Welcome to Aircraft Ownership: Now Please Comply or Else

Ah yes, you’ve finally done it—you bought your own little airplane. Cue the soaring music and slow-mo runway shots. But hold up, Maverick—along with that sweet, sweet freedom comes the FAA, ready to rain on your aerial parade with a checklist the length of a CVS receipt.

So what ridiculous hoops do you now have to jump through to keep your precious flying toy legal and “safe”? Spoiler alert: it’s not just “don’t crash.”

Let’s rip apart the FAA’s sacred scroll of aircraft maintenance rules for your certificated general aviation aircraft.

• What mandatory maintenance is required and how often are you expected to drop everything and play airplane mechanic?

• What different types of maintenance are there, and yes, they do all sound exactly the same until they bite you with non-compliance fees.

• What can you, the mere mortal owner, legally touch without triggering a federal manhunt?

• And last but not least, how often do you need to bow to the gods of inspections and offer up a sacrifice of properly documented paperwork?

Strap in. It’s less “Top Gun,” more “Tax Season—but for airplanes.”

Congratulations, You Bought It—Now It’s Your Problem: Keeping Your Plane Airworthy

So you own (or operate) an airplane? Congrats—you’re now the lucky winner of a lifetime subscription to Total Responsibility™. The FAA doesn’t care if you’ve got a mechanic on speed dial or if you swear you “thought it was fine”—you are the one on the hook for keeping that bird airworthy.

That means every inspection, every maintenance task, every pesky little Airworthiness Directive (AD)—all of it is your circus, your monkeys. Even if someone else turns the wrenches, it’s still your name on the line if things go sideways.

To put it simply: if it’s your plane, it’s your headache. Sure, the pilot in command has to do a preflight check and make sure the wings haven’t fallen off, but the big, juicy maintenance responsibility? That’s all yours, boss.

So yeah—stay on top of it. Make friends with a good mechanic, bribe them with snacks if needed, and keep your plane in tip-top shape. The FAA’s watching. And more importantly, so is gravity.

The Many Flavors of Aircraft Maintenance (AKA How Your Plane Keeps You Busy)

Preventive Maintenance: The Stuff You Can Touch Without Getting Yelled At

This is the low-stakes, grease-under-your-fingernails kind of maintenance—simple, routine tasks meant to stop your plane from falling apart in midair. We're talking oil changes, spark plug swaps, and minor fixes that don’t involve disassembling the entire aircraft. The FAA even has a specific list of what you’re allowed to do, because heaven forbid you get ambitious. Think of it as the aviation version of changing your car’s tires—boring, necessary, and just barely empowering. Yes, you can do it yourself (more on that juicy topic later), but don’t go thinking you're suddenly a certified A&P because you replaced a screw.

Scheduled Maintenance: The FAA’s Way of Controlling Your Calendar

Here’s where things get official. Scheduled _maintenance is the stuff that must be done at specific intervals—some because the FAA says so, and some because the people who built your plane would prefer it didn’t explode. There’s the annual inspection (every 12 months, no exceptions), the 100-hour inspection if your plane’s being rented out, and delightful extras like 24-month IFR avionics checks. These are all planned in advance, meaning you’ll have plenty of time to cry over the cost and inconvenience. Manufacturers might throw in a few more “recommended” items, which is code for “skip this and you’ll regret it later.”

Unscheduled Maintenance: When Your Plane Throws a Tantrum

This is the fun one—random breakdowns, weird noises, suspicious leaks, and everything else that makes you go, “That wasn’t like that yesterday.” Welcome to unscheduled (or “corrective”) maintenance, where something breaks and you fix it, ideally before takeoff. If your radio dies, you fix it. If the fuel system starts acting shady, you definitely fix it. Whether it’s a minor squawk or a full-on mechanical meltdown, the plane doesn’t leave the ground until it’s resolved. Sometimes you can DIY the little stuff, like a burnt-out light. But if it’s anything involving compression, combustion, or general panic? That’s mechanic territory.

Major vs. Minor Maintenance: How Much Trouble Are You In?

