The Rivian R1T is genuinely impressive technology. I’ve looked at the specs, I’ve talked to owners, and I understand the appeal. If you’re doing truck things in a range of about 150 miles from home and you have charging infrastructure in your area, it’s a serious machine. But when I see influencers talking about the […]
The Rivian R1T is genuinely impressive technology. I’ve looked at the specs, I’ve talked to owners, and I understand the appeal. If you’re doing truck things in a range of about 150 miles from home and you have charging infrastructure in your area, it’s a serious machine.
But when I see influencers talking about the Rivian as the ultimate overlanding vehicle, I have to pump the brakes. Because the real-world numbers don’t support that claim once you get past the impressive range figures on the spec sheet.
Rated range on any EV is a highway-speed, flat-terrain, moderate-temperature figure. It’s not a roof rack, rooftop tent, recovery gear, and full camp load figure. It’s not a two-track at 15 mph through mountainous terrain figure. And it’s definitely not a figure calculated while running your heater in the Poconos in October.
RTTs and roof racks are drag anchors. Depending on the setup, you can lose 20-30% of your rated range from aerodynamic drag alone at highway speeds. Add cold weather — anything under 40 degrees hits lithium battery performance hard — and a fully loaded overland rig, and you’re looking at range numbers that can be half of what’s advertised.
On a gas truck, that just means you plan your fuel stops differently. On an EV, it means you’re doing range math constantly, building your entire trip around charging infrastructure that may or may not exist where you’re going.
I work as an electrical lineman. I’ve worked storm duty after major events. I know what the grid actually looks like outside of major metro areas. And I can tell you that the charging infrastructure story in rural America is not what the marketing suggests.
You can plan a route through Level 2 charging stations along forest service roads and state park boundaries. You can do that route planning. But Level 2 charging takes hours, not minutes. And if you’re doing dispersed camping — which is the whole point of overlanding, getting away from established campgrounds — you are often 50-100 miles from the nearest charging station of any kind.
A gas-powered truck can carry extra fuel. You can strap a jerry can to your rack. You cannot strap extra electrons to your truck.
I want to be fair here. There’s a version of overlanding where an EV works really well. Weekend trips with a home base you return to. Day trips into trails where you leave pavement for a few hours and come back. Regional overlanding where you’re never more than 100 miles from your garage.
For that style of use, the EV advantages are real. Instant torque for technical terrain is genuinely different from a gas engine, and not in a bad way. Quiet operation at camp. The ability to run camp power directly from the vehicle battery without idling a generator. Those are legitimate benefits.
The Rivian also has a ground clearance, approach angle, and departure angle that competing gas trucks can’t match without modification. For the right use case, it’s the right tool.
Multi-day remote overlanding — the kind where you’re three days deep into a state forest without cell service, relying on your rig to get you in and out — is not the EV use case yet. The technology is advancing, but the infrastructure isn’t keeping pace with the ambition of the marketing.
If you’re buying a truck for overlanding right now and you’re planning genuine remote trips, a reliable gas platform is still the pragmatic choice. Not because EVs are bad, but because range anxiety on a remote two-track is a different problem than range anxiety on a highway.
In ten years, this conversation will probably be different. Right now, I’m keeping the Sierra’s gas tank and I’m not apologizing for it.