Murph's hot dog stand, where the franks come with a side of sass

Let's say you're on a leisurely drive out in central Massachusetts. And you happen to be on Route 117 in Lancaster. Suppose you see a little turnoff for the Bartlett Pond Conservation area.

Maybe you take the turnoff.

You see the pond and the pine trees. And you see something else you may not have expected:

Murph's Hot Dog Stand.

And you think to yourself, "Should I? Do I really want a roadside hot dog?"

I did. I was famished.

I get in line and notice Murph's customers show up for more than a good hot dog. They like the banter.

"What's up, Murphy? You don't remember me?" a customer teases.

Murph has a quick comeback: "Ha! I don't remember you? I remember you. You'd give an aspirin a headache!"

The man with the silver tongue is Mike Murphy, or Murph. He's been drawing loyal customers to his roadside trailer in central Mass. for 20 years.

I ask where he's from.

"I'm not telling you," he says. "From Marlboro. That's all I'm telling you. You're not going to ask me how I did in school or why I'm on the side of the road selling hot dogs."

I find out anyway. Murph is a retired mechanical engineer. He bought an old mail truck 20 years ago and started selling hot dogs out of it. Then he swapped it for a trailer.

And he's on the side of the road selling hot dogs because he loves it. He loves his customers, too. He even lets them know on Facebook if he has to close early for a dentist appointment or to visit his granddaughter.

Murph is getting impatient with my questions.

"Could we make your G-D hot dog now?" He suggests the Molly Dog (named for his daughter). It's topped with crushed Doritos, cheddar cheese and bacon. There's also the Drive Home Dog, with sauerkraut, chopped pickle, hot peppers and mustard.

I go for something more basic. Chopped pickle and yellow mustard.

Murph's proud of his dogs. He's got all-beef and beef-pork. He shows me one of each — which gives him double the chance to crack a completely crude wiener joke.

Truth is, Murph is not just the hot dog man. He's an unofficial caretaker of the conservation area's parking lot. Ten years ago, local leaders lauded him for cleaning up the trash around the picnic tables, mowing the grass and letting them know when something fishy was going on in the woods.

Inside the trailer, he's got a trusty longtime assistant, Kim. She offers people condiments and waves off Murph's crassness.

Murph welcomes another customer:

"All right, you handsome bastard, what can I get for you?"

Roy Stowell of Clinton orders two chili and cheese dogs with bacon. He's a regular.

"The hot dogs are good, but Murph is the reason we come here," Stowell says.

This time, he's brought his beagle, Lacy, for her first-ever Murph's hot dog.

"She looked at me, and it's like, 'Why did you get two and I only got one?' " he says.

Proof that Murph, like any good cook and showman, leaves 'em wanting more.