The FAA, in its infinite wisdom, splits all maintenance into two categories: minor (manageable) and major (brace yourself). Minor stuff is routine, doesn’t mess with structure, systems, or performance, and can usually be handled without alerting the aviation gods. Major repairs or alterations? Whole different beast. These involve big jobs like overhauling engines, installing new systems, or doing anything that might affect how (or if) your plane flies. Those require special sign-offs, FAA Form 337, and the blessing of an Inspection Authorization (IA) mechanic or FAA-approved shop. Translation: if it sounds expensive and terrifying, you're not the one doing it.

In short, maintenance is your new full-time side hustle. Some of it’s simple, some of it’s soul-crushing, and all of it keeps your plane—and your pilot certificate—off the endangered species list.

When the FAA Says “Jump”: Inspections and Maintenance You Can’t Ignore

The Annual Inspection: Because Apparently “Still Flies” Isn’t Good Enough

Ah, the FAA—keeping the skies safe, one mandatory inspection at a time. If you want to keep your general aviation aircraft legal (and not become a cautionary tale), there are a few must-do inspections. The good news? The list is short. The bad news? One of them is the dreaded annual inspection, a sacred ritual that happens once every 12 calendar months, whether you like it or not.

Yes, every aircraft with a standard airworthiness certificate gets to enjoy this annual FAA spa day. And no, you can’t skip it because “the plane sounded fine.” A certified mechanic with an Inspection Authorization (IA) will crawl all over your plane—peeking under panels, poking at engine bits, and judging your poor maintenance life choices. This isn’t some casual walkaround—they’re using a legally blessed checklist straight from the FAA’s Appendix D to Part 43. (Yes, the FAA has appendices. Of course they do.)

They’ll check everything: the airframe, engine, prop, avionics, control cables, mystery stains—nothing is safe. If it all looks good, the IA scribbles their signature in your logbook and declares your aircraft “airworthy,” which is FAA-speak for “fine, I guess.” But if they find something broken, worn out, or vaguely sketchy, they give you a discrepancy list—basically a love letter saying, “Fix this mess or stay on the ground.”

And let’s be clear: if you miss the annual deadline, your aircraft is officially grounded. Not “kinda grounded,” not “mostly okay”—fully illegal to fly. There’s no grace period, no pleading, no flying “just to the mechanic.” The only exception is if you beg the FAA for a ferry permit (aka a Special Flight Permit), which lets you fly your poor neglected plane to the shop under very specific, very supervised conditions. If that sounds like a bureaucratic joyride, it’s not.

Timing matters too. “12 calendar months” doesn’t mean the exact day—if your last annual was done March 15, 2024, the next one is due by March 31, 2025. Miss that? Grounded. Again: no grace period.

And just to make things extra spicy: only an A&P mechanic with an IA can sign off the annual. Your regular A&P buddy can help turn wrenches and drink your coffee, but unless they’ve got that magic IA, they’re not the one making it legal. Why? Because the FAA loves layers of oversight almost as much as it loves acronyms.

Now, if you’re wondering how this differs from the 100-hour inspection (don’t worry, that’s coming), the scope is almost identical—the big difference is who’s signing off and whether your aircraft has to get it. But don’t expect just a quick once-over. If the IA finds a bald tire, a cracked belt, or a magneto that’s more “meh” than magnetic, you’re fixing it before that signature goes in the book.

Example time: You own a Cessna 172. Last July, it got its annual. This July, it’s due again. Your IA finds one brake pad is whisper-thin and the alternator belt is looking like it’s been through a blender. You replace both, they sign it off, and boom—you’re legal for another 12 months. Had you ignored it? Your plane would’ve been grounded at midnight on July 31st, and you’d be begging the FAA for permission just to taxi it somewhere useful.

Moral of the story? Don’t mess around with the annual. Schedule it. Do it. Fix what’s broken. And for the love of all things airborne, don’t let it expire unless you enjoy paperwork, delays, and the FAA giving you the side-eye.

100-Hour Inspections: Because If You're Making Money, the FAA Wants Receipts

Ah yes, the glorious 100-hour inspection—the FAA’s way of saying, “Oh, you’re making money with your airplane? Time to pay up in sweat, cash, and maintenance logs.” This inspection is basically the annual’s clingy twin, but it only applies if you’re using the plane to haul paying passengers or loaning it out for flight instruction. If you’re just flying around for fun, bragging rights, or personal existential crises under Part 91, congratulations—you get to skip this one.

