Honoring the outlaws history tried to erase
GuavaCon is an exciting, one-of-a-kind conference that celebrates the spirit of innovation and camaraderie in the hacker community. Set against the beautiful backdrop of Florida’s historic A1A, this event invites hackers to wardrive down the Atlantic coast, communicating and sharing knowledge over ham radios, culminating in a lively gathering in West Palm Beach. At the heart of GuavaCon is a tribute to the smuggling of guava during a crisis in South Florida’s past, highlighting both a rich history and the spirit of rebellion that defines the hacking world. Enjoy port wines, guava-inspired delights, and a chance to connect with like-minded tinkerers, hackers, and innovators in an atmosphere of fun and creativity. Join us as we honor the past, celebrate the present, and build towards a brighter future.
GuavaCon is a unique event where hackers cruise down Florida's Atlantic coast, ending in West Palm Beach for a party featuring port wines and guava. It celebrates the rich history of South Florida's guava smuggling and fosters connections within the hacker community.
GuavaCon is held annually along Florida's A1A, ending in West Palm Beach. It takes place on the anniversary of the historic convoy of Florida's guava smugglers.
GuavaCon is a free event, and everyone is welcome to join! However, we ask that you bring at least one bottle of port wine or red wine, as well as as much guava as you can carry to share at the final party. It’s a celebration of community and the spirit of collaboration!
Yes! At GuavaCon, ad-hoc talks are given over ham radios using the historic "Code Guava" frequency, which was used by the smugglers back in 1968. It's a nod to the past, where knowledge and information were shared in a creative, underground manner.
The government actively worked to suppress the story of the guava smugglers for fear that idolizing criminals might have a negative impact on the public. While the story of the smugglers is becoming more well known now, much of it is still only found in diaries, local books by local historians, and in the spoken accounts of those who lived through it.
By 1968, Florida was a battleground; not of war, but of fruit. The state was deep in the pockets of citrus barons who lobbied hard to keep guava out of the mainstream. They controlled the markets, the groves, and even the government, pushing an agenda that favored oranges over all else. Imports of guava were banned under the pretense of "agricultural health concerns," but everyone knew the truth: guava was dangerous. Not to the people, but to the profits of Big Citrus.
With guava outlawed, prices skyrocketed, and soon the sweet, pink fruit became a rarity. Cuban and Puerto Rican communities, who relied on guava for everything from pastries to rum pairings, were hit the hardest. But where the law failed the people, a new breed of outlaw stepped in to set things right.
Enter The Guava Smugglers.
These weren’t your backwoods bootleggers or old-school rum-runners. No, these were gearheads, bikers, and highway renegades, tearing down Florida’s A1A in roaring V8 muscle cars and stripped-down choppers, hellbent on getting guava to the people.
The operation was as wild as it was dangerous. The smugglers sourced their guava from deep in the Florida wilderness—hidden groves in the Everglades, secret stashes brought in by rogue fishermen from the Caribbean, and even a few bold truckers who "misplaced" shipments before they could be seized.
Once packed in crates and stashed in the trunks of modified Dodge Chargers, Pontiac GTOs, and Harley-Davidson saddlebags, the smugglers hit the road. Their mission? To blast down A1A at breakneck speeds, outrun the law, and deliver the goods to South Florida’s guava-starved communities.
By the summer of ’69, law enforcement had caught wind of the operation. The Florida Agricultural Bureau, backed by citrus-funded politicians, declared war on the guava trade. Roadblocks appeared overnight, highway patrol officers were given shoot-on-sight orders for suspected smugglers, and undercover agents infiltrated biker bars and car clubs, trying to root out the ringleaders.
But the smugglers were always one step ahead.
They communicated through ham radios, secret knocks, and taillight signals: a single flash meant "road’s clear," two flashes meant "cops ahead." They mapped out every dirt road, hidden beach access, and back alley that could be used to shake pursuit.
Some even went to extremes, rigging their cars with hidden nitrous tanks to blast past roadblocks or installing spike-dropping devices to disable cop cars. The bikers, more nimble, wove through traffic, taunting law enforcement as they tore past in a blur of chrome and leather.
One of the most legendary escapes happened near Daytona Beach, when a smuggler known only as "El Rojo" was cornered by patrol cars on a dead-end bridge. Rather than surrender, he gunned his 1967 Shelby GT500, hit a makeshift ramp, and jumped the entire bridge, landing on the other side in a shower of sparks and burning rubber. The cops could only watch as he vanished into the night, guava still intact.
With pressure mounting, the smugglers planned their biggest and boldest run yet; a full-scale convoy heading straight into West Palm Beach. Dozens of cars and bikes, each loaded with as much guava as they could carry, hit A1A at midnight. The plan? A rolling blockade.
The fastest cars, led by a jet-black Plymouth Road Runner called "The Night Train," ran ahead to draw police attention, weaving through traffic and baiting the cops into a high-speed chase. Behind them, a second wave of cars and bikes rode in tight formation, ready to intercept and delay any pursuit.
Meanwhile, the main convoy—stacked with guava crates—took the backroads, avoiding checkpoints and slipping into the city under cover of darkness. By the time the police realized they had been duped, thousands of pounds of guava had already been delivered to bakeries, bars, and markets across South Florida.
That night, the people partied in the streets. Wine flowed, exhaust pipes roared, and guava pastries filled the air with their sweet, rebellious aroma. The government had tried to erase guava from the state, but the people had spoken.
In the years that followed, the authorities cracked down harder, but they could never quite stamp out the guava trade. The smugglers, legends now, became ghosts—some retiring, some vanishing into the Everglades, and others still seen from time to time, tearing down A1A in midnight races, their trunks mysteriously heavier than they should be.
And so, GuavaCon was born. Not just as a gathering of hackers and rebels, but as a tribute to those who burned rubber, broke laws, and defied the system for what they knew to be good and true.
So, when you take that ride down Florida's historic A1A, remember: you’re not just cruising. You’re carrying the spirit of the smugglers.
To the rebels. To the road. To the fruit that started it all.