September 18, 2026

The Designated Driver's Guide to Oktoberfest, in a Car That's Actually Fun

Every Oktoberfest has the same unspoken social contract: somebody draws the short straw and becomes the designated driver, and everybody else pretends not to notice what a raw deal that is. The DD skips the steins, drinks the pretzels, and then spends the drive home refereeing a car full of people who have suddenly decided they are all excellent singers. It is a thankless job. Unless you rig the game.

The way you rig it is to make the driving part the thing nobody else gets to do. And for that, you want a car that is genuinely fun to drive, which is the entire argument for doing Oktoberfest in a Tesla Model 3.

The Drive Up, and Why It's the Best Part of the Day

Up in the Catskills, Hunter Mountain runs its fall Oktoberfest with the whole Bavarian production — lederhosen, oompah bands, steins that weigh more than a textbook — and the road to get there is the kind of two-lane that winds through the hills and begs you to enjoy it. Here is the thing about the Model 3: it does not ask you to choose between "responsible family car" and "fun." It just goes. The instant torque of the electric motor means a squeeze of the pedal is answered immediately, and the low center of gravity — the battery lives in the floor — keeps it flat and planted through the corners.

So while your passengers are back there deciding which of them knows the most about beer, you are up front enjoying the one thing the day has to offer a sober person: a genuinely good road, in a genuinely good car.

Cheap to Run, Because You Already Bought the Pretzels

Here is the quiet economics of being the DD in an electric car. A round trip to the mountains in the Model 3 costs a couple of dollars of electricity, not a tank of gas. When you add up the steins and the pretzels and the impulse-bought Alpine hat nobody will admit to, the fuel bill being basically nothing is not a small mercy. It also means the person who stayed sober is not also the person who quietly resents the whole trip on the drive home.

There is a practical angle too. The Model 3 is a sedan with a proper trunk, which is where the, uh, "souvenirs" go — the stein, the half-eaten pretzel the size of a steering wheel, the mystery bag of something that smelled amazing at 4pm. The trunk does not care. It just closes.

The Ride Home, When Everyone Else Is a Comedian

The drive back is the real test, and it is where a quiet car earns its place. A cabin full of people who have had a wonderful time is a loud place, but the Model 3's cabin is quiet enough that the driver keeps their own sanity intact, which is the actual job. Autopilot handles the highway slog back down the mountain, and by the time you hit the last stretch home, the back seat has gone from a barbershop quartet to a series of gentle snores.

You get them home, hand off the stein, and close the door on a day where nobody had to pay for a ride-share at peak pricing. The short straw turns out to be the best seat in the house. That is the whole trick, and now you know it.

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