low level for annual gasoline consumption. In 2021, as the economy was recovering from the Covid recession and before gas prices popped, annual gasoline expenditures only got as low as $1,948; in 2020 — when oil prices dropped to literally negative dollars per barrel and gas prices got down to $1.85 a gallon — annual expenditures were just over $1,500.
In any case, if you remember the opening paragraphs of this story, even the most generous estimated savings would go nowhere near surmounting the overall rise in prices forecast by the Yale Budget Lab. $630 is less than $3,800! (JPMorgan has forecast a more mild increase in prices of 1% to 1.5%, but agrees that prices will likely rise and purchasing power will decline.)
But maybe look at it this way: You might be able to drive a little more than you expected to, even as your costs elsewhere are going up. Just please be careful! You don’t want to get into a bad accident and have to replace your car: New car prices are expected to rise by several thousand dollars due to Trump’s tariffs.
With cars about to get more expensive, it might be time to start tinkering.
More than a decade ago, when I was a young editor at Popular Mechanics, we got a Nissan Leaf. It was a big deal. The magazine had always kept long-term test cars to give readers a full report of how they drove over weeks and months. A true test of the first true production electric vehicle from a major car company felt like a watershed moment: The future was finally beginning. They even installed a destination charger in the basement of the Hearst Corporation’s Manhattan skyscraper.
That Leaf was a bit of a lump, aesthetically and mechanically. It looked like a potato, got about 100 miles of range, and delivered only 110 horsepower or so via its electric motors. This made the O.G. Leaf a scapegoat for Top Gear-style car enthusiasts eager to slander EVs as low-testosterone automobiles of the meek, forced upon an unwilling population of drivers. Once the rise of Tesla in the 2010s had smashed that paradigm and led lots of people to see electric vehicles as sexy and powerful, the original Leaf faded from the public imagination, a relic of the earliest days of the new EV revolution.
Yet lots of those cars are still around. I see a few prowling my workplace parking garage or roaming the streets of Los Angeles. With the faded performance of their old batteries, these long-running EVs aren’t good for much but short-distance city driving. Ignore the outdated battery pack for a second, though, and what surrounds that unit is a perfectly serviceable EV.
That’s exactly what a new brand of EV restorers see. Last week, car site The Autopiancovered DIYers who are scooping up cheap old Leafs, some costing as little as $3,000, and swapping in affordable Chinese-made 62 kilowatt-hour battery units in place of the original 24 kilowatt-hour units to instantly boost the car’s range to about 250 miles. One restorer bought a new battery on the Chinese site Alibaba for $6,000 ($4,500, plus $1,500 to ship that beast across the sea).
The possibility of the (relatively) simple battery swap is a longtime EV owner’s daydream. In the earlier days of the electrification race, many manufacturers and drivers saw simple and quick battery exchange as the solution for EV road-tripping. Instead of waiting half an hour for a battery to recharge, you’d swap your depleted unit for a fully charged one and be on your way. Even Tesla tested this approach last decade before settling for good on the Supercharger network of fast-charging stations.
There are still companies experimenting with battery swaps, but this technology lost. Other EV startups and legacy car companies that followed Nissan and Tesla into making production EVs embraced the rechargeable lithium-ion battery that is meant to be refilled at a fast-charging station and is not designed to be easily removed from the vehicle. Buy an electric vehicle and you’re buying a big battery with a long warranty but no clear plan for replacement. The companies imagine their EVs as something like a smartphone: It’s far from impossible to replace the battery and give the car a new life, but most people won’t bother and will simply move on to a new car when they can’t take the limitations of their old one anymore.
I think about this impasse a lot. My 2019 Tesla Model 3 began its life with a nominal 240 miles of range. Now that the vehicle has nearly six years and 70,000 miles on it, its maximum range is down to just 200, while its functional range at highway speed is much less than that. I don’t want to sink money into another vehicle, which means living with an EV’s range that diminishes as the years go by.
But what if, one day, I replaced its battery? Even if it costs thousands of dollars to achieve, a big range boost via a new battery would make an older EV feel new again, and at a cost that’s still far less than financing a whole new car. The thought is even more compelling in the age of Trump-imposed tariffs that will raise already-expensive new vehicles to a place that’s simply out of reach for many people (though new battery units will be heavily tariffed, too).
This is no simple weekend task. Car enthusiasts have been swapping parts and modifying gas-burning vehicles since the dawn of the automotive age, but modern EVs aren’t exactly made with the garage mechanic in mind. Because so few EVs are on the road, there is a dearth of qualified mechanics and not a huge population of people with the savvy to conduct major surgery on an electric car without electrocuting themselves. A battery-replacing owner would need to acquire not only the correct pack but also potentially adapters and other equipment necessary to make the new battery play nice with the older car. Some Nissan Leaf modifiers are finding their replacement packs aren’t exactly the same size, shape or weight, The Autopian says, meaning they need things like spacers to make the battery sit in just the right place.
A new battery isn’t a fix-all either. The motors and other electrical components wear down and will need to be replaced eventually, too. A man in Norway who drove his Tesla more than a million miles has replaced at least four battery packs and 14 motors, turning his EV into a sort of car of Theseus.
Crucially, though, EVs are much simpler, mechanically, than combustion-powered cars, what with the latter’s belts and spark plugs and thousands of moving parts. The car that surrounds a depleted battery pack might be in perfectly good shape to keep on running for thousands of miles to come if the owner were to install a new unit, one that could potentially give the EV more driving range than it had when it was new.
The battery swap is still the domain of serious top-tier DIYers, and not for the mildly interested or faint of heart. But it is a sign of things to come. A market for very affordable used Teslas is booming as owners ditch their cars at any cost to distance themselves from Elon Musk. Old Leafs, Chevy Bolts and other EVs from the 2010s can be had for cheap. The generation of early vehicles that came with an unacceptably low 100 to 150 miles of range would look a lot more enticing if you imagine today’s battery packs swapped into them. The possibility of a like-new old EV will look more and more promising, especially as millions of Americans realize they can no longer afford a new car.