![The author summarizes maintenance on his Piper Arrow in an Excel spreadsheet with the date and airframe time. [Credit: Les Abend]](https://flyingmag1.b-cdn.net/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2026/02/FLY0226_3.2-Jumpseat-e1770993086670.jpeg?width=710&height=366)
As we descended through the dingy, gray cumulus, a glance at the standby attitude indicator revealed a familiar problem. The instrument was beginning to show a pronounced bank despite the wings-level status displayed on the Aspen electronic PFD.
Cringing, I forced myself to look at the far-right side of the instrument panel. Yup, the suction gauge needle indicated almost zero, occasionally jumping to the right in an attempt to display momentary signs of life. We were losing the vacuum pump that powered the standby attitude indicator.
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The red warning light, buried at the top of the instrument panel directly in front of my nose, wasn’t illuminated. The light’s purpose was to provide an alert for the exact circumstance we were experiencing. But apparently the light had other plans.
After reading back our clearance for the RNAV GPS approach to Runway 14 at Ocean City, Maryland (KOXB), I pulled out the emergency knob at the bottom of the instrument panel. The knob’s function was to open a valve that provides engine induction air to the vacuum-driven standby attitude indicator. We were IMC with a fully operational electronic PFD and probably didn’t need the backup, but I wasn’t taking chances.
Unfortunately, the pulling of the emergency induction system knob did not resurrect the standby attitude indicator. The instrument feebly maintained its inaccurate bank as though it preferred to nap rather than do its job. Great.
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Adding to the enjoyment was a complaint from ATC that we were intermittently unreadable on both radios. As though ordered through divine intervention, we broke out of the overcast into a VFR world just after passing the initial approach fix. Runway in sight. Cool.
Midway through our month-long journey, my wife asked a logical and poignant question: “Is our airplane reliable?” The query was easy to dismiss for those of us that simply shrug our shoulders and accept that airplanes just break because it’s part of ownership. But it really wasn’t a satisfactory answer.
My wife certainly had valid reasons for concern. On this particular trip, we had a vacuum pump failure after only 350 hours of the unit’s time in service, and we had radio transmission problems that were challenging the best avionics technicians.
![Replaced vacuum pump [Credit: Les Abend]](https://flyingmag1.b-cdn.net/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2026/02/FLY0226_3.2-Jumpseat-1.jpeg?width=300&height=338)
On the trip before last, the hydraulic power pack failed because of a compromised O-ring, forcing us to fly home with the landing gear in the down position. The power back had been refurbished and installed only three years and 200-plus hours before. And during a prior summer journey we experienced an alternator failure in IMC weather.
After returning home, I reflected on the reliability of airplanes in my professional life. I didn’t specifically document maintenance issues in my logbook, except for the occasional entry if a flight involved a significant problem that resulted in a diversion, cancellation, or delay. But if I had to guess, 95 percent of my flights flew without maintenance discrepancies that threatened reliability. From the Pipers I flew as a CFI to a B-777, the expectation that the mission would be completed was always a good bet.
At the airline level, items covered by a Minimum Equipment List (MEL) often allow an airplane to fly despite a particular system’s inoperative status. The more systems there are, the more complicated the machine becomes and the more things can break. Yes, stuff happens but confronting issues that prevent dispatch or cause in-flight emergencies are not regular occurrences despite the sensationalism the mainstream media presents. The sensationalism is amplified further through the perpetual availability of information and the fact that most everyone has a mini news studio in their pockets and purses.
Do airlines have mechanical issues daily? Of course. But they are dealing with hundreds of airplanes, so the probability that something will break is higher. But taken from a per-pilot, per-flight perspective, maintenance problems that adversely affect reliability don’t occur on a frequent basis. Some of my colleagues may argue with me, but most will admit that the majority of their trips are completed without mechanical headaches.
That said, my airline colleagues all have stories of mechanical emergencies. Other than the occasional warning light or systems message on the Engine Indication and Crew Alerting System (EICAS) screen, my 34-year career included only two bona fide mechanical emergencies, and both were engine failures…at least the events I can recall.
Flying as a 767 copilot, a sensor malfunctioned, sending a message for the engine to shut down. We were at cruise altitude, dining on our breakfast crew meals when the engine rpm rolled back. The appropriate checklists were completed. We landed at our original destination of Chicago O’Hare (KORD) without issues.
As a wet-behind-the-ears captain at JFK on Runway 4L, the copilot and I made a quick decision to abort a takeoff when the airplane didn’t seem to be accelerating normally. A bearing had separated from within the No. 1 engine of our B-727, decimating every blade of the turbine section. We experienced an in-flight emergency that remained on the ground. We taxied back to our departure gate. No fire. No injuries.
The airlines follow the protocols of progressive maintenance inspections. Certain items are more scrutinized during certain major checks. In between major checks it becomes the responsibility of line pilots and line mechanics to discover discrepancies that need to be addressed before operating any given flight.
As general aviation pilots, we are ultimately responsible for determining airworthiness. If we discover a discrepancy, it’s our responsibility to have it repaired. It’s also our obligation to schedule the annual inspection. At the end of the day, it is the pilot’s duty to make the decision that the airplane is safe to fly.
Often a question about past maintenance items arises with our Piper Arrow. When was the starter changed last? Wasn’t the left side fuel sender replaced two years ago? Rather than having to dig out the airplane logbooks for such questions, I summarize significant maintenance in an Excel spreadsheet with the date and airframe time. The spreadsheet is kept in an electronic file accessible from my phone or computer.
So, back to my wife’s reliability question. Using the spreadsheet, excluding annual inspection discrepancies, oil changes, prop balances, elective installations, and required miscellaneous maintenance, the Arrow has remained out of the shop for an average of 25 hours at a time within the 600 hours and nine years of our ownership. The longest time the airplane stayed away from a wrench was 71 hours, with the shortest interval being three hours.
Granted, some of the discrepancies were items that could have been deferred or were not necessarily airworthy issues, but my airline pilot mentality always errs on the side of caution.
Certainly the 53-year-old airframe itself has proven its longevity, but the accessories and systems are slowly becoming problematic, notwithstanding that the engine is advancing in age. A newer airplane would solve some of the issues, but we would still face the inevitable break-in discovery period in contrast to being intimately familiar with the idiosyncrasies of our Arrow.
Perhaps reliability is in the eyes of the beholder? To be determined.
This column first appeared in the February Issue 967 of the FLYING print edition.
