In 1982, he left the Earth Island Institute and with a few like-minded "resource analysts," including Hunter Lovins, founded the Rocky Mountain Institute. The Snowmass, Colo., "think and do tank," Lovins says, focused initially on energy policy. But soon its palette broadened. Today, with a $5 million annual budget, the nonprofit's 45 employees study and offer consultation on everything from renewable energy to climate control to water policy. Lovins alone, who tends to pack his schedule more tightly than a sardine can, pulls in as much as $20,000 a day as a consultant.

The building itself reflects Lovins' values. Built into the side of a hill, the 4,000-square-foot edifice uses solar power and superthick insulation to save energy. Each day, the building saves about $6 worth of energy, "economically equivalent to producing a barrel of oil every three days," according to the Rocky Mountain Web site.

Lovins' efforts don't stop there, though. Along with helping major Fortune 500 companies, he has also spun out a start-up of his own, Hypercar Inc. The name hints at the product: a carbon-fiber sports utility vehicle that runs on a fuel cell, allowing it to get the equivalent of 100 mpg while emitting only water. Models of the vehicle can't be found except on computer screens, yet in many ways, Hypercar is the culmination of Lovins' ideals.

He first started thinking about the car in the early '90s and spent several years publishing tomelike academic studies on its viability. He had hoped that an automaker would pick up the idea. But in 1999, he gave up on persuasion and formed a company of his own. Hypercar won't challenge Detroit anytime soon. But just as Rocky Mountain has attracted a diverse array of corporate clients, so too has Hypercar sparked the interest of a motley crew of investors. BP Amoco, for example, has invested $500,000, and Sam Wyly -- the Texas billionaire who funded an ad attacking then candidate John McCain for ignoring solar power during last year's presidential campaign -- has tossed in a cool million. With a war chest of $4.3 million secured, and with high hopes for a steady stream of more cash, Lovins figures that Hypercar production is only a few years off.

But history is littered with the stories of failed automotive entrepreneurs -- does anyone really think Hypercar has a chance?

Not even Lovins is sure. But what's interesting about Lovins is that Hypercar is often all he wants to talk about. He passes out Hypercar fliers wherever he goes. And despite all the attention he's getting these days, despite his status as one of the environmental movement's most powerful political forces, despite the respect he gets from corporate America and the GOP, Lovins seems more concerned with cars than with Alaska or with electricity. Detroit forms the geographical locus of his mind, not Washington.

Which only makes sense, says Dan Kammen, founding director of UC-Berkeley's Renewable and Appropriate Energy Lab. "Amory is a true visionary," he says. Even if the Hypercar never makes it out of development, even if Lovins tends to be too optimistic, his general market-based approach deserves to be lauded. Simply put, he says, "we need to catch up with Amory more than he needs to become realistic."

This story has been corrected.

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