Rider’s Lens: Great Divide and More with Adam Wilkoszarski

I’m Adam Wilkoszarski, a Polish documentary/landscape photographer based in Poznań, Poland. I graduated with a BA in photography from the University of Arts in Poznań. In my work, I concentrate on how places change when they become abandoned. I try to find places where the borders between public and private spheres are blurred.

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When I was a child, my dad was an avid amateur photographer. He used to shoot a lot of film and develop his own photos, and I took my first pictures using his old Zenit analog camera. I started taking photography more seriously when I got into BMX. I wasn’t particularly good at riding, so photography became a better excuse to spend time out riding with friends. Later, inspired by contemporary documentary photography, I began developing personal projects and went on to study photography.

Cycling sparked my curiosity about the world and built the foundation for how I see things. It lets me explore places that are easily overlooked when traveling by car or rushing through daily life. Photography naturally became a part of my rides. My memory also isn’t great, so they serve as a personal record and a kind of souvenir of my experiences. I often want to revisit places I’ve photographed.

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I don’t have a favorite photographic tool. For a long time, I mainly worked with medium-format analog cameras, which encouraged a slower, more thoughtful process. At the same time, I really appreciate the immediacy and spontaneity of shooting with a phone. I believe every tool has its time and place. In the end, it’s the photographer’s mindset that matters more than the equipment.

So far, I’ve found the most satisfaction in working on documentary projects, though I see that kind of photography mostly as something I do for myself. What I enjoy most in professional work are collaborations with people with similar sense of aesthetics and vision. I also have a sweet tooth, so I enjoy photographing food.

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I’m inspired by the work of Alec Soth, Alexander Gronsky, and Gregory Halpern as of late. Cinema has also been a long-time source of influence; I’ve always been drawn to visual storytelling that leaves room for interpretation. When I was a teenager, the film Lost in Translation made a deep impression on me and nudged me toward a more romantic form of documentary photography. I also find inspiration in the lives of people around me—how our stories intersect and how certain patterns repeat in ways that feel both personal and universal.

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At the moment, I’m not working on any specific project. I’m simply enjoying cycling and sharing my adventures with friends who follow me. My advice to anyone getting into photography? Just take a lot of pictures, and don’t be afraid to experiment. Don’t hesitate when you see a moment worth capturing. And if you did, go back. Don’t be afraid of people. Even if someone says “no,” it’s not the end of the world. Soon enough, neither of you will even remember it.

On The Great Divide

The GDMBR was the greatest cycling adventure I’ve had so far. It was meaningful to me for many reasons. First of all, it was a serious physical challenge. We spent 47 days pedaling, with only three full days of rest. I did the trip with two of my friends, Olga and Kamil, and I have to say they’re simply the perfect team. With them, anything feels possible. I owe them a huge thank-you for the patience and understanding they showed me and for sharing such unforgettable moments.

Many of the things that happened along the way felt truly one of a kind—as if no one else could ever experience them in quite the same way. A sunset at a horse riders’ campground, the air thick with wildfire smoke near Grand Teton, with anxious horses neighing in the background. A grizzly bear encounter on top of Union Pass, just before a storm. Being invited into Anna’s home in New Mexico, sharing scrambled eggs with green chile and coffee served in a mug with an image of Jesus. We often shared meals with hunters we met along the way, whose campsites were usually not far from ours.

One night, we slept in an apartment behind a Baptist church in Bairoil, where clean sheets, hot showers, and fridges full of food were waiting for us. We devoured everything like we hadn’t eaten in days. The next day, just past Rawlins, we were taken in by a group of thru-hikers on the Continental Divide Trail. Engine, Just in Case, Tigger, and another Tigger welcomed us like their own and gave us a taste of what trail magic really means. We talked, shared a meal, and listened to music late into the evening, and in the morning, hot coffee awaited us. It was one of those rare, perfect encounters that stay with you long after the road continues.

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I’ll never forget the fellow travelers we met along the way. In Canada, we rode with Steve, who got separated from us one evening while searching for the perfect campsite. In Montana, we spent a few days riding with Aaron and Sara, who shared stories from their lives and kept feeding us snacks whenever they could. At Brush Mountain Lodge, we met John, John, and Andrew, a great group of friends who invited us each night for a sip of whiskey and some much-needed camaraderie.

When I was robbed and lost the bag with all my clothes, Rich, who happened to live just a few dozen kilometers from where we were, stepped in to help. He gave me clothes, fed me well, and got me back on track. And there were dozens of stories like that, each one unforgettable.

I’ll never forget the overwhelming scale of this country and the humbling feeling of being small within it. The vast open spaces of Montana absolutely captivated me. And I truly hope I’ll get to return to New Mexico someday; its raw, rugged beauty is exactly what I seek in a landscape. I’ll also never forget the happiness and mental clarity that stayed with me throughout the journey. If you ever have the chance to do something like this but are still hesitating, take the first step and go. If you approach it with openness and a smile, the adventure of a lifetime is waiting for you.

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During the trip, I also kept a handwritten journal in a notebook I received as a gift before setting out. Excerpts from that journal, along with analog photos I shot along the way, became the foundation for a short photographic series that you can see on my website.

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Adam’s Photo Gear

On my bike trips, I used an iPhone as my main camera for quite a while. It wasn’t until just before the GDMBR that a friend convinced me to take a “real camera.” In this case, a compact analog Olympus Mju II. Recently, I decided to take photography on my trips more seriously and bought a Sony RX100 VII, which I’ll be testing for the first time on an upcoming trip to Georgia. I always carry my phone in the right pocket of my cargo bibs, and the extra camera lives in a stem bag.

Featured Image

Spring 2018. I was photographing people living off the grid on the outskirts of a resort town. The woman in the picture lived in a makeshift camp hidden in the bushes. Even though the camp had no access to water or electricity and was surrounded by trash, she spent her mornings in a white bathrobe embroidered with roses. Everyone needs a bit of comfort, after all.

See more of Adam’s work at AdamWilkoszarski.com and on Instagram.

Further Reading

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