I seem to recall power skis from Selection, a 1964 story by Ursula K. Le Guin:
JOAN strapped on her power-skis and straightened up. Behind her Dome Kappa gleamed in the milky sunshine, a great bubble reflecting the feeble sunshine and the white, cloud-furrowed sky. In front of her her husband stood erect on a low hill, impermasuit shining silver, heat-gun slung over his shoulder, a tall, gallant figure facing the sinister desolation of an untamed planet . . . “Damn showoff” Joan growled, skiing laboriously toward him.
“What?” said a polite, arrogant voice in her earpiece. She had forgotten they were hooked up.
Centipede Robots Down On The Farm
'...the walking mills of Puffy Products began to tread delicately on their centipede legs across the wheat fields of Kansas.' - Fritz Leiber, 1958.
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Centipede Robots Down On The Farm
'...the walking mills of Puffy Products began to tread delicately on their centipede legs across the wheat fields of Kansas.'