Why Vintage Off-Road Beetles Flock to This Tiny Midwest Town

Porsche’s 911 Dakar may be the newest, coolest way to get off-pavement, but folks have been lifting and racing far more humble cars since the late 1960s. One of their favorites? The humble Volkswagen Beetle. Its rear-engine, flat-floor, rear-wheel drive platform is perfect for off-road hooning. Simply turn the torsion bar, add some bigger tires, and you have the start of a Class 11 race Bug. Exorbitant bank accounts need not apply. 

I grew up with air-cooled VWs, and Class 11 Bugs have always held a special place in my heart. I raced one in the Baja 1000 and another a few times in Nevada, but I never expected that one of the largest Class 11 races in North America would take place in Wisconsin, a state known more for cheese curds than dirt roosts.

It all goes down during Labor Day weekend at Crandon International Raceway, a 400-acre farm turned world-class dirt racing track and affectionately known as “The Big House.” Over 15 different classes take on the 1.75-mile, 10-turn track. On the straight, unlimited-class vehicles can get into triple digits.

Many off-road racers in the United States live in the Southwest, where their travel time to race might be a few hours. Crandon, for those people, is a multiple-day drive. There are only two short races, prize money is minimal, and racers don’t earn points toward a season championship. If you’re racing at Crandon, you are here for the pure joy of the sport.

The weekend starts off with a parade down Crandon’s main street. While the town’s population during the rest of the year numbers fewer than 2000 souls, during Labor Day weekend more than 60,000 race fans descend upon this quaint little town. It’s Friday, so we aren’t at full-bore yet, but the main drag is full of families checking out the race cars—the kids shoving junk food into their mouths, the adults enjoying a Leinenkugel beer. Teams have gifts at the ready: racer hero cards and stickers, rubber bracelets with racer Instagram handles, and a handheld checker flag that I stick into my ponytail. Naturally, someone is handing out plates of fried cheese curds.

The Class 11 cars have their first race tonight. Both Ford and Toyota have big booths set up in the pits, showcasing TRD Pro models and Bronco Raptors. Food vendors are scattered amongst easy-ups selling off-road lights, wheels, radios, and shocks. There is even a vendor here, Finishline IVs, selling hydration IVs to racers and those who partied a bit too hard at the Cowboy Bar the night before.

The Class 11 pit area is just as humble as the cars. While the other classes in the “Pro Pit” area have semi-trucks with large canopies and a fleet of mechanics, these guys and gals are decidedly more budget-focused. Sure, there are some fancy-pants motorhomes and easy-ups, but many drivers are wrenching on their own cars, in the dirt and grass. 

Most of these folks come from desert racing, where the course can range from an “easy” 200 miles through the desert to 500-plus miles through silt, whoops, and rocks. The track at Crandon is shorter and smoother than most desert events, so drivers set up their cars a bit differently. The rules say they can’t regear and they have to use a 1600-cc air-cooled engine, but teams can bring in smaller, lighter tires, lower the cars a bit, and set up their shocks to soak up turns and jumps rather than rocks and whoops.

The first Class 11 participant I chatted with is Mike Steel of Idiot Racing #1199, who has driven here from Florida with his wife Cynthia. He loves desert racing and describes Crandon as “20 minutes of outright craziness.” The adrenaline rush, he says, is wild. 

When the green flag drops that night for the 11s, the cars take off on a landrush start. Right away, they are flying through the air, off a jump in front of the packed grandstands. They come into Turn 1, banging doors with each other as their rear ends slide out. One car over-rotates and rolls. Another loses a whole hub assembly. The crowd voices its approval with a joyous roar.

The fans are a big reason that Kyle Zirkus, in #1153, has driven in from Arizona. Desert racing might have spectators scattered about the course, but by and large, you don’t get to race in front of people. 

“There is no other off-road race with this kind of track,” he says. “We don’t have this on the West Coast.”

