In my hometown, I got acquainted with local motorcycle enthusiasts and spent a long time attending festivals as a passenger. I missed riding in the winter and read books about motorcycle culture, but for some reason, I never dared to get behind the wheel myself.
At 17, I had just enrolled in the Belarusian State Economic University, majoring in marketing and advertising. My first internship was an introductory one. There were 33 students in the group, and we all went to the Kamvolny textile plant. We listened to the somewhat melancholic director and were surprised by the dark shades of all the fabrics, even though the quality was excellent. For two weeks, we visited the plant, handed in our internship booklets for the completion mark, and got them back with the news that the internship supervisor had either quit or moved to distant lands. It didn't matter much to us—we just needed the mark. And what did my astonished eyes see? 32 students had the mark "Internship completed at Kamvol," while mine said "Internship completed at Motovelo." Probably a mistake. At that time, I knew very little about "Minsk" motorcycles, only hearing from friends, "My dad/grandpa had a Minsk in the village; I learned to ride on it before I got my Yamaha/Honda/Kawasaki." I had never even been to the Motovelo plant area—there was no need.
In my third year, it was time for a production internship, and we drew papers with the names of enterprises to ensure fairness. Again, I got Motovelo! It felt like some kind of mysticism. It was time to get to know the place for real. Nervous but intriguingly enticing.
First impressions are always the strongest. Ornate metal gates with motorcycle figures, the turnstile at the entrance, the smell of motor oil, workers in dark blue overalls, hundreds of motorcycles wherever you looked, a lecture on motorcycle construction, tough men pouring molten metal into molds, a tousled guy with aluminum flecks in his hair in the casting shop, the beautiful blue eyes of a girl painting tanks in the painting shop, secretly glancing at you from under her mask. For a 20-year-old girl, this was a day that marked the beginning of a seven-year relationship with the industrial giant in the center of Minsk. The weeks flew by like days, and in my fifth year, I chose to write my thesis here, making a conscious decision. After graduation, I was assigned to my beloved Motovelo.
For seven years, I headed the marketing department for M1NSK motorcycles. I learned to revive and build the brand, arguing with anyone who dared insult MY MINSK! A brand with a real history. Exhibitions, tests, rush jobs, customs, business trips—no problem was unsolvable, just needed more resources. I still love M1NSK and our "Minsk-Moto" team.