Nevada’s Roads See Fewer Graves Dug This Spring

But Don’t Break Out the Fireworks Yet

By all accounts, and against the usual run of folly, the grim reaper’s stranglehold on Nevada’s highways loosened its bony grip a mite this year. After 400 good souls were lost to the wild perils of our roadways in 2024–a year that drove up the toll faster than a Comstock miner chasing a silver lode–the early reckonings of 2025 bring a whisper of better news.

From the bristling streets of Las Vegas to the lonely dust tracks of Battle Mountain, the state’s March fatal report shows a curious dip in death. Naturally suspicious and somber, experts advise caution before raising a celebratory glass. With all its heat and hubris, Summer is yet to come–and in Nevada, summer on the road is about as safe as tickling a rattlesnake.

Ask anyone who’s braved the Nevada roads, and you’ll find the opinions as fierce as a July sun.

Erin Shannon, a city-dweller of Las Vegas extraction, spoke plain enough, “There’re certain hours of the day I won’t even stick a tire out,” she said, with the wary tone of a soldier describing no-man’s-land.

Kim Kessler, hailing from the peaceful plains of Wyoming, could hardly hide her horror. “It’s actually a little scary for me,” she said. “People are in a hurry, and if you’re not, they’ll let you know with all the manners of a hornet.”

It is why many jaws dropped like bad poker hands when word got around that traffic deaths are–for now–down.

By the end of March, 98 travelers had met their end on Nevada’s highways, a three percent decline from the same stretch last year. Clark County–where the desert shimmers with heat and hazard alike–the fall is even sharper–68 deaths against 2024s 85, marking a 20 percent drop, though 68 is still 68 too many for anyone with sense.

What caused this unlikely downturn?

Our long-time friend, Erin Breen of the Road Equity Alliance Project, a woman accustomed to surveying wreckage and heartache, was blunt, “Last year was so God-awful bad, anything would look better by comparison.” She further warned against unbridled optimism, “I’m not counting my chickens,” she said, no doubt with an eye on the still-looming thunderheads of summer.

Among the brighter notes in the otherwise dirge-like symphony, Clark County saw nearly 30 percent fewer pedestrians claimed by passing iron beasts. Tweaks to traffic signal timings–giving the two-legged a fighting chance against the four-wheeled–get some of the credit.

But Breen leaves drivers with a solemn bit of counsel, more enduring than any statistic, “Whether it’s your fault or not, taking a life will ruin yours for a good long while.”

And in Nevada–a land where fortune changes quicker than a desert storm–a bit of slowness and attention on the road might save lives and a little dignity. But if there’s one thing Nevada knows, it’s that luck, like a loaded dice game, has a way of running out when you least expect it.