Kew West: My first RV trip with JC and Carlos!

This trip was my first time taking the RV out, and I didn’t want to do it alone. I drove early in the morning down to Miami to meet JC and Carlos. Parking a 28-foot RV on a city street in their neighborhood was its own adventure. I managed it, but not gracefully. We all laughed, and just like that, the trip started on familiar footing.

Inside, JC had set aside more than just “things to pack.” She had blankets, dishes, and small memorabilia from the old days — items from our shared history in the South Florida art scene, especially from the Lincoln Road era before it became polished and commercial. It felt like she was stocking not just an RV, but a continuation of a life we’ve all lived together. Carlos handled the loading and practical details, ticking things we needed to take with us.

The drive to Key West was easy. When we arrived at Leo's campground, we set up together — or really, they set up while I paid attention and tried to learn. I watched how to level the RV, how to connect everything, how to stay calm when something didn’t go as planned. It felt good to be learning alongside two people who have known me across so many versions of myself. At some point that weekend, we laughed about how life had shifted — how we went from chasing the best parties in South Beach to comparing which doctors we liked better. Getting older felt strange, funny, and oddly comforting when shared.

That evening we went into town. Key West has changed — busier, more cruise ships, more souvenir stores than art galleries. We couldn’t help pointing it out every few minutes. The three of us have been coming here in different eras of our lives, and each version leaves its own mark. Still, the atmosphere had its charm. We had drinks, appetizers, and dinner. At one point I almost bought terrible art while a little more that tipsy. They stopped ourselves just in time.

The next morning, we walked through town and found a French bakery. Good coffee, excellent pastries. We stayed longer than we planned — just talking, laughing, remembering the days when we thought we were reinventing the scene in Miami, which in its own way, we were. Those were the years of warehouse exhibitions, club openings, drag performances in makeshift venues, late nights where everything felt like the beginning of something. Remembering it with them made it feel real again.

That night, back at the RV, we made dinner together. The conversation shifted to where we were in life now. JC and Carlos were preparing to finalize the sale of their home and to move to upstate New York. I was thinking seriously about selling my home in West Palm Beach and going on the road full time. 

On the last morning, while packing up, the slide jammed. I felt a moment of panic, still new to all of this, but Carlos handled it quickly and calmly. I watched closely, filing away what to do next time.

We headed out, and by the time we reached the Seven Mile Bridge, a tropical storm had rolled in. The wind and rain were strong enough that I had to slow down to a crawl — five miles an hour in places. By the time we crossed, we all needed to breathe. We pulled over for breakfast before continuing north.

What stayed with me from this trip was the sense that I could do this — that I could handle the RV, that I could be on the road, that I wasn’t starting this next chapter alone but rooted in decades of friendship, work, risk, and shared history. We made a plan that once they moved permanently to New York, I would go visit them.

And eventually, I did.