But if your aircraft is generating income—say, you’re renting it out for scenic tours, leasing it to a flight school, or providing it for students to bounce landings off the runway—then boom, you’re in 100-hour territory. And yes, the FAA has rules for that. Shocking.

Here’s the deal: if the plane carries anyone other than you (or your long-suffering copilot) for hire, or if it’s provided as part of paid flight instruction, it needs a full inspection every 100 flight hours. No excuses. No “but it’s running great!” Not even a “but we only flew it gently!” Too bad. Money changed hands—get it inspected.

Now, let’s be real: the 100-hour inspection is identical in scope to an annual. Same checklist, same poking and prodding, same FAA-approved list in Appendix D. The difference? It doesn’t require an IA mechanic. That’s right—any A&P mechanic can sign off a 100-hour, so long as they didn’t major in guesswork. But if your 100-hour happens to line up with your annual? Tough luck. You’ll still need an IA to bless it with that sacred annual signature.

Timing-wise, the FAA says this is a hard limit: you’ve got 100 flight hours since the last inspection. Not 101, not “pretty close,” not “I’ll do it next week.” Just 100. However, in a rare display of mercy, the FAA allows a 10-hour ferry extension—but only to get the aircraft to a mechanic. Not to squeeze in a few more joyrides. And here's the catch: if you use that buffer, it eats into your next cycle. So if you stretch it to 105 hours, your next 100-hour is due at 205 hours. FAA math: thrilling and punitive.

And don’t confuse this with annual inspections—the 10-hour grace period doesn’t apply to those. Annuals expire when the calendar says so, not when you feel like it.

Also worth noting: the 100-hour requirement is based strictly on flight time, not months. If the plane doesn’t fly 100 hours, you don’t need the inspection… unless, again, you’re charging money. If you’re flying for fun? Skip it. If you’re flying for funds? Fork it over.

Example time: Let’s say you lease your Piper Archer to a local flying club, and it had its last 100-hour inspection at 2000 tach hours. It’s now at 2098. You want to ferry it two hours away to your mechanic. Great—you’re under the limit. If you land at 2101? Still legal, thanks to that sweet 10-hour buffer. But now your next inspection is due at 2199 instead of 2200. And no, you don’t need an IA for this—just a regular, FAA-certified mechanic with tools and opinions.

And remember: if this exact same plane was not being rented out or used for instruction-for-hire? None of this would apply. You’d be back in annual-only land, sipping coffee and laughing at all the commercial ops scrambling to meet the 100-hour deadline.

Bottom line: If you’re making money with your airplane, the FAA wants to make sure you’re not cutting corners. They’re not saying you don’t love your airplane—they’re just saying they don’t trust you.

Progressive Inspections: Because Who Has Time for a Full Teardown Anymore?

So, let’s say your plane’s flying more hours than a Starbucks barista during finals week, and the idea of grounding it for a full annual feels like a business-killing nightmare. Enter the progressive inspection—aviation’s way of saying, “What if we just didn’t stop everything once a year and instead broke the pain into bite-sized chunks?”

Instead of yanking your aircraft offline for a giant annual teardown, progressive inspections chop that beast into manageable phases—say, every 25 or 50 hours. Phase 1 looks at one part of the plane, Phase 2 another, and so on until the whole aircraft has been thoroughly poked and prodded by the end of the cycle. Think of it as the aircraft equivalent of getting a full physical, one organ at a time.

The FAA, of course, isn’t just going to let you do this because it sounds smart—you need official FAA approval to run a progressive program. And yes, an IA typically has to be involved to make sure you’re not using “progressive” as code for “winging it.” All the same stuff required in an annual or 100-hour still has to be completed within a 12-month window, just spread out over multiple sessions. You're not skipping anything—you’re just sneakily reorganizing it.

This setup is a favorite among flight schools, flying clubs, and other high-time operators who’d rather keep planes flying than parked. Why kill operations for days at a time when you can knock out a quarter of the inspection every month or so and keep the machine in the air? It’s smart, it’s efficient, and it mildly annoys the FAA—which is how you know it’s good.

