You’re out of free articles.
Log in
To continue reading, log in to your account.
Create a Free Account
To unlock more free articles, please create a free account.
Sign In or Create an Account.
By continuing, you agree to the Terms of Service and acknowledge our Privacy Policy
Welcome to Heatmap
Thank you for registering with Heatmap. Climate change is one of the greatest challenges of our lives, a force reshaping our economy, our politics, and our culture. We hope to be your trusted, friendly, and insightful guide to that transformation. Please enjoy your free articles. You can check your profile here .
subscribe to get Unlimited access
Offer for a Heatmap News Unlimited Access subscription; please note that your subscription will renew automatically unless you cancel prior to renewal. Cancellation takes effect at the end of your current billing period. We will let you know in advance of any price changes. Taxes may apply. Offer terms are subject to change.
Subscribe to get unlimited Access
Hey, you are out of free articles but you are only a few clicks away from full access. Subscribe below and take advantage of our introductory offer.
subscribe to get Unlimited access
Offer for a Heatmap News Unlimited Access subscription; please note that your subscription will renew automatically unless you cancel prior to renewal. Cancellation takes effect at the end of your current billing period. We will let you know in advance of any price changes. Taxes may apply. Offer terms are subject to change.
Create Your Account
Please Enter Your Password
Forgot your password?
Please enter the email address you use for your account so we can send you a link to reset your password:
I got DER-pilled at DERVOS 2023.

The hottest ticket in Brooklyn last week wasn’t for an indie rock show or a buzzy new restaurant. It was for the most niche, nerdiest clean energy conference of the year — the sold-out DERVOS 2023.
The conference name — a satirical play on Davos, a stuffy, World Economic Forum event attended by governmental and business elites — tells you much of what you need to know about this irreverent subculture of the climate movement. A teaser video for DERVOS described it as a “rad clean energy summit … where youths get DER-pilled and the hot takes haven’t been approved by PR.”
To translate, DERVOS is for people who are stoked about a category of technologies known as “distributed energy resources,” or DERs. They encompass pretty much any device that can generate or store energy, or use energy flexibly, at the scale of a single building, like rooftop solar panels, batteries, and smart thermostats. This kind of tech has historically been written off as less important than big projects like wind farms — “nice-to-haves” but incapable of cutting emissions at climate-relevant scales. But once you get DER-pilled, another vision for the future emerges.
Sign up to receive Heatmap’s best story in your inbox every day:
Imagine a solar panel on every roof, a battery in every basement, and a smart thermostat in every home. Now imagine these devices being aggregated and synchronized across neighborhoods, cities, or entire regions. If 5,000 batteries discharge at the same time, you’ve got the equivalent of a new power plant. If 5,000 smart thermostats turn the temperature up by a few degrees on a hot summer day, you can prevent a natural gas “peaker” plant from firing up. In that sense, DERs offer a potentially faster option for growing the electric grid than large-scale projects, and could provide significant savings — around $10 billion in avoided infrastructure costs by 2030, according to a recent Department of Energy report.
But that’s not all. To the DER-pilled, this future will also be a “better world, a higher performing world,” as James McGinniss, one of the organizers of DERVOS, put it. It’s a world where your heating and cooling and EV charging are orchestrated seamlessly to utilize the cleanest power at the lowest cost; where solar panels and batteries aren’t called upon to keep your lights on when the power goes out, because they are preventing system-wide blackouts from occurring in the first place.
“How many industries can you work on that are going to completely change the way one of our foundational systems works and flip it entirely on its head?” Nathaniel Teichman, a DER-pilled former financial analyst, told me at the conference. “I don’t think there’s anywhere else with such importance or at such an inflection point.”
To kick things off at DERVOS, McGinniss painted a picture of an industry on the verge of an explosion. “It feels like if DERs were the internet, it’s 1995,” he told the roughly 250-person crowd. “We’re very, very early in this. And I think there’s massive, massive growth coming to this space.”
The event was held at Newlab, a startup incubator located in a renovated shipbuilding warehouse in the Brooklyn Navy Yard. Unlike other energy summits, it’s not put on by a trade association or a professional organization. It’s organized by a loose collective called the DER Task Force, a bunch of enthusiasts who met on Twitter.
The story is a roadmap for movement-building in the modern age. It started in March 2019, when McGinniss posted a tweet asking if anyone in New York wanted to start a monthly happy hour to talk shop about distributed energy. “Like 30 people responded. And I had like 100 Twitter followers,” he told me.
