A gray-hair parties with the black-clad around Belltown's Ace Hotel

It is a sometimes incongruous mixture of gray and black, Belltown at night.

And there I was, on my part of this assignment, sporting both colors — gray above the neck, black everywhere else.

I noticed lots of gray on the heads of diners, who stroll into the havens of overly designed foods and big bills — and nowhere else — that dot and surround this area north of downtown.

I noticed lots of black on the bodies of so many others, so much younger, who stroll into just about anything and everything on nights when anything and everything is open. Only in a few eateries does there seem to be any overlap, and I figure that's because much of the younger set has made a whole lot more money in five years than the older set — which includes me — has made in 25.

However, there isn't any mingling to speak of inside most of the storefronts touting music of modern persuasion, dancing of the same ilk, resurrected cocktails and more. Why would anyone think there would be, unless a gray-hair wandered in seeking a child gone astray?

I repeat — I have gray hair and some years, so slam shut your cell phones and delete those e-mails of ageism protest. I went into some of those places — Shorty's Coney Island, the Crocodile, the Down Under nightclub — and I did just fine. Granted, no one talked to me — or even looked at me. Maybe they all mistook me for some producer and were trying to appear casually, nervously, aloof. That was my fantasy. At least I wasn't wearing a baseball cap.

Ace is the place

I did, however, spend the night at The Ace Hotel. (The Times' travel staff assumed I was best suited to this hip overnight experience, no doubt because of my oversupply of hair products and black clothes.)

The Ace is at First and Wall and occupies the second and top floor of the Glaser Building, which also houses the new version of the Cyclops cafe and its Panther Room. The hotel is quite markedly marketed toward the young, and it is hip. I'm sure. I would almost be willing to bet I'm the oldest person ever to have stayed there.

The Ace is white — walls, ceilings, sheets, towels, lights, bathrobes (which you'll need if you stay in one of the bathroom-down-the-hall rooms — or, interestingly, maybe not). And very, very clean. I was impressed.

I even liked the army blankets on the bed and didn't mind the thin walls — too much. I recognized the "Star Trek" episode playing next door at about 2:15 a.m. I didn't recognize the occasional odd, rhythmic noises coming from somewhere else shortly after — um, I didn't want to recognize them. I did like the makeshift, recycling-bin bongos in the alley at 2:37 a.m. Not a bad beat.

In your 20s to 30s? This is the place. This is Belltown.

Local advice

Not having the energy, stomach or liver to make every possible stop in the area, I asked some B-towners for a little assistance: my pal Joe Valencia, bartender at El Gaucho, across the street from the Ace; Ramona Barnes, waitress at the Five Point, just off Denny and right by the statue of Chief Sealth (they serve the best darned chicken-fried steak, mashed potatoes and lessons in life anywhere — my favorite place to eat and breathe second-hand smoke); and Doug Herrick, general manager and one of the owners of The Ace Hotel.

I gave them all the same assignment: Come up with the quintessential experience in and around Belltown — and try not to mention your own establishment. They all flunked the latter.

Joe: He says start with a drink at Il Bistro and essentially keep eating and drinking your way north up First Avenue — Le Pichet, Queen City Grill, Axis, Cyclops, El Gaucho. Dancing at the Pampas Club or Down Under — open till 3 a.m. Belltown Billiards and Belltown Pizza ought to finish you off.

Ramona: Zak's Fifth Avenue Saloon. Shorty's for a little pinball, a large hotdog. Singles Going Steady record store. And Vain — for haircuts and a lot more. Mama's Mexican, if you can't make it to Five Point.

Doug (and his hotel staff): Of course he says to check in at the Ace. And to have dinner at El Gaucho (I told you these people have money) or Marco's Supper Club. Flying Fish for cocktails, the Roq la Rue Gallery (next door to Shorty's, which Doug seconds), the Crocodile, Sit & Spin. Stacey Burbank, his assistant, says her boss is on the mark — except for a couple things she'd add. Lush Life and Belltown Yoga.

The morning after

I managed to hit several of those spots. I felt cool.

I also was convinced that I was the first person up the morning after all this — at 8 a.m. — not counting the maids.

I was one of four for breakfast at the Cyclops. First Avenue was pretty much abandoned. I made the 10- to 15-minute walk to the Pike Place Market, finagled whatever samples I could from familiar vendors, bought some food for the weekend, walked back to the car (with a pit stop at Le Pichet for a little coffee, a little croissant) and drove home.

My only regrets? That the Denny Party couldn't have been here to see what they'd wrought, on the 150th anniversary of the city — and that I hadn't stuck around to see what time everybody else at the Ace got up.

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