Now, a little fine print: if you buy a plane that’s on a progressive program, don’t assume that party keeps going. The second ownership changes, the FAA hits the reset button. You’ll either need to get your own progressive plan approved or revert to the good old-fashioned “stop everything once a year and pray nothing’s broken” model. In the meantime, an annual is due 12 months after the last full cycle or after 100 hours—whichever ruins your weekend sooner.

For most single-engine piston owners who fly a sane number of hours? Progressive inspections are probably overkill. But if your aircraft is basically a flying Uber, this system might save you time, money, and a ton of downtime. Just don’t forget: the FAA may approve it, but they are watching. Always watching.

More Fun With Regulations: The “Oh Yeah, That Too” List of Required Checks

Just when you thought the annual and 100-hour inspections were enough FAA love for one lifetime, here comes the bonus round. These are the other mandatory inspections the FAA insists on, because apparently keeping your wings on isn't quite enough—you also need to prove your gadgets, gizmos, and emergency beacons are functioning like it’s still 1978. Let’s dive in.

Altimeter and Static System Check (Every 24 Months, Because Apparently Air Pressure Can Expire)

Planning to fly IFR? Into controlled airspace? Well then, guess what—you need to prove your altimeter and static system aren’t lying to you. Every 24 calendar months, your altimeter, encoding altimeter, and static lines must be tested for accuracy and leaks, courtesy of 14 CFR 91.411. And no, you can’t DIY this one with a straw and some wishful thinking—you’ll need an FAA-certified avionics shop with equipment that costs more than your airplane. If you’re a VFR-only kind of pilot, this one’s technically optional… but most people get it done during the annual anyway, because flying blind is only fun in video games.

Transponder Inspection (Also Every 24 Months, Because Beeping Legally is Important)

If your aircraft has a transponder—and unless you’re flying an Amish glider, it probably does—it needs a check every 24 months too (91.413). This is to make sure it’s actually squawking the right stuff when ATC is watching. If you fly anywhere near controlled airspace, or even look at Class B airspace the wrong way, you need this. And even if you think, “Eh, I never go over 10,000 feet,” one day you will, and your non-compliant transponder will become a lovely excuse for the FAA to roast you. Just get it tested. Same avionics shop, same pain, same logbook entry.

Emergency Locator Transmitter (ELT) Inspection (12 Months, Because Crashing Quietly Is Frowned Upon)

That little box that’s supposed to scream for help when things go sideways? Yep, it gets its own annual check. Every 12 calendar months, your ELT needs to be inspected to confirm it’s not dead, rusted, or duct-taped to the side of the plane. This is usually quick and painless—your mechanic checks that it's mounted, not corroded, and will actually work if you end up in a field somewhere. Don’t forget the battery expiration, which has its own rules: it must be replaced after 50% of its life is up, or after it’s actually been used to say, “Hey, we crashed!” If your ELT is out or missing, you get a lovely 90-day countdown to get one back in before the FAA unleashes their wrath.

VOR Check (Every 30 Days, AKA “Yes, You Actually Have to Do Something Yourself”)

Now this one’s fun because it’s not even maintenance—it’s your job, pilot. If you’re flying IFR and plan to use VOR navigation (you nostalgic rebel), you need to do a VOR accuracy check every 30 days. That’s right—you, not your mechanic. This isn’t in the logbook either, just jot it down somewhere (on a scrap of paper, your forehead, whatever). Do it with a VOR ground checkpoint or a dual receiver test—just make sure your navigation gear isn’t sending you toward a mountain. The FAA doesn’t care how you verify it, just that you did. And no, “it worked last time” doesn’t count.

TL;DR: Here’s Your FAA Checklist of Joy

• Flying IFR? Get your altimeter/static system and transponder checked every 24 months.

• Got an ELT? That’s an annual party—every 12 months, make sure it still knows how to scream.

• Using VOR for IFR nav? Congrats, you’ve got homework every 30 days.
  These are recurring inspections, and most end up in your airframe logbook—except that VOR check, which is more of a trust exercise between you and the FAA.

So yes, you thought you were done with maintenance after the annual? Cute. There’s always one more thing—because in aviation, the only thing heavier than your plane is the paperwork.

Airworthiness Directives (ADs): Because the FAA Doesn't Trust You to Not Die

Welcome to the magical world of Airworthiness Directives, or as we like to call them, "fix this now or never fly again" notices from your friendly neighborhood FAA. ADs are not suggestions. They are not recommendations. They are legally enforceable rules that say, “Hey, we found something unsafe, and if you don’t take care of it, we’re revoking your right to aviation and possibly gravity.”