The tweet led to a group message called “DG Beers” (for distributed generation) and eventually to a series of real life hangs. They got drinks. They went to see The Current War, a movie about the 19th century battle over which electrical current system would prevail. They had people give powerpoint presentations. When COVID-19 hit, they moved the monthly meetup to Zoom and started a podcast. The group blew up. “Suddenly we had people from like, South Africa and like, rural Alaska joining us,” said Duncan Campbell, another one of the original members.
Regulars at the meetups told me it was unlike other networking spaces. “What stands out the most is the atmosphere of strong opinions, weakly held,” said Kyle Baranko. “I think there’s a lot of people who are intellectuals, who like getting into the big picture and the small details. But they never take themselves too seriously.”
That’s also a fitting description of DERVOS, which covered broad, heady topics like the concept of “energy abundance” with a combination of deep expertise and lighthearted, often crude informality. “We need to double or triple the grid. That is crazy,” said Pier LaFarge, the CEO of a company called Sparkfund, during the first panel, which contemplated the potential for centralized grid planning. “That is like the technical challenge of the space race and the economic scale of the highway system. That is non-trivial, societal shit.”
During the next session, Andy Frank, founder of the home retrofit company Sealed, was talking about how DERs can help avoid the need to build transmission lines and power plants. “We need a — and this is a very technical term — a fuck-ton of DERs to try to avoid an even more fuck-ton of costs,” he said.
“Is it a metric fuckton?” Jesse Jenkins, an energy systems engineer from Princeton University and Heatmap contributor on the panel, shot back. The audience burst out laughing.
The conference skewed very white and male. Nicole Green, another founding member, speculated that it might be because that’s still the demographic at a lot of university engineering programs. Integrating DERs into the grid and into power markets is technologically complicated, and the community is largely made up of engineers.
When I asked other attendees to describe the vibe, one said it was “tech bro-ey, but better — not as toxic.” Another said “young and exciting.”
“It feels a little bit like the energy industry underground, in a way,” Baranko told me.
“There’s a rebellious, counter-establishment ethos within the DER community,” said Teichman, “both by the nature of what it is and the people it attracts.”
Part of that comes from the fact that these technologies challenge the monopoly utility model — the way that electricity has been generated and distributed and commoditized for decades through big, corporate power plants. The DER community also likes to push back on the narrative that tackling climate change requires sacrifice. “That’s also where the irreverence bleeds in,” said McGinniss. “It’s just like, this is an awesome, exciting future. That’s what we want people to feel.”
To illustrate the point, McGinniss and his friends organized a DERVOS afterparty with the first-ever “vehicle to rave” demonstration. Working with another group of DER-enthusiasts called the SOLARPUNKS, who specialize in sustainable event production, they used a Ford F-150 Lightning to power the sound system at an old fire station-turned-event space in lower Manhattan.
But this better, higher performing world is still mostly out of reach. “We’re mired in a lot of decades-old thinking at this point about DERs and how they can be a part of all of this,” Campbell told the audience at the start of the conference.
The obstacles preventing DERs from realizing their full potential was a major theme of the day. Frank talked about how DERs aren’t properly valued in energy markets. Leah Stokes, a political scientist from the University of California, lamented that utilities haven’t taken DERs seriously or integrated them into their resource planning. Jenkins suggested we regulate utilities differently so that they have more incentive to utilize DERs. Jen Downing, a senior advisor at the Department of Energy, said regulators need data showing that DERs are reliable.
Part of the problem is that there’s no DER industry association, no one advocating for funding or policy changes to support these solutions at the state or national level. During last year’s conference, Jigar Shah, a Department of Energy official and a sort of Godfather figure in the DER scene, pushed the community to be more ambitious. “You guys are left out of the narrative, and it’s just fun, it’s sort of like, 'oh that’s so cool, I’m glad that they’re doing that,’” he said, calling in to deliver the keynote speech from the car during his family vacation.
The DER Task Force took up Shah’s call to arms and decided to use its revenue from events and the podcast to hire Allison Bates Wannop, an energy lawyer, to work on policy full time. At this year’s DERVOS, Wannop announced the group’s initial plans, which include turning New York State into a DER “nirvana,” and a campaign to “occupy NARUC,” the association for utility regulators that holds triannual conferences, which are heavily attended by the natural gas industry.
Colleen Metelitsa, one of the founders of the Task Force, told me the current landscape for DERs was like the internet before the iPhone came out. There was a lot you could do with the existing technology, but the iPhone “proliferated so many things we do on the internet that we didn’t even think about.”
What else, besides raves powered by pick-up trucks, does the future hold?
Editor’s note: A previous version of this article misattributed a quote. It has since been corrected. We regret the error.
Read more about batteries and solar:
Why Batteries Might — Might! — Solve America’s Power-Line Shortage
Log in
To continue reading, log in to your account.
Create a Free Account
To unlock more free articles, please create a free account.
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.