Crossbones Field

The flat-crossing figure of eight, and the reason this sport has a waiver. Once a lap the field drives through the junction it crossed thirty seconds ago, so the thing that hits you was neither in front of you nor behind you a moment before — it came from the side, on a road you had already used and forgotten about. Half the field never sees the flag. It is the only circuit on the calendar with its own ambulance bay on the infield, and the crew that works it has a favourite corner, which they will not name out of professional courtesy.

Crossbones with a hill cut into the approach — the two nastiest ideas in the sport bolted together on purpose. Eight laps, a junction taken twice a lap, and a climb a damaged Chunkle simply does not get up. This is the championship, and it has never once been won by anything still wearing half its rind. They present the trophy at the top of the hill, which most of the field never reaches, and the engraver is kept on standby because the winner is rarely in a fit state to spell its own name.