These spicy little mandates can apply to your aircraft, engine, propeller, accessories, or anything else that might try to kill you mid-flight. Some are one-time “do this by X hours or X date” orders. Others are recurring “every 50 hours, check this or else” nightmares. Either way, if an AD applies to your bird, you will comply. Not because you’re a good person—because it’s the law.

Come annual inspection time, your IA mechanic will go digging through the FAA archives to see if any ADs apply to your specific flying machine. They’ll verify that every single one is either complied with or waiting to ruin your day. The mechanic will then log that glorious AD status in your logbook or give you a separate “AD compliance sheet” (basically your aircraft’s criminal record).

And oh yes, you get to keep those records forever—the FAA wants to know the what, when, how, and who for every AD: the AD number, what you did, when you did it, and when you’ll need to do it again if it’s recurring. Lose that info, and congratulations, you now own an expensive paperweight.

Example time: Let’s say your aircraft’s fuel caps are prone to leaking water, and some genius at the FAA decides this is bad (it is). An AD comes out: “Inspect and replace fuel caps within 50 flight hours or 3 months, whichever comes first.” That means you, the owner, now get to pay someone to inspect and possibly replace those caps with part number ABC-PleaseDon’tExplode. You log it, you fly happy, and in 100 hours (if it’s a recurring AD), you do it all over again. Fun!

And here’s the kicker: if you don’t comply with an applicable AD, your aircraft is no longer legally airworthy. That’s right—one missed AD and your flying machine is grounded harder than a teenager with a fake ID. You’re not just breaking a rule; you’re now operating an illegal aircraft. And guess what? Insurance won't be thrilled.

Now, most owners lean on their mechanics to track this stuff—especially during annuals—and honestly, good call. But that doesn’t mean you get to be clueless. Smart owners actually check the FAA’s database by make and model, and especially when buying a used aircraft. Why? Because nothing ruins new-plane euphoria like discovering an ignored AD that now costs you five grand and a month of downtime.

And now for a plot twist: Service Bulletins.
Manufacturers love to send these out with bold headlines like “MANDATORY.” Except—spoiler alert—they’re not mandatory for private Part 91 operators unless they’ve been blessed by the FAA and turned into an actual AD or appear in the Airworthiness Limitations section. Otherwise, you can legally ignore them. Just know you’ll still feel like a monster if the bulletin says “replace this before it fails catastrophically” and you go, “Nah.”

Bottom line: ADs are not optional. You comply, you log, you survive. Service Bulletins? Use your judgment (and your mechanic’s). But if it’s stamped “Airworthiness Directive,” do what it says, or say goodbye to legal flight privileges and possibly your propeller.

Airworthiness Limitations: The Fine Print That’s Not Optional (Even If You’ve Never Heard of It)

Just when you thought you had a handle on all the FAA-mandated inspections, here comes another gotcha: Airworthiness Limitations. These sneaky little rules aren’t flashy like ADs, but they’re just as legally binding—and even easier to forget until they bite you.

Here’s the deal: buried deep in your aircraft’s maintenance manual (or the Instructions for Continued Airworthiness, because apparently we needed a fancier phrase for “do this or else”), there may be a section called “Airworthiness Limitations.” And if your plane has one, you’d better listen—because anything listed there is not a suggestion. These are manufacturer-enforced, FAA-blessed deadlines for replacing or inspecting parts before they decide to give up mid-flight.

We’re talking hard limits like, “Replace this wing spar fitting after 2,000 hours,” or “This seatbelt? It retires in 10 years, whether you like it or not.” That’s right—even your seatbelts are on the FAA’s watchlist.

Not every aircraft has Airworthiness Limitations. If you’re flying an older, simpler piston single, you might get lucky and have nothing more than a five-year hose replacement. But if your aircraft is newer, fancier, faster, or just slightly more sophisticated than a lawn chair with wings, there’s a good chance it does.

And guess what? They carry the same legal weight as an Airworthiness Directive. Miss a limitation deadline, and your plane is no longer airworthy. Period. No excuses. No “but it looks fine.” If a part hits its life limit, it’s out—whether it’s still shiny or not.

