Any and all help would be welcome.
I drove on through Burlington, Greenboro, and Winston-Salem. Aside from a single gas stop earlier in the day where I'd also picked up a bottle of water, I pressed forward, sipping water but unable to stomach the thought of eating. The photograph of my father and me lay on the seat beside me, and every now and then I would try to recall the boy in the picture. Eventually I turned north, following a small highway that wound its way through blue-tipped mountains speading north and south, a gentle swell in the crust of the earth.
It was late afternoon by the time I pulled the car to a stop and checked into a shabby motel just off the highway. My body was stiff, and after taking a few minutes to stretch, I showered and shaved. I put on a clean pair of jeans and a T-shirt and debated whether or not to get something to eat, but I still wasn't hungry.
The phrase 'unable to stomach the thought of eating' can be paraphrased as 'can't even think of eating'. Means that it makes you sick when you think of eating. Maybe because of what he saw or did - I'm not sure - the context should help you.
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