That’s not to say there aren’t any Class 11 racers on the East Coast. Will Harris (#1149) hails from South Carolina and started racing Class 11 just two years ago, switching from the more popular UTV class. In the South, the most difficult thing for him is finding seat time. While there are public lands, they are designated for camping and hiking, not motorized recreation. 

Harris loves coming to Crandon for the camaraderie. “I have just as much fun in the pits as I do on the racetrack,” he said. “We break stuff, but we’re going to fix it and we’re going to fix it together. In the UTV world, you don’t want to give away your advantage. It’s not the same way here. We all want to win, but I don’t care if I come in 2nd place or 10th place. I had the same fun.”

The drivers have all day Saturday to repair their cars from the carnage of Friday’s race. One team swaps out a transmission, another fixes a shifter that came apart in the driver’s hand. Hubs and spring plates get checked, fenders reattached, and roofs re-curved with the help of a sledgehammer. 

Sunday dawns with gorgeous weather. While there were a ton of fans on Friday and Saturday, Sunday is out of control. The grandstands are packed, as is the grassy area. Those not lucky enough to have a seat gather in groups, spilling into the walkway. The beer is flowing, the brats are smoking, and there is a full day of racing to celebrate.

The Class 11s race is in the afternoon. Eighteen Bugs take the green flag and it’s a battle to the end. One driver, Emily Shapiro in car #1142, loses her engine before the first turn. Blake Wilkey in #1157, who won on Friday, is the favorite today, but he has motor issues too. There are a few rollovers—but if they land on their wheels, the cars just keep going. The racing is a bit faster than Friday; the cars bottom out as they land the jumps, and just hearing the crunch hurts my back. Donny Donovan in the Slow Ride Garage #1107 takes the checkered flag on Sunday, capping a near-perfect weekend of old-school Volkswagen racing.

The weekend was not without a bit of controversy. Historically, Class 11 has always had a co-driver. In desert endurance racing, this person is indispensable: They read the GPS, watch the gauges, change tires, and otherwise keep the driver in good spirits over hundreds of miles. Since the 11s came to Crandon, co-drivers have been allowed, even though other classes are single-seat only.

This year, sanctioning body United States Auto Club (USAC) decided co-drivers were too much of a liability to insure and, mere weeks before the race, struck them from the Class 11 cars. Greg Shapiro, the unofficial coordinator of the class, tried a few different solutions, including pooling money from the drivers to buy their own policy and begging for help from other desert race organizations with insurance policies. However, there was no time for any new insurer to do a proper evaluation of the event. With the new ban on co-drivers, over half the field dropped out. Then, hope appeared: Shapiro learned that the co-drivers could be covered by the insurance of the property, not the sanctioning body. This discovery brought back most, but not all of the entries. 

All was well until the day before the first race, when drivers learned their co-drivers would not be allowed in the cars after all. The good news is that many co-drivers were able to function as a spotter, climbing into a tower to provide instruction to their driver from a few hundred feet above via radio. USAC did not reply to a request for comment, but the race promoter, Marty Fiolka, told me that it’s important the 11s run as a single-seat car, just like every other class that races at Crandon.

“We’ve been advocating for this class at Crandon for years,” he said. “But we have to make sure the cars run the same way everyone else runs. The track is safer than the desert—with spotters, safety crews, and track officials—and we need to keep it that way.”

The joy of racing, however, remains, as does an unusual level of good humor and camaraderie. This group of drivers, mechanics, pit moms and dads, sons and daughters all had an amazing time putting these 50-year-old cars through their paces. They ate breakfast together in the morning, wrenched together in the afternoon, competed against each other at night, and had many beers together afterwards, all in the backdrop of the beautiful woods of northern Wisconsin. 

Hopefully the no-co-driver rule doesn’t kill the event; many drivers said they would think twice about making the drive if the rule stands. One thing is for sure—if they aren’t racing at Crandon, they’ll be out racing somewhere else.

“It’s a s***-kicking good time,” says the popular Wilkey. “I won’t ever give it up. If I can walk, I’m racing Class 11.”