So how do you know if your plane has these rules lurking in the back pages? Check your maintenance manual, ask your mechanic, or—if you’re feeling brave—try reading the actual Airworthiness Limitations section yourself. It’s not thrilling literature, but it might save you from flying illegally because of a ten-year-old seatbelt.

Bottom line: If it’s listed in the Airworthiness Limitations, it’s not optional, it’s not flexible, and it’s definitely not something you want the FAA to catch you skipping. Treat it like an AD—with all the love, respect, and mild panic that entails.

Keeping Your Plane Airworthy (a.k.a. You Break It, You Ground It)

Let’s be clear: owning an airplane isn’t just about posing next to it on Instagram and calling yourself a pilot. If something on your plane breaks, wears out, starts leaking, makes a weird noise, or just feels wrong—you, dear owner, are on the hook. The FAA doesn’t care if you’re “just going up for a quick hop.” If it’s not airworthy, it’s not flying. Period.

Legally speaking, “airworthy” means two things:

1. Your aircraft still matches its type design (or has been properly modified and documented—not hacked with Home Depot parts), and

2. It’s in a condition for safe operation.

That second one? Wildly subjective, yet still legally binding. Basically, if there’s a known issue that could make the plane unsafe, you’re expected to deal with it—not shrug, not delay, not slap on duct tape and say “we’ll monitor it.”

This means if something breaks, even if it’s small, you fix it—or you don’t fly. A dead landing light? Yeah, you’re grounded for night ops until it’s replaced. A cylinder showing dangerously low compression? You might not technically violate a specific number on a chart yet, but you’re definitely in the danger zone of “not in a condition for safe operation.” The FAA will not be amused when your engine coughs itself to death mid-flight.

And no, you can’t just pretend you didn’t notice. The regs don’t say, “Fix things when it’s convenient” or “Ignore until a mechanic yells.” They say: keep the aircraft airworthy at all times. That means dealing with squawks, not flying with broken stuff (unless you’ve got a legal exception under 91.213, which is its own can of regulatory worms), and not gambling with your logbook—or your life.

The smart move? Have a good mechanic you trust, stay ahead of problems, and don’t wait until something fails catastrophically. Fix it when it’s small, fix it when it’s cheap, and for the love of all that flies, don’t fly broken junk. The FAA has zero chill when it comes to ignoring issues, and neither should you.

What Maintenance Can You Do Yourself? (A.K.A. “Hold My Torque Wrench”)

So, you're thinking: “Do I seriously need to call a mechanic every time a lightbulb burns out?” Good news—no, you don’t. The FAA actually lets you, a humble, oil-stained owner/pilot, perform certain basic maintenance tasks on your own airplane. It's called preventive maintenance, and it's the aviation equivalent of the government saying, “Sure, we’ll let you touch a few things... but don’t get cocky.”

The FAA wrote it all down in 14 CFR Part 43 Appendix A, paragraph (c)—a beautiful, dry-as-toast list of tasks deemed safe enough for us mere mortals to perform. The catch? You need to hold at least a private pilot certificate (sport or recreational works too for light-sport aircraft), and your plane better not be flying under Part 121 or 135 (i.e., no commercial charter or airline antics). If you're flying good ol' Part 91, you're golden.

And yes—you can sign off your own work, provided it’s done correctly, using proper tools, and you write it down like a responsible adult. (We’ll get to the whole “logbook confessional” part later.)

Here’s a taste of the glorious power you now wield:

• Changing Tires – You can literally change your airplane’s shoes. Remove, repair, reinstall. FAA-approved tire rotation not included.

• Adding Fluids – Oil, brake fluid, strut juice—go wild. Just don’t start topping off your fuel tanks with LaCroix.

• Replacing Safety Wire or Cotter Pins – Nothing says “qualified” like twisting wire with purpose.

• Greasing Things – Bearings, hinges, anything that squeaks or groans. Grease it up (as long as it doesn’t involve tearing your airplane apart).

• Swapping Spark Plugs & Filters – Pop out those spark plugs, clean them, regap them, reinstall. Bonus points for not cross-threading anything.

• Replacing Light Bulbs, Hoses, Seatbelts, or Small Parts – If it blinks, glows, filters, or cushions your butt, you can probably replace it.

