Range anxiety

The storm developed quickly over west central Illinois on April 17th, first as a single high-intensity system called a supercell, and then later that evening transforming into a long squall line of thunderstorms. Tucked inside a wall of wind were several smaller, quick-forming tornadoes, one of which landed directly on Rivian’s electric vehicle factory on the outskirts of the college town of Normal. The ferocious storm knocked down one of the walls and tore through the plant’s roof like a can opener peeling back the lid. Bobby Dean Parker, vice president of manufacturing at Rivian, was at home in Normal when he got the call from someone at the factory. Parker, an affable Southerner, had already experienced his fair share of powerful Midwestern thunderstorms despite only being on the job for six months. But he quickly realized that this one was different. “Hey, it’s not good,” the person on the phone told him. “Oh shit,” Parker thought, before dashing out into the still-stormy night. Thousands of miles away at an event in Southern California, Rivian CEO RJ Scaringe’s phone suddenly lit up with a flurry of texts. At first, information was scarce. Was anyone hurt? How bad was it? Scaringe was reluctant to send anyone inside to assess the damage without knowing the structural integrity of the building. Then someone sent him a video. Even in the dark, you can immediately see a giant hole in the factory’s roof. The power is out, so floodlights illuminate the wreckage. Water can be heard rushing in the background; the tornado triggered the plant’s sprinkler system, causing the pits under the assembly line to flood. The concrete floor is also slick with water. The damage appears quite extensive. Scaringe was stunned; his factory suddenly had what seemed to be its own sunroof. For Rivian, the tornado couldn’t have hit at a worse time, or in a worse place. Not only did it strike right as the company was poised to roll out its all-important, more affordable R2 vehicle, t