I walked into the garage a few weeks ago and noticed a small puddle of brown, oily fluid under the Rivian. Fuuuuudge. I suspected hydraulic fluid—not something you want leaking anywhere, much less in your garage. The good news? The polyaspartic floor coating did its job beautifully (thank you Rassmussen Painting), making cleanup easy instead of leaving a permanent stain absorbed into the bare concrete floor. Upgrading to a polyaspartic floor was one of those home improvement decisions that paid off when I least expected it. Rivian’s always been solid about providing a rental or Uber credits when the truck’s in for warranty service—I’ve driven a Model 3 before during past visits. This time? A Chevy Silverado EV.
First Impressions: Wait, What?
I pulled out of the service center parking lot, merged onto the freeway, and immediately thought: Why does anyone want to drive this? The truck felt massive, heavy, unwieldy, and lethargic. It wasn’t just the size—I’m used to driving a full-size(ish) truck. It was the way it moved, or more accurately, didn’t want to move. The whole thing felt like I was piloting my grandmother’s Cadillac, except with a $73,000 starting price tag.
When I got home and plugged it into my EV charger, the display told me it needed 20 hours to fully charge. The rental agency had handed it over with 30% remaining in the battery. Really, a 20 hour charge? Was my charger not running at full speed? Oh, yes it was, but I didn’t understand yet just how massive this truck’s battery was.
Plus, the charging port door wasn’t sealed properly—dirt was all over the sensitive electronics inside. Seems like a miss for a a premium truck. R had equally strong reactions. We spent the week exchanging glances and declining each other’s offer to drive. We thought the same thing: Who is this truck for?
The Good
Let me be fair—the Silverado EV has some genuinely impressive specs. The battery is 205kWh, which is massive. That translates to over 400 miles of range, and for anyone doing serious long-distance hauling or towing, that matters. The bed has a variety of power options clearly designed for working guys: four 110V outlets and one 220V option. If you’re running tools on a job site or powering equipment at a remote location, that functionality is a game-changer—assuming electricity is cheap where you work and you can justify the price tag for the truck. At 50c a kWh on a good day in California, the truck gets expensive quickly.
It also has CarPlay. Score.
And honestly? This matters more than it should have to at this price point. Why am I so particular on CarPlay? The ecosystem matters. There aren’t any third party developers for Rivian’s closed system. Rivian isn’t going to deliver a better Spotify experience than Spotify itself—case in point, the new DJ feature didn’t show up in Rivian’s interface for quarters after it launched.
Dexcom support will never happen in the Rivian’s native system, but I get it by default in CarPlay, which is a major quality-of-life feature for diabetics like me. I have one source of truth: my phone. Everything syncs there, everything updates there, and CarPlay just mirrors that. It’s 2025—the fact that Rivian still doesn’t offer CarPlay or Android Auto feels stubborn rather than visionary. This is a major win for Chevrolet.
But here’s the thing: at $73,000 to start, you’re competing with gas work trucks that cost half that, take a beating, and don’t need 20 hours to charge. For most contractors and trades workers, the math doesn’t work—not yet. And Chevy doesn’t even include the NACS adapter to charge at Tesla stations by default. That’s another $225.
The Bad
The truck feels heavy. Not “solid and planted” heavy—lethargic heavy. Acceleration is nonexistent. I think my old Chevy Volt had more pickup, and that’s saying something. The plastics inside feel as cheap as they did in the Volt, which is baffling considering this truck costs twice as much. I kept looking around the interior thinking, This is a $73,000 vehicle? Where are the tidbits of luxury?
And the styling. I was never a fan of the Avalanche—a truck that wasn’t exactly beloved for its looks—and they electrified it. Why not just make it look like the gas Silverado? The Silverado has a clean, recognizable, and time tested design. This EV version looks like it’s trying too hard to be different and ended up looking awkward instead.
One thing that really caught me off guard: the alert system that vibrates the seat when you get close to something. The first time it happened, I had no idea what was going on. Was it my phone? No. Was it my insulin pump? No. What was it? It took me a minute to realize the truck was trying to tell me I was near an obstacle. Once I figured it out, it made sense—but the implementation felt odd, like the truck was tapping me on the shoulder instead of just using a visual or audible alert like most other vehicles.
Options and the $100K Question
To give the truck any real personality, you need to start adding options: utility wall packaging, frunk organizers, utility racks, tailgate lights, bed organizers, mud splash guards. Those features start to make sense for someone who actually uses a truck as a tool. But then you’re looking at a $100,000 truck. At that point, who’s the buyer? A contractor willing to spend six figures on a work vehicle? Someone who wants the idea of a capable work truck but will mostly use it for Home Depot runs?
I couldn’t figure it out.
Ford Did It Better
A friend of mine recently bought a Ford F-150 Lightning, and reading about his experience made something click. Of all the EV truck vendors, Ford had the smartest strategy: they electrified the gas version, using a known platform, and let the market catch up. The F-150 is the best-selling truck in America. People know it, trust it, and understand how it works. The Lightning is just an electric version of that—same capability, same familiarity, new powertrain.
Rivian went for adventure with luxury and took risks on styling, but it payed off for them. Ford went for work truck with luxury options, using a platform people already loved. Ram and Toyota don’t even play in the EV truck rodeo yet. I don’t understand CyberTruck. I just don’t. Chevy went for a luxury price tag with a cheaper feel, and it just didn’t line up for me.
Back to the R1T
After a week with the Silverado EV, getting my Rivian back felt like coming home. The R1T has its quirks, for sure, but it drives like a truck that wants to be driven. It feels planted and also dances on the road nimbily. It accelerates, er jumps, when you ask it to. The interior feels thoughtfully designed, not cost-engineered. The community around it is engaged and enthusiastic.
I’m happy with my Rivian—the truck, the brand, the company, the community. All in, I was only without my truck for a week. The hydraulic leak got fixed under warranty, and life moved on.
But spending that week in the Silverado EV left me scratching my head. I’m genuinely curious: who’s the buyer for this truck? Fleet managers looking to electrify work vehicles where electricity is cheap? Government contracts requiring EV adoption? Someone who wants the Chevy badge and doesn’t mind the premium? Contractors in markets with strong EV incentives? I couldn’t figure it out.
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