• Battery TLC – Swap in a new one, charge it, love it. Just don't reverse the polarity and fry your avionics.

• Tiny Repairs – Patch some fabric, touch up the paint, fix that mystery interior panel that’s been flapping since 2004.

Basically, anything that doesn’t require an engineering degree or a full aircraft teardown might be fair game. The golden rule? If it’s not on the list, you don’t touch it. Want to change a cylinder? Install new avionics? Reroute fuel lines? Congratulations—you’re calling your mechanic, and probably their therapist.

And yes, the FAA expects you to do these things like a real mechanic would, meaning: no zip ties, no duct tape, no “it’ll buff out.” If you’re not mechanically inclined, have a friendly A&P supervise the first time or give you a quick wrench-holding tutorial.

Most are happy to help—especially if you show up with snacks.

Example time: Your Cessna’s landing light is toast, and your oil looks like it came out of a diesel truck. No problem—you grab a new bulb, oil, and a filter. You remove the cowling (without stripping every screw), drain the oil, replace the filter, refill the oil, and pop in the new bulb. Boom. Done. Then you log it all, sign your name, and bask in the glow of FAA-approved independence.

But then you notice your magneto timing seems off—that’s where the wrenching stops and your mechanic steps in, because that’s definitely not on the list. Nice try, though.

One last thing: just because you can do something doesn’t mean you should. Be real about your skills. If the last tool you used was a plastic spork, maybe let a pro take the lead. But if you’re comfortable and careful, owner maintenance is a great way to save money, learn more about your plane, and feel like a total badass.

Moral of the story? Do the simple stuff. Log it. Don’t break anything. And know when to say, “Yeah… I should probably call my A&P.”

Maintenance Logs: The FAA’s Favorite Receipts (And Your Plane’s Medical Chart)

Ah, logbooks. The sacred scrolls of aviation. You thought flying was all about freedom and open skies? Cute. The FAA says, “Show me the paperwork.” Every time you or a mechanic lays a wrench (or even a greasy fingerprint) on your airplane, it needs to be logged. Not just because the FAA says so (although, yes, very much that), but because those records are legally required, painfully detailed, and absolutely essential if you ever want to sell your airplane, avoid an audit, or prove you didn’t totally mess something up.

Where does it all go?
Most aircraft have separate logbooks for the airframe, engine, propeller, and sometimes avionics—because one book just wouldn’t be bureaucratic enough. When you do maintenance, inspections, or even a simple oil change, the work must be documented in the correct logbook, or the FAA will frown at you so hard you’ll feel it in your hangar.

What goes in a log entry?
According to our favorite bedtime reading—14 CFR Part 43—every maintenance entry needs to include:

• A description of the work performed (or a reference to what procedure you followed: e.g., “Changed oil per Cessna 172 POH, Section 8”).

• The date the work was completed.

• The name, signature, certificate number, and rating of the person approving the aircraft for return to service (that’s either your mechanic or you, if you did preventive maintenance).

For inspections—like the annual or 100-hour—you also need the type of inspection and a clear airworthiness statement. Think: “Inspected in accordance with an annual inspection and determined to be in airworthy condition.”
If the aircraft is not airworthy? The mechanic will kindly provide a list of discrepancies, aka your “here’s-why-you’re-grounded” notice. That list becomes a record you must keep until everything’s fixed, signed off, and blessed by a wrench-wielding professional.

Special inspections (altimeter, transponder, ELT)? Same deal. You log the type of test, date, and results (e.g., “Transponder tested IAW 14 CFR 91.413 – passed”). And yes, you must use that kind of robotic phrasing, or the paperwork gods will smite you.

Doing preventive maintenance yourself? Awesome. But you’re the grown-up now, so you’ll need to log it like this:
“06/01/2025 – Changed engine oil and filter using Shell AeroPlus 15W-50. Serviced to 8 quarts. Engine run-up satisfactory. Signed: John Doe, Private Pilot, Cert #1234567. Approved for return to service.”
Boom. That signature is you officially saying, “I did the thing, I did it right, and I’m willing to bet my certificate on it.”

How long do you have to keep all this glorious paper?
According to 14 CFR 91.417, it breaks down like this:

• Short-term records (routine maintenance, oil changes, tire swaps, annuals, etc.): Keep them for at least 1 year, or until the task is done again—whichever’s longer.

