How a Simple “72-Hour Rule” Could Have Saved Greg Biffle’s Life 
Every aviation tragedy sparks a flood of questions: Why did the plane crash?
What caused the engine failure?
Did the pilot make a critical mistake?
Yet, seasoned aviators ask a different question: “How would I have flown that flight?”
Today, we explore the mindset of a veteran captain with 26,000 flight hours, dissecting the Greg Biffle flight not as it happened, but as it should have happened.
The first and most vital lesson: the flight doesn’t begin at the airport.
It begins 72 hours prior to takeoff.
This “72-Hour Rule” is a cornerstone of professional aviation safety.
Machines don’t like to sit idle, and hangars are fraught with hidden dangers.
A pilot who arrives three days early can perform thorough checks, identifying issues like a drained battery well before they become emergencies.
Glen, an aviation expert, shares his routine: visiting the aircraft days before the flight to interrogate the machine.
He physically disconnects the battery when parked long-term to prevent drainage, refusing to trust ground crews implicitly.
This preemptive energy management isn’t just about the aircraft; it protects the pilot’s mental state by eliminating last-minute crises.
On flight day, this preparation ensures the day is boring—and in aviation, boring is safe.
When the plane finally sits on the ramp, freshly fueled and polished, many pilots perform a cursory walkaround.
But Glen warns that the ramp is where planes often meet their doom.
He recounts “Hangar Rash,” a common but dangerous occurrence where a fuel truck or ground vehicle lightly clips an aircraft’s wing or tail.
These minor damages can have catastrophic consequences in flight, yet often go unnoticed without a meticulous inspection.
A professional pilot knows to touch and feel every surface, searching for signs of damage invisible to the eye.
They look for fluid leaks, missing static wicks, or subtle dents that could disrupt aerodynamics or spark fires.
If any issue is found, the flight is canceled—regardless of the owner’s impatience or looming deadlines.
In Biffle’s case, questions remain whether a rushed pre-flight missed something critical, such as a latched door or debris in an engine intake.
A pro pilot’s thorough inspection would have caught these hazards.
One specific hardware concern in the Biffle crash was the nose baggage door, rumored to have popped open mid-flight.
Such an event can cause severe drag or damage to the tail.
Glen reveals a professional’s “life hack” for the Citation Jet: verifying the door’s closure through both mechanical and electrical confirmations.
It’s not enough to slam the door shut and lock it; the pilot watches the annunciator panel’s warning light until it extinguishes, then physically tests the door’s latch strength and alignment.
At 400 knots, a door that isn’t fully secured can be deadly.
Yet, the greatest threat to pilot safety isn’t the aircraft—it’s the “VIP” passenger.
Owners, bosses, or billionaires often pressure pilots to ignore safety concerns to meet schedules.
This “External Pressure” kills more pilots than mechanical failures.
Glen’s advice is blunt: pilots must be selfish.
They must prioritize their own lives over the demands of the owner, building a psychological barrier between cockpit and cabin.
Once the cockpit door closes, the pilot is the dictator of the vessel.
If conditions are unsafe—be it weather, damage, or mechanical issues—the answer is always no.
This mindset clashes with the amateur pilot’s urge to please.
An amateur might say, “I think I can make it work,” risking everything to avoid disappointing a client.
Professionals say, “No.”
In general aviation, fear of losing a job or angering a passenger is a leading cause of fatal accidents.
Glen’s rule: better to be fired and alive than employed and dead.
When an engine failure occurs mid-flight, the professional pilot’s response is calm and methodical.
Hollywood dramatizes panic and frantic control wrestling, but the reality is different.
Step one: engage automation.
The autopilot stabilizes the aircraft, freeing the pilot’s mind to analyze and troubleshoot without adrenaline-fueled errors.
Step two: divert to the nearest airport—not the planned destination.
With one engine out, the situation is an emergency.
The goal is immediate safe landing, not convenience or schedule adherence.
Step three: follow the checklist.
Even with thousands of hours logged, pilots never rely on memory in emergencies.
They read the checklist aloud, verifying each action.
The checklist is the pilot’s truth when stress clouds judgment.
Another crucial discipline is the “Go-Around.”
Many accidents happen when pilots force a landing under less-than-ideal conditions—too fast, too high, or off-center.
Ego whispers, “I can save this.”
But the professional pilot defaults to aborting the landing if conditions aren’t perfect.
Power up, retract gear, climb, and try again.
This maneuver is a sign of strength, not failure.
It proves mastery over the aircraft.
The job doesn’t end when the engines stop.
After landing, the professional pilot performs a post-flight walkaround to inspect for damage sustained during flight—bird strikes, lost static wicks, oil leaks.
Discovering issues early allows time for repairs before the next flight, maintaining a continuous safety loop.
Flying a high-performance jet demands discipline, paranoia, humility, and arrogance all at once.
The paranoia to check a battery three days early.
The humility to read a checklist.
The arrogance to say no to a billionaire’s demands.
Greg Biffle’s tragic crash is a somber reminder: whether flying a small Cessna or a sophisticated Citation Jet, physics and risks remain unchanged.
