Sedona’s Traffic Crisis Wasn’t Inevitable—It Was Chosen

By Bear Howard —

For 30 years, the town has rejected every major solution offered by engineers. Now it’s living with the consequences of its own decisions.

Sedona’s long struggle with traffic has never been just about congestion—it’s about the limits of geography, jurisdiction, and political will. The moment you look back at the mid-1990s proposal to improve Verde Valley School Road and build a vehicular bridge across Oak Creek at Red Rock Crossing, the same core pattern reveals itself: engineers and regional planners recognized that Sedona had only three ways in and three ways out, and that those routes were already straining under growing visitor demand. The county and the state studied the idea of a fourth access route to relieve SR 179 and provide an alternate connection between the Village and West Sedona. The analysis was detailed, fully engineered, and based on projected growth patterns that, even then, were impossible to ignore.

Yet the proposal died—not because it lacked merit, but because local resistance overwhelmed regional planning. Residents along Verde Valley School Road objected. Others feared that improved access would change their neighborhoods. Some living outside city limits weighed in loudly despite not being subject to city authority. With no political consensus, elected leaders backed away. A potentially transformative regional solution was shelved, and Sedona continued to rely on the same narrow network of roads it had always used.

This dynamic reappeared a few years later in the redesign of State Route 179. ADOT’s professional staff recommended a four-lane highway based on demographic projections, engineering analysis, and the understanding that Sedona’s visitor popularity would only grow. But once again, a passionate and well-organized group of activists (It was called “Voice of Choice”) in Sedona insisted that a two-lane “scenic” roadway—punctuated by roundabouts, limited shoulders, and narrow capacity—was the only acceptable alternative. Their vision prevailed. The result was a $100-million, two-lane corridor that is definitely scenic but not an efficient means of moving traffic from Interstate 17 through the Village of Oak Creek to the heart of Sedona, then to West Sedona or Oak Creek Canyon towards Flagstaff.

The specialists who worked on these proposals—demographers, highway engineers, transportation modelers, urban planners—warned that traffic volumes would rise, visitor numbers would increase, and the region would eventually outgrow the system. They were right. The predictions have been verified and validated year after year as Sedona adds residents (until houses becoming Airbnb hotels reversed the trend), draws more tourists, and continues to operate with the same constrained geometry that was already insufficient 30 years ago.

And just as you can count on the sunrise rising in the east, residents, especially the newer residences, go batty when traffic backs up during high tourist periods and weekends. And they keep demanding that it be fixed, whatever that means. And yell at whatever City Council is seated at the time to do something about it, totally ignoring the cities’ “Sedona in Motion” projects that are slowly chipping away at some of the issues of congestion during high-traffic Tourism.

Through these episodes, a defining reality becomes unmistakable: Sedona repeatedly rejects large-scale, regional solutions in favor of incremental, hyper-local ones. Engineers understand the terrain’s limits. Planners understand the mathematics of road capacity. ADOT understands the responsibilities that come with owning the three state highways that carry all traffic in and out of Sedona. But small-town politics often operates under a different logic—one shaped by strong emotion, local identity, and a belief that passion can override physical constraints.

This isn’t to say residents acted in bad faith. They acted out of love for their community and a desire to protect the environment and small-town character. But the side effect is a kind of magical thinking: the belief that if enough people oppose a major solution, the underlying problem will somehow go away. Unfortunately, traffic does not respond to sentiment; it responds to geometry, demand, and population.

And so Sedona today continues to wrestle with a paradox:

A world-class destination with millions of annual visitors, served by three state-owned roads that cannot be widened, relocated, or duplicated without massive regional coordination—and shaped by a political culture that has repeatedly rejected the very proposals designed to address those limits.

Incremental improvements—roundabouts, crosswalks, transit shuttles, intersection tweaks—can help. They can make traffic more tolerable, slow growth in congestion, or shift some demand. But they cannot replace the long-term regional solutions that were rejected decades ago. Living in Sedona, or visiting Sedona, means accepting both the beauty of the landscape and the constraints it imposes.

Traffic is not a failure of planning; it is the predictable outcome of a breathtaking place with limited access, state-controlled corridors, millions of visitors, and local politics that have often chosen idealism over practicality. Decisions made in the 1990s and 2000s have made a profound impact on life in Sedona. What kind of future will we have that is defined by the decisions being made now?

Recognizing that truth is not defeatism. It is the beginning of a more honest civic conversation—one grounded in reality, not wishful thinking—about what can be improved, what must be accepted, and how to live well within the natural and political limits of Sedona’s geography.

Prologue: Choose Happiness or Unhappiness:

Choose happiness. Choose to live in Sedona with open eyes and an open heart—embracing its beauty, its popularity, and the millions who come here for the same reasons we stay. Encourage our local and regional leaders to think boldly, to pursue big ideas, and not to shrink from the predictable chorus of voices that oppose anything that resembles change. We owe it to ourselves, and to Sedona’s future, not to let the CAVE dwellers—Citizens Against Virtually Everything—have the final word.

Or choose unhappiness. Dig in, reject Sedona’s evolution, and insist that a growing, world-renowned community must somehow stay frozen in time. Demand that nothing change, even as the world around us moves on. Push back against every effort to make Sedona more livable, more modern, or better prepared for the future. And cheer on those who resist progress at every turn—the dedicated CAVE dwellers, Citizens Against Virtually Everything—who would rather halt Sedona’s future than imagine a better one.