• Long-term records (total time on engine/airframe/prop, status of life-limited parts, AD compliance, major repairs/alterations): Keep them forever. Like, until the heat death of the universe. These are your aircraft’s medical history, and if you lose them, you’re in for expensive re-inspections, awkward questions from buyers, and possibly an FAA therapist.

Selling the plane?
Congrats—but don’t forget the logbooks. Missing logs are a red flag, a value-killer, and a source of legal misery. If you hand someone a plane without records, expect them to look at you like you just gave them a mystery box with wings.

Pro tip: Scan everything. Make backups. Store them in a fireproof safe or digitally with something more secure than “logbooks_final_final_ACTUAL.pdf.” You’re allowed to keep digital copies—as long as they’re complete, accurate, and not forged in MS Paint.

Bottom line:
If it’s not written down, it didn’t happen. Log every job, sign every entry, keep the books safe, and never underestimate how much the FAA loves their paperwork. Your logbooks are more than a formality—they’re your aircraft’s entire legal and mechanical identity. Lose them, and you’ll wish losing just your wallet was the problem.

Putting It All Together: The Owner’s Guide to Not Getting Grounded (or Yelled At by the FAA)

So you bought an airplane—awesome. Now welcome to your new part-time job as head of maintenance compliance, chief logbook officer, and part-time oil technician. But don’t worry—staying legal (and safe) doesn’t have to feel like cramming for an FAA exam while blindfolded.

Here’s the big-picture recap, served with extra sarcasm and a side of checklist:

• You need an annual inspection every 12 months, signed off by an IA mechanic. Not 13 months. Not “just a few days late.” Every. Single. Year.

• If you’re flying for hire or offering flight instruction where you supply the aircraft? Congrats, you’re also on the hook for 100-hour inspections.

• Airworthiness Directives (ADs)? Do them. All of them. When the FAA says jump, you jump, log it, and save the receipt.

• Airworthiness Limitations in your maintenance manual? Yep, those are legally binding too. If the book says replace that part at 2,000 hours, do it—don’t wait for it to explode in flight.

• If something breaks? Fix it. The FAA isn’t into the whole “it’ll probably be fine” vibe.

• Don’t forget the checklist of forgotten-but-required inspections:

  • Transponder – every 24 months

  • Altimeter & static system – every 24 months (if IFR)

  • ELT – every 12 months (plus battery checks)

The good news? You don’t need a mechanic for everything. Thanks to preventive maintenance, you’re allowed to handle basic stuff like changing oil, replacing spark plugs, swapping bulbs, and other mildly greasy tasks—as long as you follow procedures, use real tools (not your kitchen wrench), and log it all like a good rule-following citizen.

Speaking of logbooks:
Every inspection, every oil change, every tiny thing you or your mechanic does? It needs to be in the logs. What was done, when, by whom, with what certification—signed, sealed, and dated. These aren’t just journals of your plane’s dramatic life; they’re legal records. Keep them safe. Digitize them. Store them somewhere fireproof, waterproof, and preferably dragon-proof.

Example time:
You’re prepping for a big cross-country trip. You mentally scroll through your personal airworthiness checklist:

• Annual? ✅ Done 4 months ago.

• 100-hour? ❌ Not needed—no hire or instruction.

• Oil change? ✅ You did it 20 hours ago, and yes, it’s logged.

• Altimeter/static system? ✅ Done last year during that transponder upgrade.

• Transponder? ✅ Same time.

• ELT? ✅ Checked at the last annual. Battery? Still in the green.

• Any ADs lurking? ❌ Nope—your mechanic updates your AD list every annual.

• All systems functioning, preflight done, logbooks stashed in the plane?

Boom. You’re ready to launch—legal, safe, and smugly compliant.

The Bottom Line

FAA maintenance rules exist for a reason—to keep your aircraft from turning into a lawn dart. Stick to the inspection schedules. Fix stuff when it breaks. Log everything. And don’t be afraid to turn a wrench—just know when to call in the pros.

Follow the rules, respect the logs, and your reward is the best part of all: more flying, less fixing, and zero terrifying conversations with FAA inspectors. Happy (and totally airworthy) flying!